Page 12

CHAPTER 12

CASPIAN

My breath catches in my throat as Nate’s solid warmth presses against my back. His hands envelop mine on the shovel handle, and suddenly, clearing snow is the last thing on my mind. I’m hyperaware of every point of contact between us—his chest against my shoulders, his arms along mine, his breath tickling my ear.

“Like this,” he murmurs, guiding me through the motion. “Push forward, don’t try to lift too much at once.”

I try to focus on his instructions, but it’s nearly impossible with him so close. His voice rumbles through his chest and vibrates against my back. The winter air is crisp and cold, but I’m burning up inside my borrowed coat.

“Got it?” he asks, and I realize I haven’t moved or spoken in several seconds.

“Um, maybe show me one more time?” I manage to say, not ready to lose this proximity. “Just to make sure I’ve got the technique right.”

His soft chuckle sends shivers down my spine that have nothing to do with the cold. “Sure,” he says, and we go through the motion again. This time, I actually pay attention to how to angle the shovel and push the snow aside rather than lifting it.

“See? Much easier on your back,” he says, but he doesn’t step away. If anything, his grip on my hands tightens slightly.

“Yeah,” I breathe, barely trusting my voice. “Much easier.”

The early morning sun catches the snow around us, making it sparkle like diamonds. Everything feels suspended in this moment—the crisp air, the sound of our breathing, the warmth between us.

“Caspian,” Nate says softly, and something in his tone makes my heart stutter.

I turn my head slightly, and suddenly, his face is right there, inches from mine. His blue eyes are intense, focused entirely on me, and I watch as his gaze drops to my lips.

The tension between us is electric, crackling like static in the winter air. I want to turn fully in his arms, to close that final distance between us. His breath mingles with mine, creating little clouds in the cold morning air.

“We probably shouldn’t,” Nate whispers, but he doesn’t move away.

“Probably not,” I agree, even as I lean slightly closer. “It would complicate things.”

“We’re neighbors.”

“And friends,” I add, though the word feels inadequate for the energy buzzing between us.

“Right.” His hands are still covering mine on the shovel handle, warm despite the cold. “Friends who live next door to each other.”

“Who have to see each other every day.”

“Who share a driveway.”

I laugh softly. “Are we trying to talk ourselves into this or out of it?”

“Out of it,” Nate says, but there’s a smile in his voice. “Definitely out of it.”

“Right.” I nod, finally forcing myself to step away from his warmth. “Because that would be…”

“A bad idea,” he finishes, letting his hands fall from mine.

The morning air feels colder without him pressed against me. I turn to face him properly, and the look in his eyes makes my breath catch. There’s want there, clear as day, but also something softer, more vulnerable.

“A terrible idea,” I agree, but I’m smiling. “Though I have to say, as far as bad ideas go…”

“Don’t,” he warns, but he’s fighting a smile too. “Don’t make this harder than it already is.”

I raise my hands in surrender, still holding the shovel. “Fine, fine. Friends it is. Very platonic, completely normal neighbors who occasionally share ice cream and snow-shoveling techniques.”

“Exactly.” He runs a hand through his hair, and I try not to notice how adorable he looks when he’s flustered. “Speaking of which, let’s finish clearing this snow before it gets any deeper.”

“Yes, sir,” I say with an exaggerated salute, and his resulting eye roll makes me grin. “Show me that technique again? From a safe, friendly distance this time.”

Well, that answers the other question. He’s at least into men.

We manage to clear the rest of the driveway without any more almost-kisses, though I catch Nate watching me more than once. Each time our eyes meet, that spark of electricity crackles between us, making it harder to remember why kissing him would be a bad idea.

“That should do it,” Nate says finally, leaning on his shovel and surveying our work. The driveway is clear, though more snow is already starting to drift down.

“Thanks for the help,” I say, trying not to stare at the way the exercise has brought a flush to his cheeks. “And for lending me the coat.”

“You know it’s yours for as long as you need it,” he says.

I hide my smile at his protective instinct. “Thanks. I should head inside and get ready for work.”

“Right, of course.” He takes a step back, creating more distance between us. “I should do the same.”

We both hesitate, neither wanting to be the first to leave. Finally, Nate clears his throat. “Well, I’ll see you around.”

“Yeah,” I say, watching as he turns and heads back to his house. Even in retreat, he’s graceful, his long legs carrying him easily through the snow.

Inside my kitchen, I grab my car keys and the container of muffins I baked last night. They’re not quite as fluffy as I’d hoped, but the caramelized pecans on top should make up for it. The familiar scent of cinnamon and maple helps ground me, pulling my thoughts away from broad shoulders and blue eyes.

When I step back outside, Nate is already at his truck, brushing snow off the windshield. He looks up as I approach my car, and for a moment, we just stand there, the morning quiet broken only by the soft pat of snow hitting the ground.

“Drive safe,” he calls over. “The roads might be slick.”

“You too,” I reply, and it hits me how domestic this feels—this morning goodbye in our shared driveway.

As I slide into my car, all I can think is that while kissing Nate might be a bad idea, it’s starting to feel inevitable. Like gravity, pulling us slowly but surely together, no matter how much we try to resist. I start my car and let it warm up, watching as Nate’s truck pulls out of the driveway ahead of me. His taillights glow red through the falling snow, and I wonder if he feels this same magnetic pull, this sense of inevitability.

The drive to Special Blend gives me time to clear my head, or at least attempt to. But every time I adjust my position, I catch the scent of Nate’s coat wrapped around me—a mixture of pine and something uniquely him that makes my stomach flutter. I wonder how many days it will take before his scent fades completely from the fabric and I can no longer breathe in the comforting essence that’s so distinctly Nate.

Friends, I remind myself firmly. We agreed on being friends.

Still, as I park in front of the coffee shop and gather my things, I can’t shake the memory of how perfectly we fit together this morning or the way his eyes darkened when they fell to my lips. The container of muffins feels steady and real in my hands as I unlock the door, grounding me in the present moment and the tasks ahead.

The morning rush hits Special Blend like a caffeine-craving wave. I barely have time to think about Nate between making lattes and serving muffins, which is probably for the best. The regulars seem especially chatty today, maybe because of the snow, and I find myself falling into an easy rhythm of small talk and coffee-making.

“This muffin is…lovely,” Mrs. Henderson says. “The pecans really make it special.”

I’m not sure she means it, but she’s taking another bite, so maybe they’re not so bad. I’m about to thank her when the bell above the door chimes, and Felix walks in, unwinding a colorful scarf from his neck. His cheeks are pink from the cold, and he looks slightly frazzled.

“Please tell me you have something warm and caffeinated,” he says, approaching the counter. “I just spent an hour at the craft store trying to find the perfect gift for a seven-year-old who, according to Arya, is ‘obsessed with unicorns but only the sparkly kind, not the regular kind.’”

“Well, you’ve come to the right place for post-shopping therapy,” I say, starting to prepare my newest specialty drink. “How about trying today’s feature? It’s a maple-cinnamon latte with a hint of nutmeg. I call it Winter Comfort.”

Felix slumps onto one of the barstools at the counter. “That sounds perfect. And one of whatever Mrs. Henderson is having,” he adds, eyeing her muffin. “They look amazing.”

“Maple pecan muffins,” I tell him, sliding one onto a plate. “Fresh baked last night.”

“You’re a lifesaver,” Felix says, then leans forward conspiratorially. “So, anything interesting happen this morning? You seem…different. Good different.”

I feel my cheeks warm, and not from the steam of the espresso machine. “Different how?”

“I don’t know,” he says, studying me. “You’re kind of…glowing? Please tell me there’s a story there.”

I busy myself with the latte art, trying to keep my voice casual. “Nothing to tell. Just helped my neighbor shovel snow this morning.”

“Mm-hmm.” Felix hums skeptically. “Would this be the same gorgeous neighbor you mentioned the other day? The one with the blue eyes?”

The foam heart I’m trying to create turns into more of a blob as my hand jerks slightly. “Maybe?”

Felix’s eyes light up. “Oh, there’s definitely a story there. Spill!”

“There’s nothing to spill,” I insist, though I can feel my face getting warmer. “We’re just friends. Very specifically, deliberately just friends.”

“Uh-huh,” Felix says, sipping his latte. “And how’s that working out for you?”

I think about this morning—Nate’s arms around me, his breath on my neck, the way time seemed to stop when our eyes met. “It’s…complicated.”

“The best stories usually are,” Felix says with a knowing smile. “But sometimes the complicated ones turn out to be worth it.”

I hand him his muffin, grateful for the distraction of another customer walking in. “Maybe,” I say noncommittally. “But for now, I’m focusing on getting this place ready for the Winter Wishes Festival. Speaking of which, are you bringing the girls?”

Felix allows the subject change, launching into his daughters’ excitement about the festival, but his knowing look tells me this conversation isn’t over. As I listen to him talk about Elsa’s and Arya’s plans for their wishes, I can’t help but wonder what wish I might hang on the tree myself.

Something about blue eyes and shared driveways comes to mind, but I quickly push the thought away. After all, we agreed to be just friends.

Even if my heart keeps forgetting to listen.