Page 9

CHAPTER 9

NATE

I react instinctively as Caspian stumbles, pulling him against me to break his fall. We spin together on the ice, my years of experience keeping us upright as I guide us toward the bank. His hands grip my sweater, and I can feel him trembling slightly.

“I’ve got you,” I murmur, steadying us both. “You’re okay.”

Caspian looks up at me, his dark eyes wide and reflecting the moonlight. My breath catches in my throat. He’s wearing my coat, surrounded by the smell of my cologne and coffee, and something stirs in my chest.

“Maybe we should take a break,” I suggest, my voice rougher than intended. “There’s hot chocolate at the rental shack.”

“Oh, thank god.” Caspian laughs, the tension breaking. “I was trying to think of a way to suggest that without sounding like a wimp.”

We reach the bank, and I help him step onto solid ground. He’s surprisingly steady now, learning quickly despite his initial fears. The thought makes me smile.

Inside the small wooden shack, the teenage attendant hands us steaming cups of cocoa. Caspian wraps his fingers—barely peeking out from the too-long sleeves of my coat—around his cup, bringing it to his face and inhaling deeply. Seeing him swimming in my jacket, combined with the simple pleasure in his expression, makes my chest tight.

“So,” he says, settling onto one of the benches. “Do you come here often? You’re really good on the ice.”

I shrug, sitting beside him. “Grew up skating here. Used to play hockey in high school, but these days, I mostly come out here to clear my head.”

“It’s beautiful,” Caspian admits, looking over the frozen lake. “Different from anything I saw growing up in Phoenix.”

“I bet.” I take a sip of cocoa, watching him from the corner of my eye. “How are you settling in? Special Blend coming along?”

His face lights up. “Actually, yeah! The cleaning and renovations are basically done. I just need to hire a couple of helpers.”

We sit in comfortable silence for a while, watching other skaters glide past. A young couple spins together, laughing, and I feel Caspian tense slightly beside me.

“You okay?” I ask.

He nods quickly. “Yeah, just…thinking about my mom.”

The sadness in his voice makes me want to pull him close. Instead, I say, “Want to talk about it?”

For the next hour, Caspian shares stories about his mother—her love of romance novels, her amazing cooking—that no matter how much he tries, Caspian can’t match her infectious laugh.

When he shivers, I realize how late it’s gotten. “We should head back,” I say reluctantly. “You probably have to be up super early to get the coffee shop ready, right?”

The drive home is quiet but comfortable. Caspian hums along softly to the radio, and I find myself memorizing the sound, storing it away with other dangerous thoughts about my new neighbor.

As we pull up to our houses, Caspian starts to take off my coat.

“Keep it,” I say quickly. “At least until you can get something warmer. Vermont winters are no joke.”

He hugs the coat closer, and something possessive stirs in my chest. “Thanks, Nate. For everything tonight. It was…really nice.”

“Yeah,” I agree softly. “It was.”

I watch him walk to his door, making sure he gets inside safely before heading to my own house. I lean against my front door, closing my eyes.

I’m in trouble. Deep trouble. Because every time I’m near Caspian, I catch hints of his addictive scent of coffee and vanilla. Pure sunshine and warmth. And tonight, with him wearing my clothes, smelling like me…

But Caspian deserves better than someone still haunted by past relationships, someone who hooks up anonymously in Burlington because he’s too scared to open his heart again.

I need to keep my distance. For both our sakes.

Too bad my heart doesn’t seem to be listening.

Despite the late hour, sleep feels impossible. My mind keeps circling back to Caspian—his laugh, his warmth pressed against me on the ice, the way my coat swallowed his smaller frame. With a frustrated groan, I head to my workshop in the garage.

The familiar scent of sawdust and wood greets me as I flip on the lights. This space has always been my sanctuary, where I can quiet my thoughts by focusing on creating something with my hands. Tonight, I need that more than ever.

My eyes land on the maple wood I salvaged two years ago. I’d found it after a storm, a fallen tree too beautiful to let go to waste. I’ve been waiting for the right project, letting it season properly, and now I know exactly what it’s meant to be.

I run my hand along the smooth grain. The wood is perfect—rich with character and warm tones that will complement the exposed brick walls of Special Blend.

I grab my sketchbook and start planning. The bookcase needs to be sturdy enough to hold plenty of books but elegant enough to match Caspian’s vision for his bookstore corner. I picture him arranging romance novels on it, his face lighting up the way it does when he talks about his plans.

The design flows easily. Clean lines with subtle decorative elements that echo the maple leaves in the town’s logo. It feels right, like the wood has been waiting for this purpose.

I lose myself in the work, measuring and cutting with careful precision. The rhythmic sawing helps quiet the voice in my head that keeps thinking about Caspian.

Hours pass as I shape the wood, each piece coming together exactly as I envisioned. Dawn is breaking by the time I set down my tools. The basic frame is complete. My back aches from bending over the workbench, but it’s the good kind of pain that comes from creating something meaningful.

Looking at the partially finished bookcase, I realize maybe I’m in deeper trouble than I thought. Because even though I barely know Caspian it already feels like this isn’t just about physical attraction anymore. This is about wanting to make Caspian smile, wanting to be part of his dream, wanting…

What is it about him?

I shut down my thoughts hard. It doesn’t matter what I want. I learned my lesson with Addy—sometimes love isn’t enough, and what seems perfect can shatter in an instant.

But as I clean up my workshop, all I can think about are the next steps for the bookcase.

The morning light is harsh on my tired eyes as I drive to work. My thoughts are fuzzy from lack of sleep, but my hands still tingle with the memory of working the maple, of creating something special for Caspian.

Amelia’s already at her desk when I walk into the office, her usual cheerful smile fading as she takes in my appearance. “You look like hell, Nate.”

“Thanks,” I mutter, making a beeline for the coffee maker.

She follows me, concern etched on her face. “Did you sleep at all?”

“Got caught up in the workshop.” I pour coffee into my mug, avoiding her knowing gaze.

“The workshop?” Her voice sharpens. “Nate, the last time you pulled an all-nighter in there was when…”

“This isn’t like that,” I cut her off, perhaps too quickly. “I just… I’m working on a project.”

“A project.” She crosses her arms, unconvinced. “The kind of project that keeps you up all night after spending the evening with your new neighbor?”

I nearly spill my coffee. “How did you?—”

“Small town,” she reminds me with a slight smile. “My friend from goat yoga works at the ice rink. And you know she has a crush on you. Said you were teaching someone to skate last night. Someone wearing your coat.”

I grunt noncommittally and take a long sip of coffee.

“Nate.” Her voice softens. “It’s okay to move on, you know. Addy also wants?—”

“I’ve got reports to file,” I interrupt, retreating to my office before she can finish that thought. Because this isn’t about Addy. This is about protecting myself—and Caspian—from whatever this thing between us might become.

But as I stare at my computer screen, all I can think about is the half-finished bookcase waiting in my workshop and the way Caspian’s eyes might light up when he sees it.