Chapter Ten
Nico
I shook the ginger, nutmeg, and cinnamon into the bowl with more gusto than necessary. I had called him daddy when I found myself plastered against his body this morning. The word came out of my mouth, as naturally as good morning.
He’d said nothing about it. Had he heard me? He’d seemed to be asleep, but, which was more frustrating—the fact that I couldn’t bring myself to tell him I was a little or him acting like nothing happened. Either way, I was taking it out on the ingredients for my gingerbread pancakes.
“Whatever you’re making, it smells fantastic.
” Paxton came to stand beside me. His presence calmed me even though there was tension between us.
I had the griddle heating up and some molasses with cinnamon sticks warming on the back burner.
All that was left was to mix the batter, let it rest, and cook them up.
“Gingerbread pancakes.”
He chuckled, nudging my shoulder with his. “You used to stock up on gingerbread cookies during the holidays and eat them all year.”
I laughed. Couldn’t believe he remembered that. “I did until I got sick of them. Now I make the pancakes instead.”
“Anything I can help with?”
Telling me you want to be my daddy? “No, I think I have it covered.”
Once the pancakes and coffee were done, we sat down to eat. I didn’t remember Pax being a huge fan of gingerbread, but he finished off a short stack and went back for more. The cold weather burned a bunch of calories, and he had gotten chilled the day before. He needed food to catch up.
“Do you have plans today? I mean, we can’t leave yet but…”
I looked at my phone, needing my to-do list as a guide. “I was supposed to start painting walls today. On the other cabins.”
“Can I help?”
Immediately, a shot of concern seized my muscles. I didn’t want him to get out in the snow and cold and scare me again. Then again, two hands would be better than one with painting. With any task, really. And Pax was here anyway. He would get bored staying here in the cabin by himself.
The real reason I was considering letting him paint with me? I didn’t know what would happen after the snow melted—after this storm. Paxton might reject me. He might not feel the way I do about him regardless of the signs I’d been getting.
“You want to paint rooms?” I asked.
“If you’re painting rooms, I want to paint rooms,” he said. Oh, my heart. These were the things I would remember if I ever got up the nerve to tell him about my other side—the side I let slip earlier that morning.
“Then we are painting. I have some sweats you can wear that already have paint on them so you don’t ruin any of your clothes.”
“Sounds good. This breakfast was incredible. You are spoiling me. At this point, I hope the snow never lets up.”
A little could hope. “Same here. It’s been really good reconnecting with you.” Oops. I let a bit of my corporate speak come out.
“Okay. Let’s get to it before I decide to be lazy and sit in front of the fire all day.”
We dressed in my work clothes, since he hadn’t brought anything he’d want paint splattered on. Just a hoodie and sweatpants but damn, they looked good on him.
We could probably make it to the nearest building, which I intended to name something trendy or at least more welcoming, but I figured those would come once I had everything finished.
“If you think of any cute names for these cabins, let me know. I wanted something more than A and B or one and two. Something cute. Seasonal maybe?”
“I’ll think about it.” While we worked our way over, he mumbled, “Seasonal. Cabins. Inviting. Welcoming. Cute.”
Paxton was the cutest of them all. If we had lost power, this project would have had to be put off because painting in sub-freezing temperatures was a bad idea, and I didn’t have the woodstove stocked there.
Fortunately, we soon had the electric heater glowing and the temperature rose enough to make the work possible.
I revealed the paint color. A forest green.
I wanted each cabin to have its own theme.
This one was going to be nature. I had a forest mural for the bedroom planned.
The four-poster bed was constructed of locally sourced logs and built by a local artisan.
“What was your breaking point?” Paxton asked, stopping mid-stroke He was better than me at painting walls and taught me how to do the W pattern for better coverage.
“Breaking point?”
“Yeah. What made you come out here? Buy cabins and land in the middle of nowhere and basically start over? I never heard you talk about anything like this.”
I stopped painting and turned to him. “I woke up one day and realized everything in my life was robotic or maybe artificial. Using coffee to keep me awake. Working under fluorescent lights in an office that I hated. Emails. Meetings that could be handled with one of those emails. My eyes burning at the end of the day from staring at a screen. Suits I hated wearing. More coffee. Netflix to numb my mind at the end of the day. Sleep. Repeat. Life was living me instead of me living a full and happy life.”
I could tell by Pax’s face that some of what I said resonated with him.
He’d stopped painting and stared at me with those dark-brown eyes.
I knew he was caught up in that world too, but just because I’d broken away from it didn’t mean he wanted to or would ever live this life that I’d chosen for myself.
This place was a lot of work, and it would be even more work once I started taking reservations. There would be complaints, and the repairs would never end. People would cancel last minute. Problems would occur. My phone would ring in the middle of the night.
The worst problem?
This might not work at all. There was a chance I’d poured my heart, soul, and savings account into this place and would never get a reservation. I hoped that wasn’t the case, but life threw curveballs sometimes.
“Corporate life fits some people but it didn’t fit me anymore.”
“I feel that way sometimes as well. Like a robot. Going through the motions, but nothing has any meaning.”
I nodded. “I get it. I do. I need to say something about what happened this morning.”
Paxton cocked his head. Like he had no idea what I was talking about, but the hint of a smile on his face said otherwise. “What about it?”
“I’m sorry for…invading your space like that. I didn’t do it on purpose. I fell asleep on the opposite side of the couch and then I must’ve gravitated your way while we were sleeping. I’m sorry.”
I left out the part where I accidentally called him Daddy.
He walked over and brushed his knuckles along my cheekbone. “I didn’t mind waking up with you on my chest, Nico. Not one bit.”
“Oh. Okay.”
Our mouths were only a breath away. My gaze dipped to his lips and I was deep in danger of grabbing the front of his shirt and pulling him to me for a kiss I’d dreamed about for years and years.
His chest heaved with shallow breaths.
My heart beat so hard, I was sure the sound would overpower the storm raging outside.
“There’s something else,” he whispered.
“What?”
“I liked it when you called me Daddy as well. I thought you should know.”
Every muscle in my body released the tension they had been holding since that morning.
He liked it? Did that mean what I thought it meant?
“You…it was all right that I called you Daddy?” I had to hear his words again. All this angst I’d held onto harder than Oscar. I had to know.