Chapter Fifteen #3
The cottage was quiet when Rhys climbed the stairs. He paused outside Catriona’s room, faint light spilling through the crack in the door. He could hear her moving around.
He hesitated a moment, then knocked lightly against the frame. “Cat?”
The sounds stopped. After a heartbeat, she called, “Come in.”
He opened the door but stopped in the threshold. Her big suitcase lay open on the floor, half full, sweaters folded neatly, books stacked to one side, her laptop charger coiled beside a pair of worn jeans, while she sat cross-legged on the bed holding a scarf.
Something in his chest tightened. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected—perhaps that she’d stay until the New Year, or that the cottage would somehow feel unchanged. But the sight of her packing hit harder than he could explain.
He drew a breath. “What are your plans?”
She smoothed the scarf. “I’ll head back to London tomorrow.”
“You’ll see your roommate?”
“Sarah, although, not right away. She’s in Ireland with her family for New Year’s.”
He leaned a shoulder against the doorframe. “But you’ll see her before you head back to Michigan?”
“That’s the plan.”
He nodded but nothing felt right. There was too much space between them. “Good,” he said finally, his voice rougher than he intended. “That’ll be … good for you.”
“I think so.”
He wanted to say something else, something that would make all of this less formal, less final, but the words wouldn’t come.
He glanced at the suitcase again. “I’ll take you to the station in the morning—”
“I can manage.”
“I will do it. Just let me know the time.” He stepped back, the old wood of the floor creaking beneath his weight. “Goodnight, Cat.”
“Goodnight, Rhys.”
He closed the door behind him and stood in the narrow hallway for a long moment, his hand still resting on the doorknob. This wasn’t how Christmas was supposed to end. This wasn’t how he thought any of it would go.
The girls were gone and soon Cat would leave, too.
*
The sound woke her first—not rain, exactly, but sleet, a sharp, relentless tapping against the roof, the kind of morning that turned the world to gray glass. Cat lay still, listening, until she caught the low creak of floorboards and the kettle whistling below.
When she came into the kitchen, Rhys was standing at the window, wearing one of his old sweatshirts, thick and oversized, watching the sleet whip sideways across the yard.
“It’s pretty awful at the moment,” he said, glancing at her. “You can’t travel in that. The roads will be skating rinks.”
She smiled—small, quick—and nodded as though it was only common sense. “I suppose we’ll wait it out.” What she wanted him to say was Stay. Or even, don’t go.
But at least there was a reprieve, and for now, that was enough.
He poured coffee into two mugs and handed her one.
The warmth seeped through her fingers, a comfort she didn’t want to surrender.
They took their places near the hearth, the fire a low, steady crackle.
For a while, they spoke of nothing—weather, travel times, the girls’ flight.
Ordinary words, but under them ran a quiet hum of everything unspoken.
When the silence stretched too long, Rhys rose and crossed to the sideboard. “I think there’s an old chess set somewhere,” he murmured.
He opened a drawer and held it up—battered box, mismatched pieces. “You still remember how?”
“I might surprise you.”
“Nothing you do surprises me anymore.”
“What does that mean?” she asked.
“You’re beautiful, but it’s your mind that turns me on.”
Cat blushed and laughed and then cleared her throat because she didn’t know what else to do, in part because that turned her on.
Rhys set the board between them, and their hands brushed as they arranged the pieces. The sleet drummed harder. “White or black?” he asked.
“Does it matter?”
He looked at her then—really looked—and for a moment she thought he might finally say what neither of them dared. But he only smiled, the corner of his mouth lifting in that familiar way that still undid her.
“Then you go first,” he said softly.
And so she did, moving a single pawn forward, wishing she could slow the game, the day, the leaving.
Time passed, a cocoon of warmth that bound them together even as the fire burned down to a steady glow, logs collapsing softly in the grate.
The board between them looked ancient, squares faded to a dull honey and smoke-black.
One of the pawns was a button; another, a thimble.
Cat nudged her pawn another square. “I’m beginning to realize this is hopeless. You’ve got all the heavy artillery.”
“That’s because I plan ahead,” he said, lips curving, creases fanning from his eyes. “You play by instinct.”
“Instinct’s underrated.”
“Instinct gets you into trouble.”
“Sometimes trouble’s worth it.”
His gaze lifted, locking with hers, heat sparking between them. “You planning to test that theory again.”
She moved her bishop, deliberately careless. “Depends on the weather forecast.”
His laugh was a low sexy rumble. “Forecast says storms till morning. Maybe longer.”
Her heart gave that inconvenient little twist. “How tragic.”
“Tragic,” he echoed, leaning back, “or convenient?”
She couldn’t resist his smile, but then, she couldn’t really resist him. “Depends who you ask.”
For a while, they played without words, but when her fingers brushed his as they both reached for the same piece, neither of them pulled away. The game moved more slowly after that.
“Where are you on your book?” she asked, after a few moments of quiet play.
“I’m emailing what I have out tomorrow. Hoping it’s enough, at least for now. They wanted a detailed outline and three chapters. I’m sending the outline and six.”
“Overachiever,” she teased. “Knight to F5.”
“Terrible move.”
She grinned. “Maybe I’m ready for the game to end.”
He moved a rook without looking up. “What would we do then?”
“I’m sure there’s something we could do indoors…”
He looked at her then, the air between them suddenly charged. “I am listening.”
“I will need to go when the weather clears but you said it could be a few days.
“Will most definitely be a few days.”
Their eyes held steady, and she felt the pulse in her throat beat hard enough to make her breath shallow.
“Your move,” he said, voice husky.
Cat felt as if she was on fire, her pulse too fast, her skin too sensitive. She moved a piece but wasn’t paying attention anymore.
Rhys moved his piece, slowly, and the scrape of wood on wood was louder than it should have been.
“What about your job applications?” he asked finally, tone softer.
“I’ll keep an eye on them. I can work from here as easily as anywhere else.”
“So, you’re saying it’s practical.”
“I’m saying,” she murmured, “that there’s no sense rushing out into a storm.”
“And I used to be the sensible one.”
Cat moved her queen forward, feigning focus. “Can’t we both be sensible?”
He sat very still, the flicker of firelight catching in his eyes. “Stay.”
It wasn’t a command, nor even a plea, just the truth, laid bare between them.
Her breath caught. “You’re making it rather difficult for me to go.”
“That’s the whole point.”
For a long moment, neither moved.
Then Cat nudged her queen one square farther. “Check.”
He studied the board for so long she thought he might not answer. Then he reached for his king, fingers brushing hers as he shifted it aside to break the check. The touch was nothing, really—a simple, accidental thing—but her breath caught just the same.
“Still safe,” he murmured, but his eyes weren’t on the board.
“Not for long,” she said. Her voice was softer now, almost unsteady.
The fire snapped, sending a spray of sparks up the chimney. The icy rain still pinged against the windows. He looked down, then back up at her. “You’re not bad at this game.”
“Thank you. Such a compliment!”
The corner of his mouth lifted, creases fanned from his eyes. “Are you going to be okay staying here with me for another day?”
“I’ve survived this long, haven’t I?”
“But we’re alone now, and that changes things.”
She looked into his eyes and smiled, her body treacherously warm. “A little.”
“But you’re sticking with your plans? You’re still going back to London as soon as the weather improves.”
“Yes.”
“And then you’re going to Michigan after you see Sarah.”
“Correct.”
“We have both finished most of our work,” he added.
She nodded. “Just minor things now, minimal time on computers.”
“Which means we’d have a lot of time … together … on our hands.”
“Danger.” Her queen hovered above the next square. “Now tell me the downside of my staying?”
He met her eyes then, steady and unguarded. “If I don’t want you to leave now, I really won’t want you to leave later. You know I’ll use this time to try to convince you to stay.”
The piece slipped from her fingers, landing with a quiet thud. “You’ll be disappointed then,” she said, voice low.
For a few moments, neither spoke.
When Cat finally moved, she reached for his hand, not a chess piece. “Maybe it’s better for us not to … take risks. Being hurt isn’t fun.”
“And yet we have now.” His fingers curled around hers. “We can navigate this.”
“Can we? How?”
“We just be us, and don’t get too far ahead of ourselves.” He turned his palm upward, letting her fingers settle into his. “What do you think?”
“I think … I don’t want to think. I just want to enjoy being here.”
They moved easily through the evening, making dinner together, sharing the small space as if they always cooked together.
Cat chopped vegetables while he cooked the steaks, making a red wine sauce for the side.
Every now and then, their shoulders brushed—a small thing, accidental, but each touch lingered a little longer than it should have.
They ate by the fire; plates balanced on their laps. The lovely dinner, the glass of red wine, and the warmth of the fire seeped into her bones, making her feel calmer than she had in weeks.