Chapter 15 Caleb
Caleb
“Hey, bud,” I say, looking in the rearview mirror at Sam. “Remember Benji’s sister Emma will be there this weekend too. So let’s make sure everyone’s included, okay?”
He groans. “But, Dad, she’s little. She probably won’t want to race.” He pouts.
“She’s six, which is only a couple of years younger than you. Not that little, according to you when you were that age,” I remind him, parking the car in the lot Nash and I agreed to meet in. “And I’m guessing she can keep up if she’s anything like her brother.”
“Fine,” Sam says, already unbuckling his seatbelt and reaching for the door handle before I’ve even turned the engine off.
A couple minutes later, Nash’s SUV pulls in a few spots down from where we parked, and the second I see him, my nerves pick up.
If this were anyone else catching feelings this fast, I’d probably roll my eyes and say there’s no way you can fall for someone that hard that fast. But here I am, fully invested after one weekend in the mountains, a mutual phone jerk off conversation, and a lunch date.
The second the car’s parked, Benji hops out of the car, and Nash opens the door behind him to get Emma. She’s a little smaller, bundled like a marshmallow in a purple coat with braids poking out from under her hat. She waves at us, and I melt a little on sight at how cute she is.
“Sam!” Benji yells, running over to us.
“Hi, Sam!” she echoes from next to her dad.
Sam glances at me, then waves back. “Hi.”
Nash and Emma walk over to us. “Don’t worry, little man. She’s tiny but fierce,” he says to Sam who smiles at him.
When Nash reaches me, he pulls me into a hug. His arms wrap around me tightly, and I sink into him as my cheek brushes his maroon jacket.
“I wish I could kiss you right now,” he murmurs into my ear, and same.
I pull back slightly to look at him, and his bright blue eyes meet mine. I swallow, suddenly aware of how close our faces still are. “Me too,” I say quietly. “Later.”
He nods, squeezing my arm once before letting go. “I promise.”
Even though we’re spending the weekend together with our kids, I don’t want to kiss Nash in front of Sam.
Especially without talking to him about it first. Once we know more about what this is, then I’ll have that conversation with him.
But for right now, all he needs to know is that we’re here to spend another weekend with our new friends.
Sam’s mom walked out when he was three, and even now, years later, there are days when he asks why she didn’t want to stay. I’ve spent every day since trying to make him feel safe and secure again. The last thing he needs is to get attached to someone who might not stick.
Even if I desperately want Nash to stick.
Even if I have a gut feeling Nash will stick.
That’s why it makes sense for us to do something “for the kids” because as much as I want to chase this feeling, I won’t let it cost Sam his sense of safety. Not unless I know—for sure—that it’s going to last.
We focus on getting the kids dressed and ready, then ourselves, and once everyone is bundled with their boots on and skis and poles in hand, we head toward the lifts.
Emma sticks close to Benji and Sam, who are already planning what they want to do today, and it seems like the three of them will get along just fine.
The five of us head to the six-person chairlift, and it scoops us up. The snow from last weekend isn’t coating the trees anymore. It’s a blue sky, sunny day, and the snowcapped mountains that surround us are stunning as usual.
At the summit, the kids take off first—Benji leading, Sam right behind him, and Emma following like a tiny purple rocket. Nash and I trail, just like last weekend, and as I suspected, Emma is able to keep up with the boys.
“Wow, she’s amazing,” I call out to Nash.
He grins, watching her carve her way down with the boys. “She’s a show-off,” he says with pride. “But yeah, she’s pretty great. She can definitely hold her own when we’re out here with Benji.”
“I’m impressed, honestly.” Because for six, she’s really confident.
“She started when she was three. We were a bit nervous to start her that young, but since Benji was skiing, she wanted to be just like her brother. I spent a lot of time working with her those first two years. She picked it up pretty quickly. I think having Benji made her want to be better faster because he always complained about not wanting to wait.”
I can’t help but laugh as I shake my head at that. “Kids.”
“She might be younger than him, but they both challenge each other endlessly,” he says.
I smile, watching them zip along ahead of us, bundled up and fearless.
By the time we finish skiing for the day, I’m wiped out. My body is aching, and I’m dreaming of hot chocolate by the fireplace before being wrapped up by Nash in bed.
I’m following behind Nash as we drive down the windy, snowy roads toward our cabin. It’s only about ten minutes or so before Nash turns into a driveway. We approach a log cabin with a window wall and a large wraparound porch with Edison lights strung up. It’s beautiful and so very Colorado.
Nash parks, and I pull in right beside him.
He helps Emma out of the car before heading up the stairs to unlock the door.
Emma and Benji are grabbing their backpacks from the trunk, and Sam does the same, eager to get inside with them.
As soon as Nash opens the door, the kids barrel inside, and he walks back to his SUV.
I only have a duffle bag, so I grab that and walk over to see if Nash needs help with anything.
“Anything I can do?” I ask, coming up next to him as he’s shuffling through the trunk.
I see his eyes flick to the house and then back to me. “You can give me a kiss while the kids are out of sight.”
“Mmm, I can do that,” I say as I step closer to him. He pulls me in with his right arm and gives me a kiss. It’s not a peck, but it’s not a full-on earth-shattering makeout session either. Regardless, I can feel the passion behind it, and it only makes me look forward to tonight even more.
“Can you grab that grocery bag right there?” he requests when we pull apart, pointing to a reusable shopping bag.
“Sure thing.”
“Great, that should be all we need,” he confirms, pressing the button to shut the trunk before picking up the cooler and carrying it up the front steps as our boots crunch over the packed snow.
Inside, the cabin smells faintly of pine and wood smoke.
It’s small but thoughtfully laid out—as the floor plans showed—with an open kitchen, stone fireplace, and a long table in the dining room.
They’ve also put up a Christmas tree with red, white, and green bulbs and white lights.
It feels like the perfect touch to make this stay even more special.
As expected, the boys are already in the room with the bunks, and I bring our bags to the other room. It looks just like the photos with a white duvet and patterned pillows. I set my duffle and his backpack by the closet door in the room and make my way back to the kitchen to help Nash.
“Dad, did you bring my crayons?” Emma asks her dad as I round the corner of the kitchen.
“Sure did, check your backpack, I stuck them in there for you.”
“Yay!” she yells, hurrying to get them. A moment later, she has her coloring book open and starts filling in what looks like a penguin on ice skates.
Nash continues to unpack the cooler, and I rush over to help him with the bag I’ve set on the counter.
“Thank you again for planning all of this. It’s already been an incredible weekend,” I say as I pull out a head of garlic, a bundle of fresh rosemary, and a tiny bottle of olive oil from the bag he set on the counter.
“I needed more time with you, and another night with you even more,” he whispers.
“Oh yeah?” I raise an eyebrow, trying to sound playful, but inside I’m jittery with nerves in the best way. The anticipation of his hands on me tonight has goosebumps breaking out across my skin.
He flashes me a look that’s somehow both innocent and loaded, and we’re both well aware Emma is still at the kitchen table coloring, even if she is absorbed in her own world. “Yeah. But first, we cook.”
“Okay, let me get the fire started first to really set the vibe,” I say, already crossing the room toward the fireplace to take a moment to breathe.
I grab some of the kindling they left out and place a couple of small pieces of wood on top.
The kindling catches fast, and soon, with the addition of bigger pieces of wood, the flames catch and are crackling behind me.
I turn on the TV and click over to YouTube, searching for my favorite Christmas playlist.
“Are you a Christmas music guy or is this gonna drive you nuts in ten minutes?” I ask as I hover over a holiday classics playlist.
Nash shoots me a grin from where he’s chopping herbs at the counter. “Depends. If you start playing a country Christmas playlist, I’m walking out.”
I snort. “Okay, that’s fair.”
“I like the old stuff, though,” he adds, tilting his head toward the music I have queued up already. “This kind of thing is my favorite.”
That’s all the confirmation I need as I hit play.
“My mom used to put this kind of music on while she wrapped presents. She always said Bing Crosby made everything feel more festive.”
Nash hums. “That’s a nice memory. Even if it wasn’t all snowy, white Christmases.”
“Yeah,” I say softly. There’s a thread of curiosity in his voice I don’t miss, probably wondering what Christmas looked like for me growing up and my life in Missouri after the little I shared last week.
“So, how can I help? And what are you making?” I redirect the conversation as I step up next to him.
“Roasted garlic chicken and mashed potatoes,” he says, mincing fresh garlic.
“Do you always cook like this on ski weekends?” I ask, reaching for a knife so I can help chop.
“Only when I’m trying to impress someone,” he says without missing a beat.
“Oh, so this is your A game?” I bump my elbow into his side. “All for me?”
“And Sam, can’t forget him.”
“I could never.”
He leans in slightly, eyes still on the cutting board. “Don’t knock it. We’ll see how well it works on you tonight.” He winks. Then he brings his mouth right next to my ear as he whispers, “I bet it’ll have you begging for more, Cay.”
A full-body shiver runs through me at the low rasp of his voice, and I have to set the knife down before I accidentally cut myself. I take a deep, steadying breath, and when I turn to look at him, he’s already gone back to chopping.
This man.