8. Shay
Chapter 8
Shay
I wake to the warmth of a body next to mine, an unfamiliar but comforting weight that keeps the early morning chill at bay. Henry’s there, his breathing deep and even, the rise and fall of his chest against my back a steady rhythm. My heart does this little skip-jump thing it has no business doing. This isn’t supposed to feel this… safe.
“Morning,” he murmurs, voice gravelly with sleep as I turn to face him, gray eyes half-lidded but fixed on mine. “Regretting it yet?”
His question lingers between us, carrying a weight I can’t ignore. I turn toward him, meeting those eyes that remind me of steel—intense, unyielding. But last night? Last night was different. Last night, that steel turned molten, and for a while, there was only us.
“Can’t say I do,” I reply, honesty making my voice strong. “Last night was…” My words trail off because “beautiful” feels too small, too simple for what we shared.
He nods, a smile touching his lips before he leans in and plants a kiss on my forehead. It’s tender, a contradiction to the roughness of his hands, the calloused touch that never failed to make my skin tingle as he took me twice more in the night. I close my eyes briefly, memorizing the sensation of his lips on my skin, a momentary pause before reality comes rushing back.
“Need to check on the animals,” he says, pushing himself up.
That’s when we notice the wind howling like a pack of wild coyotes, the darkness pressing against the windowpane as if trying to get inside.
We untangle from the sheets, two figures shuffling toward the window. Pulling the curtains aside reveals a world turned white, the blizzard outside swallowing everything in a fury of snow. Six feet, at least. Maybe more. The ranch is buried under a thick blanket, the barn barely visible through the onslaught.
“Wow,” I whisper, my breath crystallizing in the frozen air between us.
“Didn’t see this one coming,” Henry grumbles, scratching at the stubble shadowing his jaw. “The world has decided to freeze over.”
“Looks like it wants us stuck together.” My attempt at humor earns me a glance, and I shrug, feigning nonchalance. Is he regretting last night? “I’ll make some breakfast.”
“We’ll need the energy,” he agrees, already pulling on his sweatpants. “After we eat, I’ll see if I can dig us out. Get a path to the barn cleared. The animals should be okay, but I’d like to check on them if I can.”
“Can they wait?” I ask, already picturing the snow up to my waist or higher.
“They’ve got feed and shelter,” Henry assures me. “They’ll hold. For now.”
Kitchen duty calls. I hum as I pull eggs and bacon from the fridge, the familiar motions grounding me. The skillet sizzles and the aroma of cooking food fills the space, a domestic scene starkly at odds with the chaos brewing beyond the walls.
Henry reappears, dressed and ready for battle against Mother Nature, but he doesn’t head for the door. Instead, he leans against the kitchen counter, coffee mug in hand, watching me flip pancakes. His gaze is heavy, intense, like he’s seeing me for the first time all over again. The weight of his stare sends a flush creeping up my neck.
“Good morning to start anew, huh?” I say, breaking the silence, serving up more cheerfulness than I feel. Last night changed everything for me. Did it do the same for him, or is he retreating behind his walls again?
“Every morning’s a new start,” he replies with a half-smirk, taking the plate I offer him.
“Guess we’re learning that the hard way.” My laugh is a nervous tinkle, like ice cracking on a pond.
Henry’s thumb swipes over his phone screen with a frown that’s become as familiar to me as the back of my hand.
“No messages, so far,” he mutters, then starts texting. Moments later, the device buzzes in his palm, and his eyes scan the message.
“Looks like Dad and the boys are stuck in town. They didn’t see this storm coming, either.” Henry pockets the phone.
“Can’t say I’m too upset about it,” I admit, a small smile curving my lips. The prospect of being alone with him, us against the snow, sends an unexpected thrill through me.
He raises an eyebrow but doesn’t comment on my confession. Instead, he busies himself by pulling on boots, preparing for the snowy onslaught outside.
I turn back to the stove. “Guess we’ve got some time to figure things out,” I say, more to the frying pan than to him. My hands shake slightly as I pour batter into the skillet. It’s not the cold making me tremble.
“Yep. You, me, and whatever Mother Nature throws at us.” His voice is steady, a contrast to my jumbled thoughts.
There’s a pause, both of us feeling the weight of what’s unsaid between us.
I rummage through a drawer, pulling out a carefully wrapped package. “I got you something in town last week,” I say, handing him the Christmas gift, my heart thumping loudly in my ears. “I should wait until tomorrow, but I’m impatient. I hope you like it.”
His eyes widen as he takes the quilt from me. It’s a wedding ring pattern, something I picked out when things between us were less complicated. I bite my lip, watching for any sign of discomfort.
“Shay, this is…” He unfolds the quilt, revealing interlocking rings of fabric, “really something.”
“Too much?” My words tumble out quicker than I can stop them.
“No, no. It’s thoughtful. Thank you.” His smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes, and I know he feels it, too, the shift in our dynamic.
“Let’s eat,” I say, trying to brush off the tension. I pile pancakes onto plates, the golden stacks a stark contrast to the white world outside.
“Thanks,” he says, taking a seat at the table.
We eat in silence, nerves and newness filling the space between us. Love was supposed to be a pain, not worth the trouble, or so we told ourselves. But as I catch his eye across the table, there’s no denying that we’re falling, and falling hard.
“Snowed in with you…” I start, my cheeks flushing with embarrassment and anticipation.
“Could be worse,” he replies, his grin genuine this time.
“Could definitely be worse,” I agree, warmth spreading through me despite the cold outside.
I glance sideways at him, wondering what he’s thinking. His gaze isn’t on his plate of food—it’s on me. There’s a weight to it, an intensity that makes my stomach flutter despite myself.
“Need more syrup?” I ask, trying to keep things normal. Normal? What’s that anymore?
“Sure,” he says, but when I walk over to get the new bottle of syrup and take it to him, he sets his coffee down and surprises me by pulling me onto his lap.
“Whoa, there, cowboy,” I say, nearly dropping the syrup before placing it on the table. My heart does this awkward little dance that seems to echo the jittery beat of the wind outside.
“Sorry, couldn’t help myself,” he murmurs, lips grazing my earlobe and sending shivers down my spine that have nothing to do with the cold.
“Clearly,” I joke, wrapping my arms around his neck. This feels like so much more than a thank-you-for-the-pancakes hug. It’s like we’re acknowledging something has shifted without having to spell it out.
His hands settle on my waist, firm and steady, like an anchor amid a restless tide. His breath is warm against my neck, his presence comforting in a way I didn’t think was possible. I forget the snow, the cold, the reason we’re even here. There’s only Henry and how he makes me feel like I’ve finally found somewhere I belong.
I kiss him, and it’s like taking a sip of champagne—effervescent and intoxicating. He responds with an eagerness that tells me he’s as caught up in this flurry of emotions as I am. His lips are warm and sure, a contradiction to the guarded man I’ve come to know. It’s like he’s letting me in, piece by piece, without saying a word.
“Shay,” he starts, his voice rough like he’s about to say something important.
“Shh, don’t,” I whisper against his lips. “Let’s not think right now.”
“Right now” turns into a moment that stretches out, warm and sweet as maple syrup. His thumbs brush over my nipples through the fabric of my sweatshirt, sending tingles straight to my toes. We should eat, or he should be getting to the barn, but neither of us moves to break this spell.
Suddenly, he stands, lifting me with him, and the plate lies forgotten on the table. His boots echo in the quiet house, a punctuation mark to the decision being made without words. We’re heading back to my bedroom, clothes peeling away to litter the hallway floor.
It’s not just about need this time. It’s an admission, a silent confession of something deeper. As we tumble back into bed, I give in—not to Henry, but to this crazy, unexpected love blooming inside me despite all the reasons I had sworn not to.
For the first time in my life, I’m not thinking about escape or what comes next. I’m here with Henry, and it’s exactly where I’m supposed to be.