Chapter 5
Burnt Bacon And Sunshine Smiles
After being woken up in the middle of the night and the stilted exchanges that followed, I was more certain than ever that Noelle’s stay had to be short-lived.
However, after hours of restless tossing and turning, the sun rises, the wind still howling outside the cabin, and the snow continues to fall in thick sheets.
Early forecasts promised a short storm, but they were wrong. Which means I’m saddled with my uninvited houseguest until further notice.
Did seeing her huddled by the hearth, shivering with trembling fingers as she tried to coax a fire to life, nag at my guilty conscience?
Maybe. Or was it that she only had the thin throw Birdie had sent me last year?
A little. The most alarming part? I hit the sack without a second thought for my guest until I heard her moving around the living room and bolted like a dog called to heel.
There’s no valid excuse for how I acted. I was irritated by her unexpected arrival, and my only concern was keeping her from freezing in the storm. Not that it helped much, seeing as she nearly became an ice sculpture in my living room, thanks to my indifference.
What made me even more of a jerk was that while she stood there shivering, my eyes kept drifting to her silk top and shorts that left little to the imagination, showing off every curve and the swells of her breasts.
I had hoped that lending her clothes would be a simple solution to ease my conscience, but I was wrong.
The sight of her in my flannel and sweats was disarmingly intoxicating.
And just when I thought it couldn’t get worse, I found out she’s twenty years younger than me.
God, I’m old enough to be her dad, yet I was painfully aware of how tempting she was—every torturous sway of her hips and each sassy comment from her smart mouth.
I consider sneaking through my window to hide in the woodshop I have behind the cabin to avoid Noelle, when a loud crash echoes from the kitchen, making me bolt upright in bed.
God, what trouble is that city girl getting herself into now?
She may be pretty, but she sure is a handful.
After quickly getting dressed, I leave my room, halting in my tracks when I see the state of the kitchen.
Noelle stands at the stove, her cheeks and hair streaked with flour.
Bowls and mixing cups litter the counter, and every surface is dusted with sugar.
Pans are stacked precariously high in the sink, and the floor is a patchwork of spills.
It looks as if a tornado tore through the place.
I drag my hand across my mouth, taking in the chaos. “God, this place is a disaster.”
“Oh good, you’re awake.” Noelle beams, oblivious to my sour mood.
“I just finished your breakfast. You should eat before it gets cold.” She pulls a plate from the cupboard and sets it on the only free space on the counter.
“I hope you don’t mind that I used the kitchen.
When I woke up and saw that the snow was still falling, I wanted to do something nice to thank you for putting up with me for a little longer.
I promise I’ll leave as soon as the storm lets up.
” She tugs her bottom lip between her teeth.
The biting comments I’d prepared dissipate before I can form the words. I might’ve told her she could only stay until morning, but is she genuinely worried I’ll send her out into the raging storm?
The kitchen’s a mess, but she meant well by doing something nice. Another mark on my growing guilty conscience. Reckon I could be less of an ass, given her situation. She expected to spend the holidays alone, enjoying the sun, not being stuck with a cranky man for who knows how long.
“You can stay until the storm passes,” I assure her.
Her face visibly relaxes, and she gives me a big smile. “I really appreciate it.” She motions to the table in the corner. “Take a seat. I’ll bring your food over.”
I do as she asks, sitting on one of the barstools, and seconds later, she puts a plate in front of me with several strips of bacon and a stack of pancakes drizzled with syrup.
“I hope everything tastes okay.” She shoots me a wary gaze as she wrings her hands.
“I made my famous homemade hot chocolate and whipped up banana-cinnamon pancakes. I used what you had on hand and a few things I brought, but I didn’t have a recipe for those, so I improvised.
Oh, and I totally forgot to flip the bacon while mixing the batter, so it might be extra crispy. ”
Judging by the blackened edges, crispy is an understatement. And the pancakes look dense enough to double as hockey pucks. I stab one with my fork and take a bite. The texture is chewy, full of lumps of cinnamon and banana chunks that stick to my teeth, but I swallow it anyway.
Noelle lingers nearby, watching me with a hopeful expression, so I offer a tight smile.
“They’re good,” I choke out.
She lets out a shaky sigh of relief. “Phew. I’m so glad. I usually eat frozen dinners or order takeout, so I’m not much of a cook.”
If anyone else had made these pancakes, I’d have told them they were shit and thrown the things away.
But I can’t bring myself to do that—not with Noelle looking at me with pride shining in her doe eyes.
So I do the only logical thing I can and take another big bite, chasing it down with the steaming cup of hot chocolate she left on the table.
Surprisingly, it’s delicious, with a touch of vanilla and peppermint.
It seems holiday drinks are her specialty—breakfast, not so much.
“Your hot cocoa is really good,” I say between sips.
“It’s a family recipe,” she beams.
I frown when I glance around and notice she hasn’t set a place for herself. “Aren’t you going to eat?”
“I could only find a small pan, so I made yours first. I was going to make some for myself before I shower, if that’s okay.” There she goes again, making me feel like an asshole for how short I was with her last night.
“That’s fine.” I look past her, spotting a banana and the cinnamon jar, sparking an idea. “Why don’t you shower now, and I’ll make the second batch?”
She rears back, eyes widening. “Oh no, I couldn’t ask you to do that.”
“It’s no problem,” I say, waving her off. “You made me breakfast. Flipping a few pancakes is the least I can do.”
I’d rather tell her it’s nonnegotiable, but I doubt she’d respond well to that approach. She already thinks I’m a jerk, so I’ll have to find a more subtle approach if I want my way.
Noelle glances back at me as she moves dirty dishes from the counter to the sink. “Are you sure?”
“I am.”
She nods slowly, still hesitant, but doesn’t argue. “Okay, but I’ll clean this mess when I’m finished,” she states.
“Sounds good.”
I only say it to placate her. I have every intention of handling the cleanup, but there’s no point in arguing.
After I finish my hockey puck pancakes and crispy bacon, I go to my room to grab Noelle another pair of sweats and a long-sleeved flannel.
I intercept her as she’s walking to the bathroom, toiletries in hand.
“What’s this?” She motions to the clothes.
“Reckoned you’d want something clean to wear.”
“Oh, thank you.” She takes the pile, tucking them under her arm. “I was just going to wear what you gave me last night.”
I grunt. “It’s nothing.”
I’m not doing it to be nice—it’s a practical decision. If she stays warm, she won’t wear that skimpy sleep set again, and my self-control might stand a fighting chance.
Noelle’s eyes twinkle as she smiles. “Regardless, I’m grateful.” She ducks her head, darting around me toward the bathroom.
Once the door clicks shut behind her, I go back to the kitchen to start on a fresh batch of pancake batter.
I don’t want Noelle to taste her cooking and feel bad for serving it.
At least one of us deserves a proper breakfast, and it should be her since she’s had to put up with me since she got here.
It’s another practical choice, not a noble gesture.
After tending to the animals in the barn, I retreated to my workshop located behind the cabin.
It’s a one-room building I use for woodworking with sawdust covering the floor, shelves lined with planes and chisels, and the scent of pine lingering permanently in the air.
There’s a workbench set up in the middle, cluttered with my current project—a nearly finished rocking chair for my friend Casey and his wife Amy.
Casey’s been my friend since high school. He manages High Noon, the honky-tonk I own in town. It used to be a barn for milk cows, but when the local dairy farm went out of business twenty years ago, I bought the place and turned it into Pine Haven’s top attraction.
Last month, when I stopped by to do payroll, Casey was looking online for a rocking chair to get Amy for Christmas.
They’re expecting their first baby, and she wants a handcrafted rocking chair to match the woodland theme of their nursery.
The prices were so absurd that I offered to build one.
Usually, I sell the furniture I make at the consignment store in town, but I enjoy the occasional special project.
Although this one is bittersweet, a reminder of everything I wanted but don’t have.
I always dreamed of having a wife and a bunch of kids of my own.
I once believed my ex and I would have it all, but lately, I’ve accepted the possibility of being alone forever, watching friends and acquaintances create the life I wanted while I stand by empty-handed.
I pause my sanding when there’s a tentative knock on the door. Glancing out the window, I realize darkness has settled over the sky, and I’ve spent the whole afternoon out here.
“Come in,” I holler.
Noelle pokes her head inside. She’s practically swallowed by one of my coats and wearing boots I’d let her borrow earlier, for when she had to go outside since she didn’t pack any practical footwear.
“I hope I’m not intruding,” she says softly.