Chapter 13
Harper
The fire crackles, sending warm ribbons of gold flickering across the ceiling. It’s the only light in the room, and somehow that makes everything feel closer. It seems intimate for two people pretending to be casual acquaintances sharing a bed.
Ethan lies perfectly still beside me, rigid on his back like he’s practicing for a lumberjack statue competition. I keep my eyes closed, breathing carefully, but sleep refuses to come. Probably because I can feel the heat of him, even two feet away.
My mind won’t settle. My chest is fluttery. My nerves are buzzing. And I need something — anything to distract myself. Chocolate. Chocolate is safe and reliable. Chocolate has never given me butterflies or broad shoulders.
Slowly, I slip out of bed, lifting the edge of the blanket like it’s woven from glass.
The cold air nips at my legs as I tiptoe to my suitcase.
I crouch down and gingerly pull out the little gift box I tossed in last-minute.
It’s wrapped in shiny cellophane. Cellophane that crackles like a megaphone announcing I’m up to something.
I freeze and hold my breath, waiting. Ethan doesn’t move. Okay. Good. He’s asleep … probably.
I try again — slower this time — peeling back the plastic inch by inch like a secret agent disarming a bomb. Crinkle. Crinkle-crinkle. I wince. Finally, it’s off. I exhale triumphantly, lift the lid, and pluck out a dark chocolate truffle. My mouth is practically watering.
I pop it in, close my eyes, and savor.
“Aren’t you going to share?”
I choke. Actually choke. The chocolate rolls to the back of my tongue and I cough so loudly I’m surprised the entire lodge doesn’t hear. I whirl toward the bed, face burning.
Ethan is propped on one elbow, the firelight painting his shoulders in molten gold. His hair is a little mussed. He looks unfairly gorgeous.
“Sorry,” he rumbles. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”
“You …” I wheeze. “You weren’t asleep?”
“No,” he says. “Hard to sleep with someone tiptoeing around like a guilty raccoon.”
“I was not.” I clamp my mouth shut. “Okay, fine. Maybe a little.”
His eyes flick to the box still clutched in my hands.
“What’s in there?”
“Chocolate,” I mumble.
He lifts one brow. “And you weren’t going to share.”
I swallow, wishing the floor would swallow me. “I thought you were asleep.”
“I wasn’t.” His voice drops. “And I like chocolate.”
Oh God. That heat inside me curls indecently. I walk back toward the bed, heart thudding so loud I’m sure he hears it. I sit gingerly on my side, holding out the box like a peace offering.
“Pick one,” I say. Ethan shifts closer. He reaches into the box, fingers brushing mine lightly. A spark leaps up my arm. He must feel it too, because he stills for half a second before selecting a chocolate. He brings it to his lips, pauses … and then looks directly at me as he bites into it.
I forget how to breathe. He chews slowly. Swallows. “Good.”
I nod way too fast. “They’re, um … high-quality.”
He glances at the box. “Let me guess, expensive?”
“Reasonably,” I lie.
He smirks. “Figured.”
I take another one, chocolate melting between my fingers.
Ethan watches the movement of my hand like it’s something intimate.
Something he shouldn’t look at but can’t help it.
And suddenly the room feels too warm. I lift the chocolate to my mouth.
He stops me gently with a hand, fingers wrapping softly around my wrist.
“Wait.”
My breath catches. “What?”
He leans in slow, hesitant, fighting it but failing and his voice drops to a murmur.
“You’ve got some on your lip.”
I freeze. “I do?”
“Yeah.”
He could tell me where it is. He could let me wipe it myself.
But he doesn’t. Ethan reaches up, thumb brushing the corner of my mouth.
He’s soft, careful and lingering. My pulse goes wild.
He inhales softly, thumb still on my skin, eyes searching mine like he’s looking for permission he doesn’t know how to ask for.
I whisper, “Ethan…”
He moves slowly at first. Then with quiet certainty. Our lips meet and then everything inside me melts. His hand slides to my jaw. Mine curl into his shirt. His breath catches against my mouth like he didn’t expect this to feel the way it does.
Like lightning. Like relief. Like something that was waiting to happen.
When the kiss deepens, it’s soft and sweet but also hungry in a way that steals my breath. Like he’s been holding back for days. Like he’s still holding back and this is just the beginning. When we pull apart, he rests his forehead against mine.
“Harper,” he whispers, voice rough, almost pained, “this … might be a bad idea.”
I don’t let go of his shirt. I can’t. “I don’t care,” I breathe. His hand tightens at my waist and neither of us moves away.