Chapter 5 Finger Licking
FIVE
Finger Licking
Lauren
By the time we reach Eli’s cabin, he’s several steps ahead of me.
The second we’re inside, he sets the Frozen Classic trophy on the counter and beelines it to the bathroom.
I huff out a breath. Everything is awkward now.
I slip off my boots and shrug out of my coat.
I twist the deadbolt on the front door and go to my room, which isn’t even mine.
The only thing I can claim as mine is the knot in my stomach.
I flop onto the bed and stare at the ceiling.
What just happened? I was ninety-nine percent sure he was going to kiss me.
His lips were centimeters away from mine.
But at the last second, he pulled away. Did he deem me unkissable?
Did I have bad breath? I couldn’t say no to garlic fries, but I popped a couple of mints afterward.
I cup my hand, breathe, and sniff. There’s a faint memory of garlic, but nothing hazardous.
The bathroom door creaks open. Footsteps sound through the cabin and then stop.
Then start again. But grow quieter and end with a soft click of a door.
I blow out a deep breath. Climbing off the bed, I head to the bathroom to brush my teeth and wash the makeup off my face.
Back in the bedroom, I change into my pajamas and crawl under the covers, which doesn’t help my cause as the pillow smells like him.
Maybe he wanted to kiss me but thought better of it.
That we’re friends and he doesn’t want to ruin our friendship.
But would a kiss really do that? I don't know. I’ve never been in this position before.
For ten whole minutes, I spiral over theoretical Eli kisses.
Is he soft and coaxing or rough and impatient?
Does his tongue do a slow sweep or is it more like poking and prodding?
Does he hold my cheeks or slide his fingers into my hair?
Do I take the reins or does he? Too many questions.
Exactly zero answers. And negative sleep.
The next morning, I’m at Sip and Sleigh facing life’s hardest question. Maple pumpkin or brown butter chai muffin? Life is short. Maybe I should get both.
“Well, that didn’t take long.”
I spin around so fast my scarf nearly chokes me. Julie—Eli’s ex—stands next to the pastry case, arms crossed, a glare sharp enough to cut ribbon. “Excuse me?”
“You and Eli. Didn’t take you long to snatch him up.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Everyone saw you two at the golf tournament. All that flirting? Please. He was supposed to go with me.”
Based on the venom in her tone, you’d think I’d stolen her puppy, not stood next to the man she dumped while he muttered sarcastic commentary about hole in ones.
Her eyes narrow. “And now you’re living with him.”
“Well, technically—yeah. But Eli and I are only friends. I’m staying with him because the pipes burst at my apartment. You know what? I don't owe you an explanation.”
Her once-sharp glare softens. “His house is decorated for Christmas. He never let me decorate.”
“Yep. I wanted to bring him some Christmas cheer. But I’ve got work to get back to.” I turn my attention to Sloane, the owner. “I’ll take a maple pumpkin muffin. Actually, make it two. I'll drop one off to Eli.” I flash Julie a cross between a this is awkward as fuck and please don’t hate me smile.
As I exit Sip and Sleigh, her gaze bores a hole into my back.
What the hell is that all about? We’ve never been friends, but we’ve also never been enemies.
She dated Eli; I minded my own business.
A couple of polite hellos, a smile or two, maybe a halfhearted attempt at small talk before I realized she wasn’t interested.
Fine. Some people just don’t click. Whatever theories she’s cooked up about Eli and me, they’re not my problem.
He and I have always been close. Since middle school, he’s been my safe place, my best friend. Always has been. Always will be.
On my way to the festival grounds, I swing by his office. Since he’s not there, I leave the muffin on his desk and snap a quick picture.
Lauren
Left a sweet treat on your desk for when you get back.
The bubbles pop up immediately.
Eli
So I can expect you in my office when I return?
Oh. Oh! My heart does a ridiculous flip, like it’s auditioning for a cheer squad. Is he… flirting? I stare at my phone too long, weighing whether to lean in or play it safe. My thumbs betray me.
Lauren
No. This is better.
There’s a pause. Then—
Eli
Doubt it.
I shove my phone into my pocket, unable to hide the grin taking over my face.
* * *
Later that evening, the cabin door opens with a rush of cold air, and in steps Eli, snow dusting his dark blond hair, his DNR uniform stretching indecently over his broad shoulders.
I should look away. I really should. But my heart stutters in my chest because he’s every lumberjack-meets-uniform fantasy rolled into one unfairly perfect man.
“The snow’s really coming down,” he says, stepping out of his boots.
“I’m making hot cocoa,” I manage to say, though my voice comes out higher than intended. “Want some?”
His smile softens something low in my belly. “Sounds perfect after the day I’ve had.”
“You can change and tell me all about it.” I want to tell him to leave the uniform on, but he might find my request odd since I know he prefers to be more comfortable when he’s home.
He disappears into the spare room to change, and I take a deep breath hoping it’ll calm my erratic nerves.
It doesn’t. Did I think Julie would never hear about me living with Eli?
No. It’s Mount Holly after all, but her jealousy caught me off guard.
Eli returns to the kitchen in gray sweatpants and a black shirt, and I swear my knees and my brain forget how to function.
“Take a seat. I’ll bring it in,” I manage to choke out before retreating to the safety of the kitchen and pouring cocoa into two mugs.
He’s already stretched out on the couch when I join him, casual and infuriatingly at ease—long legs sprawled, arm draped over the backrest like he owns the entire atmosphere.
Meanwhile, I tuck my legs beneath me like they might bolt if I don’t pin them down.
“So what happened today?” I ask, handing him his mug.
“There was a group of snowmobilers ignoring every posted sign. We caught them, but it was a whole ordeal. How about you?”
“Less dramatic, but the festival’s coming together. And…” I sip, pretending nonchalance. “I had a run-in with your ex.”
His mouth twitches. “That must’ve been pleasant. How’d it go?”
“Well, she thinks we’re dating now.”
He nearly chokes on his hot cocoa. “Why does she think that?”
“Apparently, me living here screams romantic relationship.”
He shakes his head. “Of course she would. She never could handle us being friends.”
I study him over the rim of my mug. “You never told me why you broke up.”
“Besides being all wrong for each other?” He shrugs. “She wanted more than I was ready for—ring, kids, the whole thing.”
“Oh, I didn't know it was that serious.”
“It wasn’t. That’s why we called it quits. She’s a great girl, don’t get me wrong, but we were too alike. It was like I was dating myself. It weirded me out.”
“She told me she dumped you.”
He huffs out a laugh. “Sure. If that helps her sleep at night. Either way, we weren’t a match.”
I brush my nail along the mug. “And the family thing… is that something you want?”
His gaze lingers on me for half a beat too long. “Yeah. Just not with her.”
Something warm curls low in my stomach. Don’t read into it, Lauren. Don’t. “I don't think I could ever date anyone like me. Super organized and hyper focused.”
“Exactly. You just clash. And it doesn’t work.”
“Like we can’t both be right all the time. And I always tend to be right.”
He grins. “Sounds like you.”
“That’s kind of why Jordan and I broke up. Or more so why he dumped me. I’m apparently too much for him. His words, not mine. I tried to be everything he wanted, but I guess it wasn’t good enough.”
“You’re more than good enough.” His voice is steady. Unshakable.
Heat rushes up my neck. I hide behind my mug, praying he doesn’t notice—though his gaze lingers on me, warm and weighty, like he’s memorizing me. “It’s okay. It’s for the better.”
“You shouldn't have to change for anyone. Be exactly who you are. At least then you'll be happy.”
“Yeah. Just me and all my color-coordinated file folders and bins. We’ll live our happy little life.”
“And I’ll enjoy my solitude in the cabin.”
“Sounds perfect.” I raise my mug to him, and he clinks his against mine. A smile flirts on his lips, and I give him one in return. We each take a sip of our hot cocoa.
After swallowing, I say, “To be honest, I was kind of afraid you were going to pack up and leave after the breakup. That seems to be your MO.”
He exhales a humorless laugh. “Nope.” He throws back the last drop of hot cocoa.
“If it’s any consolation, I’m not doing much better with my life. I’m single and sleeping in my best friend’s bedroom.”
“It’s an upgrade from what you had. At least the company’s better.”
“The company is way better, just without the sex.”
“The sex would be better too.”
His words land between us like a spark. I laugh louder than normal like that will keep me from a deep dive into dangerous what-if territory. “Oh, you’re just that confident.”
“I haven’t had any complaints.”
“Not to your face, maybe.”
“Ouch.” He presses a hand to his chest as if I’ve wounded him. He rises to his feet. “Want more cocoa?”
“I’m okay.”
He strolls into the kitchen and sets his mug in the sink before opening the fridge and taking out a chocolate pudding cup.
I shake my head. “You and your pudding.”
The couch depresses as he sits down. “It’s so good.” He digs the spoon in and shoves a big bite into his mouth.
“Share?” I ask sweetly.
“Nope. Get your own.”
“But the fridge is so far away,” I whine.
“It’s worth it though,” he says smugly, digging in.
“Fine. I’ll just have to do this.” I lean across him, dip my finger right into his pudding, and scoop up a dollop.
His brows lift. “Oh, no, that’s not how this works.” He catches my wrist, steady and unhurried, and guides my hand to his mouth.
His lips wrap around my finger—sweet lord—and sucks the chocolate off with deliberate slowness. With his eyes locked on mine, my breath trips over itself. When his tongue swirls around the tip before releasing me, I nearly combust.
“It’s my pudding,” he murmurs.
“Right.” My voice is a whispery mess. “Guess I’ll… go get my own.”
I stand on wobbly legs, march to the fridge, and fling it open just to let the cool air slap me in the face. Holy. Actual. Shit.
“Bottom shelf, right side,” he calls, far too casual.
“Yeah, yeah,” I mutter before grabbing the freezer drawer instead. Ice cream feels safer-ish. I scoop myself a half bowl of chocolate brownie fudge.
He eyes me when I sit back down. “No pudding?”
“I needed something cooler.”
“Good. More for me.” He smirks. I swear, if I survive living with him for another few weeks, it’ll be a miracle.