Chapter 28
Chapter Twenty-Eight
So there I was. Trapped in a cabin.
With Noah Barrett.
In the middle of nowhere. Miles from civilization.
With Noah Barrett.
Naked.
With Noah Barrett.
As he turned away from the reflection in the window, I forced myself to look back at the flames, pretending to be fascinated by the way they licked at the wood. He said nothing, but we both knew what I’d seen in the window’s reflection.
“Your fire-building skills are impressive,” I said, scrambling for something to fill the void.
“Told you I could start a fire in the rain.” Noah crouched down to throw another moldy log on the fire. I tried not to stare, failing miserably.
I hugged the blanket closer. It felt like there was electricity buzzing throughout the entire cabin, burning hotter than the lightning bolts filling the sky.
Noah sat beside me, trying to warm himself, with the curtain barely covering his thighs. “You doing okay?”
Surprisingly, I was. “Yeah. Not bad, considering.”
“You know, for someone who spends her life curating perfection, you handle imperfect pretty well.” The compliment was unexpected, offered without his usual sarcasm.
“My life is filled with imperfection,” I said. “You already know about my love life. My dumpling-folding skills. All you have to do now is see my apartment in Los Angeles.”
The look on his face suggested it was an invitation he might actually accept. Before I could stop myself, I let out a little laugh.
“What’s so funny?”
The cold, the rain, and the exhaustion must have rattled my brain. “Nothing,” I lied, clearing my throat. “I was just thinking about …”
… taking you back home to LA
… showing you around my apartment
… giving you a hands-on tour of my bedroom furniture
“I was just thinking about what Victoria would think if I added this to my Instagram story.” I waved my hand around the cabin. “I suspect a rustic cabin sleepover isn’t what she had in mind when she demanded luxurious authenticity.”
Noah chuckled, the sound deep and warm. “I don’t know. This might be the most authentic Colorado experience you’ve had yet.”
“Well, authentic doesn’t always photograph well,” I admitted.
“Maybe some things aren’t meant to be captured.” Noah stared into the flames. “Maybe they’re just meant to be experienced. By the people who are there actually experiencing them.”
Our eyes met across the fire, and something shifted between us. The air felt suddenly thick, charged with possibility.
A deafening crack of thunder shook the cabin, wooden boards rattling like during a magnitude ten earthquake. I yelped, grabbing Noah’s arm. He didn’t flinch.
“Sorry,” I whispered, trying to pull away, but Noah caught my hand.
“Not a fan of storms?”
I shook my head. “When I was six, lightning struck a tree outside my window. The whole thing exploded. I’ve been terrified ever since.”
Noah’s thumb traced circles on my palm. “Everyone’s scared of something.”
“Noah Barrett, was that another confession?”
He looked up from staring at my hand. “A confession?”
“You just said everyone’s scared of something.
Everyone includes you. So spill it. A worldwide flannel shortage?
Public speeches while wearing a curtain toga?
Clowns? If it’s clowns, I won’t judge you.
Clowns are terrifying. With their creepy painted eyes.
Those red noses. And big red shoes. You ever consider what gross, fungus-infested toenails they’re hiding in those big red shoes? ” I shuddered. “Go on. Spill it.”
Noah sighed, using a long stick to poke at the fire. “Spiders.”
“Spiders? Cute little furry spiders? That’s what scares you?”
“Spiders scare the crap out of me. All those legs. And bulgy eyes.”
“You know what would be absolutely terrifying?” I asked. “A spider dressed up as a clown.”
“Has anyone ever told you how weird you are?”
“Many people.”
Another thunderclap made me flinch. Noah shifted closer, his shoulder pressing against mine.
“What else scares you?” I asked.
“Public speaking actually does terrify me,” Noah admitted. “Give me a mountain lion over a microphone any day.” His admission made me laugh. “What else are you scared of?”
“Well, let’s see. Where do we start?” I ticked off my many fears on my fingers. “Failure. Disappointing people. Disappointing my parents. Which I constantly do. Ending up alone.” The words tumbled out before I could stop them.
Noah’s hand tightened around mine. “Yeah. Those are definitely scarier than any storm.”
I squeezed his hand back.
“Spiders are still the scariest, though,” said Noah. “Way scarier.”
“Especially clown spiders.” I looked around the barren cabin built from rotting wood, with enough holes and gaps to admit an entire forest full of insect life. “You realize there are probably spiders in here with us right now, don’t you?”
“Oh, I’m aware. Very aware. Just trying not to think about it.”
I patted his arm, his muscle firm under my palm. “Well, I tell you what, if a spider jumps out and tries to get us, you can hide behind me.”
“You’d battle a ferocious spider for me?”
“Unless it’s dressed as a clown, of course.
“Of course.”
“But if it isn’t dressed as a clown, then yes. Might be nice to get a chance to protect you for once.”
By that time, the fire had done a marvelous job of warming up the entire cabin. So nice, in fact, I let the wool blanket drift off my shoulders.
Noah’s eyes swept over my bare skin until another crescendo of thunder snapped him from his daze.
“You think this rain is ever going to stop?” Out the window, I saw another flash of lightning.
“Even if it does, the trails will be a mess. Can’t risk the horses in the dark when everything’s this slick. Looks like we might be here for the night.”
My lungs stopped processing oxygen as the implications sank in.
The cabin suddenly felt a lot smaller. We stared at the sad excuse for a threadbare mattress, pushed against the far wall, its springs poking through the worn fabric like skeleton fingers out of a grave.
The kind of space that would force two people to get very, very cozy.
My throat went dry as I pictured lying next to Noah, feeling the heat of his skin, listening to his breathing in the dark. The blanket suddenly felt way too warm, and I had to fight the urge to cast it off.
“I’ll take the floor,” said Noah, swiping a clump of damp hair out of his eyes.
“Don’t be ridiculous.” I gestured at the cold wooden planks. “You’ll freeze.”
“I’ve slept in worse places. Besides, Yeti makes an excellent pillow.” Yeti whined, expressing her opinion about that.
Another crack of thunder rattled the window. As if sensing we needed an independent third party to mediate, Yeti popped down in the middle of the mattress and claimed it for herself.
“At least you’ll be warm,” said Noah. “That dog puts off more heat than a blast furnace.”
The silence stretched for a long time, interrupted only by the snap of burning wood from the fireplace.
“Don’t move.” Abruptly, without another word, Noah hopped to his feet, unwound the belt latch on the front door, then dashed out into the dark, stormy night. The wooden door slammed shut with a bang.
“Did he just abandon us?”
Yeti and I looked at each other, considering the possibility.
“Was the thought of spending the night with me really that horrible?”
Yeti cocked her head. “Definitely a possibility” seemed to be her conclusion.
When Noah burst back through the front door, wind swirling and raindrops spraying, he held up the no-longer-quite-so-white LuxeLife logo’d cooler bag in one hand, triumphant. “At least Victoria is good for something,” he announced.
I joined him on the damp wooden floor as he huddled over the cooler, tugging open the zippered top. His muscles flexed as he searched, and I couldn’t tear my eyes away from watching his shoulders work. The torn curtain had slipped even lower, barely hanging onto his hips.
“Bingo.” He pulled a champagne bottle out by the neck, something very expensive, judging by the fanciness of the label. Then he dug out two champagne flutes.
Also in the cooler, there were nuts, berries, crackers, and cheese.
“I could kiss you right now,” I declared.
The look in Noah’s eyes suggested he wouldn’t stop me if I did. “Wait, it gets better.” Noah pulled out a handful of foil-wrapped mounds. He peeled back the gold wrapping from one of them, revealing something dark. Something cocoa brown. Something decadent and chocolaty.
“WHAT. ARE. THOSE?”
“Looks like chocolate truffles.” He held one up to the light of the fire. “Dusted with cocoa powder.”
Noah was roughly twice my size. Infinitely stronger.
Probably the victor of several dozen fist fights over the course of his grumpy mountain man’s life.
But if this had been some sort of Hunger Games fight-to-the-death dystopian murder contest, I would have totally kicked his ass for one of those truffles.
I wiped the puddle of drool off my chin as Noah tossed one over. As soon as I took a bite, rich chocolate flooded my mouth. Dark, complex, with hints of something smoky and a touch of sea salt.
“Well? Are they any good?”
I couldn’t answer at first because my brain was skipping down a chocolate bar paved lane alongside a chocolate milk river, through a chocolate-covered peppermint forest filled with chocolate unicorns.
The flavor was so intense I couldn’t help the small moan that escaped me, a sound that would have made an adult film star blush.
“I’ll take that as a yes.” Noah popped one of the truffles into his mouth too.
Working together, we spread the cooler bag feast over the included white cloth napkins, which we laid out on the floor.
“Well, this is fancy,” I said, selecting a seasoned pistachio from the nut pile. “But I’m guessing this isn’t the authentic, luxurious backdrop Victoria had in mind.”
“Too bad you don’t have your phone,” said Noah. “Can you imagine her reaction if you posted our champagne toast from here?”