Chapter 6 Felix
Felix
Iwas not emotionally prepared for Ben in a blanket.
But we’ll get to that.
It starts with the snow.
Not a cute little flurry, either. A full whiteout, the kind of storm that makes car doors freeze shut and power lines hum with threat. We watch it roll in from the front window of the café as the day progresses, the lake beyond vanishing into gray mist like it was never there.
“Storm wasn’t supposed to hit until later tonight,” Ben mutters, arms crossed, frowning like he personally resents the weather for screwing with his schedule.
I check the app on my phone. “Yeah, uh… so it’s been upgraded to urgent.” I hold the screen toward him. “Like, ‘don’t travel unless it’s life-or-death’ urgent.”
Ben stares at the phone like it just insulted his espresso.
“Well,” he says flatly, “looks like we’re stuck here.”
There’s a long pause.
“Unless you’d like to risk death for a walk back to your rental cabin.”
I grin. “Wow. That almost sounded like concern.”
He gives me a look. It’s not denial.
By 2:00 p.m., the café is officially closed for the day. By 2:30, the snow is a curtain outside the windows and the only sound inside is the heater chugging away.
Ben pulls a few blankets from the storage bin behind the counter and tosses one at me like he’s mad about it. I wrap it around my shoulders like a cape.
“You’re enjoying this,” he says.
“A little.”
He doesn’t tell me to shut up. He just grabs a blanket for himself and a plate of cinnamon rolls from the pastry case. We eat them in silence, cross-legged on the floor near the space heater, watching the snow fall.
It’s almost romantic… too close, too soft.
My wolf whines, loud and pitiful inside my chest, like a dog left out in the cold. It wants to be closer, wants to press in, wants to curl up in his lap like we belong there. I grit my teeth and pretend like I’m perfectly content being two feet away.
It's quiet. Not just the room—him.
Just the steady sound of breathing, the occasional sip of coffee, and the unmistakable feeling that we’re in a snow globe someone forgot to shake.
I lean back against the counter. He leans next to me. Our shoulders bump.
My wolf gives an eager little push, like yes, yes, closer now.
He doesn’t move away. Neither do I. But God, it’s getting harder not to.
I let my head tilt sideways until it finds his shoulder. I expect him to stiffen. Maybe scoot away. Maybe sigh in annoyance and tell me to get off him.
Instead, he shifts, barely. and lets me stay. Then he drapes his blanket across my lap too.
Something inside me goes very, very soft.
I drift off for a little while.
It’s not a full sleep, more like a half-lucid dream. In it, Ben turns toward me. Cups the back of my neck. Kisses me slow and careful like he’s afraid I’ll vanish.
In the dream, I kiss him back.
In the dream, he lets me.
I wake up to warmth and stillness and the heavy pull of reality sinking back in.
And to Ben… watching me.
Not awkward. Not weird. Just… looking.
Our eyes meet. I blink the sleep away and straighten. He doesn’t look away.
“You snore,” he says after a beat, dry as ever.
“I do not.”
“Soft. Like a hedgehog.”
I snort and nudge his arm, grinning. “You watch a lot of hedgehogs sleep, Ben?”
That gets me a tiny curve at the corner of his mouth. Almost a smile.
Almost.
We stay there, quiet again, the heater ticking behind us.
I want to ask what he’s thinking. I want to ask if he felt it too… this thing between us. The quiet hum that’s not just storm-static or caffeine or wishful thinking.
But I don’t ask.
Not yet.
It’s hours later when my phone buzzes with a weather alert: Storm warning lifted. Roads are clearing. Safe to travel.
I glance at it. Then at him. He’s watching the snow through the window like it hasn’t changed at all, like he could sit here for another hour and not say a word.
My wolf whines, low and anxious. It doesn’t want to leave. It wants to curl up beside him and stay.
But that’s not up to me.
I push up from the floor and stretch with a little groan, flashing him a tired smile. “Guess I should get going.”
Ben doesn’t say anything at first. Just looks at me, calm and unreadable, like he’s cataloging the moment. Then a quiet, “You sure? It's still rough out there.”
God. That voice. Rough and steady, like it could wrap around me and keep me there if he told me to.
I nod, too quickly. “Yeah. I’ve got a million things to do today.”
That’s a lie. The only thing I want to do is sit back down next to him and pretend this is normal.
He follows me to the door but doesn’t reach for it. Just watches.
I pull my coat on, pausing to glance back at him. “Thanks for the company. This was…” I shrug. “Nice.”
Something flickers in his eyes. Not quite a smile. Not quite nothing.
“You’re easy to be around,” he says.
Simple. Steady. Like a verdict.
My cheeks burn, but I grin anyway. “Don’t say that. I might show up to yours next snow storm.”
He doesn’t tell me not to. He doesn’t tell me to, either.
I open the door and step into the cold. It hits like reality.
Behind me, the door stays open for a second too long. Then it clicks shut, and the silence settles again.