Chapter 7
Wasit weird that she felt safer with a total stranger in the cabin than she had before he’d shown up? Sure, finding a naked man in her bed was terrifying, but now that she’d gotten to know him, she felt way less vulnerable as a woman alone in a cabin in the forest.
Even weirder was he’d awakened a part of her she hadn’t known she’d neglected. Her sexual side. Thank you, Slick, for bringing that one to my attention. Since she’d only been with Landon, she’d assumed skinny-jean-wearing artsy guys were her type.
Wrong.
Holy moly.
She’d never reacted to any man the way she did Slick. With his big body and deep voice, his confidence and competence…he was just so masculine. Everything he did made her hot.
She could totally see the hockey player he once was in his muscular frame and commanding tone. He was grumpy and gruff and cursed like a sailor, but he looked out for her and didn’t make her feel stupid for not knowing how to make a pot of coffee or grate cheese.
And, yes, she knew it was ridiculous to be this successful and yet have so few skills. The irony was he thought she lived off processed foods, when in reality her private chef used only the finest ingredients and made her the most amazing coffee she’d ever had.
But he didn’t need to know the truth about her. She’d be leaving soon.
Her heart squeezed at the idea of walking away from him. Which was stupid. Obviously. She didn’t even know him. But she liked the way he made her feel. The excitement, the attraction… She could sit on that counter and watch him cook every meal for the rest of her life and never get bored. That cashmere sweater hugged his rounded biceps, tempting her every time they flexed. She wanted to run her hands across those broad shoulders and down his flat stomach.
And his ass in those jeans.
You’ve got to be kidding me.
Now, she knew where the phrase “tight as a drum” came from. Yeesh, she was getting all stirred up just thinking about it.
But let’s be honest. It was so much more than physical attraction. She liked him. Plain and simple. She felt a connection to him that was equal parts thrilling and terrifying.
Terrifying because… She’d lost her ability to trust. And not just other people, but herself. An entire year of the people closest to her cheating right under her nose? Come on. How could she have missed the signs?
The people in her world wanted to touch fame and have access to her money, so they gave her what they thought she wanted. She and Landon and Cissy used to laugh about it all the time because it was obvious when people sucked up to her.
She’d thought they were the only people who loved her for herself. The only ones she could count on.
Turns out, they were the cruelest users of all.
An image dropped into her mind of Cissy coming down the stairs with a big, pregnant belly.
The punch to her gut had her doubling over.
After staying with her dad, brother, and nephew for a little while, she’d gone into town for ice cream. The server had recognized her and spread the word to his friends. Since she didn’t want the paparazzi to infiltrate her family’s beautiful life, she’d gone home to Nashville. But she’d found Landon and Cissy had been living there. When she’d tried to kick them out, he’d said he’d talked to a lawyer who’d suggested they had a common law marriage, so he was entitled to half her net worth—including the house.
But that threat didn’t compare to hearing the creak on the stairs and watching Cissy come down them with her pregnant belly.
Her ex and her former best friend were having a baby.
It was devastating. Within seconds of finding out, she’d texted her manager for the address to this cabin. And she’d run.
She didn’t remember a single moment of the journey, but when she didn’t find a lock box, she’d become frantic to get in. Almost as if a horde of villagers had been chasing her.
She had to seek shelter because she knew the moment she left the cabin and reentered the real world, she’d see pictures of the happy family. Landon holding his baby. The vision hit like a rock to her spine, the pain shooting through her entire body.
But hiding didn’t change the reality. They had a baby. They were a family.
She’d meant nothing to them.
She wasn’t sure how to get over that, but what else could she do but take it one day at a time?
When she heard a commotion outside, she hurried over to the back door, opening it to see the top of a Douglas fir. “Oh, yay. You got it.” She stepped aside to give him room.
He brought it straight through to the living room. “Where do you want it?”
She clapped her hands over her mouth. “It’s magnificent.” The scent of pine filled the cabin. “And it smells so good. But how will it stand?”
“I made a base for it.” With the toe of his boot, he tapped the planks of wood he’d nailed to the bottom. “It won’t last long since it doesn’t have water, but maybe I can figure something out.”
He was just standing there, waiting for her answer, so she hurried to the corner of the room and unplugged the Tiffany lamp. “Let’s put it here. That way, we can see it right when we come out of the bedroom.”
He looked at her strangely.
“What?” What had she said? She realized a moment too late she’d made it sound like they were living together, like boyfriend and girlfriend. She sounded delusional. He probably thought he’d wake up to her wearing an apron and smeared lipstick, her eyes wide, and a kitchen knife behind her back. Oh, God.
Mortified, she focused on the clumps of snow that had fallen off the branches and landed on the floor, melting into little pools. “I’ll get a towel.” She rushed out of the room. “You need anything?”
“I’ll take a dark roast if you have it. Thanks.”
Oh, shoot. He hadn’t taught her how to use the French press yet. “But you don’t like my pods.”
“As long as it’s hot, my frozen fingers will like them just fine.”
“I have some hot chocolate ones. Would you rather have that?”
“Coffee.”
“Okey-dokey.” Fortunately, he wasn’t being weird about it, so she could just let it go.
He knows what I meant.
And he chopped down a tree for me. She’d resigned herself to missing her very first Christmas, but Slick had delivered it to her. How incredibly thoughtful and kind.
Make the coffee.She sorted through the basket, setting aside her favorite, Mocha Creamy Caramel. All these flavors would make him cringe. “How about Jelly Donut?” she called, just to see his expression. “Doesn’t that sound good?”
“I didn’t buy any donuts.”
“No, I meant coffee. It’s really good.” She bit back her laughter.
“If you don’t have dark roast, I’ll pass.”
“Are you sure? Because Macaron Dream’s delicious, too.”
He recoiled as if he’d just touched squirrel poop.
She was grinning so hard it hurt. “Oh, wait. I’ve got one you’re going to love. Caramel Vanilla Delight.” She grabbed the pod and waved it at him.
As he sat on the hearth untying his boots, he gave her a slight shake of his head. “No. Thank you.”
“I’ve never heard a thank you sound that painful. Like you’re having your wisdom teeth extracted.” She finally released her laughter. “I’m kidding, Slick. Hang on.” At the bottom of the basket, she found several labeled Deep Roast. That’s close enough. She popped the pod into the machine and hit the switch. “No cream or sugar, right?” she called.
“Nope.”
While it gurgled, she faced him. “I didn’t mean it like that, you know. I know this is awful for you, and I don’t think for one second we’re playing house and having a merry Christmas together.”
He pulled off his boots and set them by the fire. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“When I said we can see the tree when we come out of the bedroom, I didn’t mean it like we’re a couple.”
“I wasn’t thinking anything like that.”
“You made a funny face, so I know you were thinking something.”
He looked her right in the eyes. “I was thinking about what happens in the bedroom before a couple comes out of it.”
“Oh.” Heat rushed up her neck. “Right.” There was no mistaking his darkly sensual look, and it sent a hot burst of desire spiraling through her.
But I’m not his type. He’d said that last night.
“Coffee’s ready.” He tipped his head toward the counter as he peeled off his socks.
She pulled down another mug for herself and dropped her caramel pod into the machine. This man confused her, aroused her, and thrilled her. Yet if she’d met him outside this cabin, would she have even given him the time of day?
He was assertive, blunt, and unapologetically himself. And she liked it because he knew his own mind. His powerful presence made her feel safe. Like if they were on a sinking boat, she could cling to him because he’d be the one to survive.
And boy, did she need that. Not the saving. Just the clinging part. She lowered her head as a wave of emotion crashed over her. She wanted to step into his arms, be enveloped in his strength, and have him whisper, You got this.
But he was a stranger who didn’t want her in his cabin. He’d come here for some time alone. Not to babysit or offer therapy to a pop singer who’d lost her identity.
“You okay?” he asked in that deep, rumbly voice.
“Yeah, of course.” She forced a smile.
“One thing about me. I don’t like bullshit.” He washed his hands in the sink and then dried them on a dishtowel. “I’m not that guy who gets upset when women cry. I’m not put off by shows of emotion. So, if you’re having a hard time, you can tell me about it. I won’t freak out.” He reached around her for the coffee, cupped both hands around the mug, and took a swig. Lifting it, he grimaced. “Thanks.”
She laughed. “You hate it.”
“It’s not as strong as I like my coffee, but that doesn’t matter. It’s hot. Now, come on.” He pulled scissors from a drawer. “You can tell me what’s on your mind while we make some decorations.”
She watched him grab a few bags of popcorn from a cabinet, peel off the plastic, and drop one into the microwave. “Garlands?”
“Yep.” He pulled fishing line from a cabinet in the laundry room.
“Hang on. I’ve got something fun for them.” She grabbed the bags of pastel-colored marshmallows that had come in a basket. On her way to the fireplace, she looked around the room to see what other supplies they might have. Her gaze landed on the stack of boxes. “How about you handle the garlands, and I’ll make some paper snowflakes?”
“Sounds good.” He grabbed some kindling, and in a matter of seconds, had fastened fishing line around the sticks to create a star. He held it up. “The tree topper.”
She broke into a smile. “I love it.” As she headed to the table, the microwave beeped. She pulled out one bag and threw in another. “How many do you think we’ll need?”
“I don’t know. Five? Six?” He settled the ornament on top of the tree.
After she got the microwave going, she grabbed paper from his printer and scissors from the knife block and sat at the dining room table. She folded the paper diagonally to form a triangle. After a few more folds, she trimmed the pointed end and then began snipping patterns.
Between the scents of popcorn and pine, the muted sounds of a snowstorm, and the snapping logs in the fireplace, a contentedness spread through her.
This.
I want a life like this.
Simple, quiet. Meaningful. Not the big showy Christmases she’d had with her mom where the intention had been to wow the guests with catering staff and extravagant décor.
“Those look great.” Carrying the fishing line over, he joined her at the table.
“Thanks. This is fun.” She reached for a new sheet of paper. “Hm. Let’s see. You negotiate well, you don’t take crap, you don’t make fun of my faults and weaknesses, and you do crafts.” She pointed the scissors at him. “You’re a kindergarten teacher.”
“Can’t stand kids, so that’s a hard no.” Before he sat down, he dumped two bags of popcorn into a bowl and set the next one in the microwave.
“What? How can you not like kids? What’s not to like?”
“Probably only child syndrome. I didn’t grow up with siblings, so didn’t develop a tolerance for them. But also, I’ve dealt with enough of my clients’ kids to know I’m not having any. Now, come on. What were you thinking as you looked out the window and saw a mountain of snow?”
“Just that, if we were on a sinking boat, I wouldn’t know how to save us.”
He looked up from stringing popcorn. “Are there life jackets?”
“I don’t know. How would I know that?”
“You’d find out as soon as you boarded. If they didn’t tell you, you’d ask where they keep them. They’re either on the bow side, the starboard side behind the console, or under the gunwale caps in the hull. But don’t worry. You’d have time to find them. And even if it does capsize, it might still float.”
“See, you know all that. I don’t.” She snipped off the tip of her folded paper. “I’m really good at my job. I know what I’m doing, and I feel—well, I felt—confident. But take me out of that world, and I’m useless.”
“Isn’t that true for all of us? But also, from what I’ve heard, you’ve used it as an opportunity to learn shit. Just this morning, you learned how to make a fire.”
“And grate cheese.”
“See that? Think of all the things you’ve learned these past few months.” He flashed her a grin before he got up to put another bag of popcorn in. When he came back to the table, he tore open the bag and added it to the bowl. Once settled, he took a sip of his coffee and scowled. “I’m not drinking this shit. I’ve got some good beans in the car.” He got up and headed for the door. “I’m going to bring in some more groceries.”
Before he could step outside, she called, “Do you need help?”
“No, you keep working. I’ll be right back.”
As soon as the door snicked shut, she broke into a smile. A warmth from deep within spread and flickered. There was something about this man that just…worked for her. She couldn’t explain it.
How could she feel so comfortable, so at ease, with a man she’d known less than twenty-four hours? She didn’t know, but somehow, he offered her hope. Being with the same man for a decade—there was nothing new. Nothing to be discovered.
With Slick, she was uncovering new sides of herself, new feelings. And she loved it because it meant the same held true for her creative side.
There’s more for me than being a singer/songwriter who tours the world.
Been there done that.
Now, for the first time, she felt excited about her future. Being with Slick had cracked her open, making her see she had a whole treasure chest of possibilities inside her.
She was so happy to hear his footsteps crunching in the snow, she dropped the scissors and ran to the door. The moment she opened it, a blast of Arctic air hit her square in the face, but she didn’t care. He stood there, tall, strong, powerful, his arms loaded with bags.
“Here.” She reached for them, but he pushed past her and entered the cabin.
“I got it.” He stomped his boots in the entryway, dragged the soles on the coarse mat, and then headed into the kitchen where he dumped the bags on the floor.
She peered into them. “Did you leave any food on the shelves?”
“There wasn’t much to begin with. People hear about storms, and they stock up. I grabbed whatever shit I could find.”
She pulled out a wheel of Brie. “You got some good shit.”
He grinned. “I like food.”
What do I even like?Until this past summer at the music festival when she’d treated herself to the Singing Baker’s luscious pastries, she hadn’t paid attention. In the cabin, she’d indulged her secret fantasy of gift baskets.
She’d given loads of them throughout her career—to people around the globe who helped make her tours go smoothly—and she’d always wanted to know what those breadsticks and cookies tasted like.
Turns out…meh. They sure didn’t compare to Slick’s scrambled eggs.
“You’re doing it again.” His voice cut through her thoughts.
“Doing what?”
“You get this crease.” He rubbed a finger between her eyebrows. “Right here. You’re overthinking again.”
“Hey, I’ve been alone for three months.” Her breath came out all soft and breathy. Which was weird. She didn’t get all flustered around men. But this man…with his blond hair and green eyes…this man stole the air right out of her lungs. “You don’t want me overthinking, then don’t leave me alone with my thoughts. Keep me busy.”
“All right. You put the groceries away while I make the coffee.” He strode out to the dining room table and grabbed his mug, dumping the dark liquid into the sink. “You’re going to see the difference in about ten minutes. Grinding your own beans releases the oils. Hands down, it tastes better.”
“I believe you.” Her chef used to make it for her every day. “So, who taught you how to cook?”
“My dad was a foodie, so we ate well. Whenever we traveled, he’d look up the good places to eat. And I don’t mean Michelin-starred restaurants. I mean food trucks and little holes-in-the-wall.” He stopped and rubbed her forehead again. “What did I say?”
She liked that he read her so easily. It meant he paid attention. He cared. “No, it’s nothing. It’s just that I’ve traveled a lot.” Around the world, in fact. “But I was always watching my weight or rushing somewhere.” Mostly, they’d had meals delivered to the tour bus or they ate room service. “I missed a lot of opportunities to try some interesting food.” She could do that now. Instead of holing up in a cabin in the woods, she could travel. She’d research museums and restaurants and all the things that made towns and cities unique. “You learned to love food from him, but what about actually cooking? Those seem like two different things.”
“My dad cared about every bite of food that went into his mouth.” He got this look, like he’d slipped away, lost in a sweet memory. “He wouldn’t buy me store-bought cookies. We’d make them together.”
“So, maybe it was less about cooking than spending time with his son.”
He stilled. Lowering his wrists to the counter, he gazed out the window at the snowy landscape. “You’re probably right about that. Even as a little kid, I’d stand on a chair and dump the chocolate chips into the mixing bowl. I’d beat the eggs and shred the cheese for my dad.” His jaw slammed shut, and he swallowed. His gaze cut away.
He kept talking about his dad in the past tense, and that broke her heart. She turned to him. Cupping his cheek, she brushed her thumb over it, as if she could soothe away the painful emotion. “Sounds like he was a wonderful dad.”
“Yeah.” He twisted away from her and pulled down two clean mugs from the cabinet. “He was.” Finally, he looked at her. “Sugar? Milk?”
“Yes, but I got it.” She grabbed the milk from the fridge. “Can I ask what happened to him?”
He pushed the handle down slowly, smashing the ground beans to the bottom and leaving the liquid isolated above. “He died.”
“I’m so sorry. You were obviously close.”
“Yeah.” He lowered his chin. “I miss him. He was a good guy. He taught me to be a good man.”
“Oh, believe me, I can see that. Last night, you could have easily made me sleep on the couch.”
“Hypothermia, remember?”
“Listen, Slick, you were so exhausted, you could’ve fallen asleep and not given me a second thought. But you didn’t do that. You stayed awake until you knew I felt comfortable with you.” She gestured to the living room. “For goodness’ sake, I’m squatting in your home, and you got me a Christmas tree. So, when you miss him, just remember he’s still inside you. You’re the man he wanted you to be.”
“That’s…” Stepping back, he lowered his head between his arms. “Fuck. That’s really nice to hear.”
“I’ll bet he’s the reason you’re so competent. Was he the kind of dad who knew what to do in a crisis? Was he the handyman in the house? Dripping faucet… Dad? Spider on the wall. Dad!”
He grinned. “Yeah, he was.”
“See, you’ve got that part of him, too.”
For a moment, he seemed lost in thought. Then he said, “Growing up, I had a friend who came from extreme wealth. He had nannies and chefs and drivers and pilots. A whole staff.”
Heat rushed up her neck, and she dropped her gaze. That’s me. He’s describing me.
But his tone held no judgment. “So, one day—I must’ve been thirteen? Fourteen? Something like that—my dad told me I couldn’t go out with my friends until I folded the laundry, and I got pissy with him. I asked why we didn’t hire someone to do our chores like Cole’s dad did. And my dad—he never got ruffled. He just spoke his truth quietly and firmly. Anyhow, he told me that while we could afford a housekeeper, he never wanted to lose touch with his own life. He wanted to make his own meals and water his own plants.”
“But if he’d hired someone to do those things, he’d have had more time to be with his family or pursue a hobby.”
He broke into a shy grin. “I played hockey, remember? I was my dad’s hobby. But I get what you’re saying. He just believed the reason society was spiraling out of control—conglomerates, bad politicians, crime, entitled attitudes—was because we kept moving further from the things that matter.”
“Explain.” Because he was talking about her. She’d thought the only thing that mattered was her success. How many people downloaded her song. Whether she won the Grammy. How many people bought tickets for a show. So, chores like cleaning a toilet? Grating cheese? Who cared whether she hired someone to do it or bought a bag of shredded cheddar at the grocery store?
Her mom had trained her to believe someone else did the trivial stuff so that she could concentrate on what mattered: Success. Money.
“Okay.” He made a fist. “This is the core of your life. Fucking, eating, bathing, interacting with friends and family. If you’re doing that, you’re tethered to your essential humanity. The further away from that you get…” He made circles around the fist with his other hand, slowly moving out. “The more you’re focused on money, fame, success, fancy cars, houses, jewelry, the less tied in you are to your values and morals. You start to care less about being a good person, spouse, parent, and employee. You lose sight of the whole reason we’re put on this earth together.”
“That’s powerful.”
“You can’t really lose your essential humanity when you’re washing dishes and getting stains out of your pants. If you think you’re too good to clean a toilet, then you obviously believe the person you hire to do is somehow beneath you. And that’s just not true. If you strip it all away, we’re all human beings who fuck, eat, bathe, and create relationships with friends and family.”
“I’m the person your dad was talking about.” She made a fist. “I didn’t have any of this. The only thing I cared about was my success.” Awareness struck like a flash of light. “And that’s how the people closest to me could betray me. I’d completely lost touch with the core of my life.”
“Well, I think it’s more that it explains how they could betray you. They lost their core. Or they were just born rotten. But anyhow, to answer your original question, I cook because it’s something my dad and I did together but also, because I want to stay grounded and attached to the things that matter.”
And yet, he wasn’t with his mom for Christmas, and he didn’t have a girlfriend or wife. “Well, as someone who’s very much not in touch with her own life, I can promise you, I’ll take your dad’s advice to heart.” She touched him again, though she needed to stop doing that. “Your dad sounds like he was a good man.”
He had an almost panicked expression. “Except, he wasn’t really my father.”