Chapter 7
HOLLY
“Coffee,” I decide. “I need coffee to deal with all of this.”
I do a stellar job not picturing Caleb’s muscled body with water droplets rolling over every delectable inch of skin. He’s always been irresistibly handsome, but he’s only gotten better with age. His body is more muscled and his cute boyish features have become more defined.
I’m concentrating so hard on not thinking about it, that he startles me when he pokes my side from behind.
Shrieking, I spin around, finding him bundled in a Fair Isle sweater and jeans. He holds his hands up apologetically.
“Jesus Christ, Caleb. Are you actually on a mission to give me a heart attack?” I clutch my chest dramatically.
“I didn’t realize you were lost in thought. I wasn’t quiet coming down,” he says sheepishly. “My bad.”
“It’s fine. Here.” I hand him a mug. “It’s still just cream, no sugar, right?”
The side of his mouth lifts and his eyes crinkle at the corners. A dreamy dimple appears in his cheek. I avert my attention, adding a cinnamon stick to my mug.
“You remembered how I take my coffee?”
“It’s just coffee. Don’t make a big deal out of it. I happen to have a good memory for random stuff, that’s all. I’m sure you don’t still have mine memorized.”
“Of course I do.”
My gaze snaps back to him. He grins.
“Your go to is a latte with oat milk and honey, or two pumps of whatever flavor syrup is your favorite of the moment. You also love the specialty seasonal stuff.”
He nods to the cinnamon stick in my coffee and winks at my gaping expression.
“Show off,” I mumble.
A memory flits across my mind of the times he’d text me to meet up in secret, always surprising me with a drink just because he knew I liked it or my favorite snacks stashed in his glove compartment.
I bury it, forgetting how those small gestures used to make me swoon over him.
He probably did it for all of his hookup partners.
Caleb takes his coffee to the front porch. I follow him out, tucking my oversized cardigan around me to keep the cold at bay. Snow drifts have formed up the steps. It reaches almost up to the wheels of our cars, and they’re both SUVs.
“Nothing beats this, huh? I forgot how gorgeous it is up here at this time of year,” he says.
He seems far less stressed by this storm than I am, taking in the scenic winter view appreciatively. It is beautiful when I set aside the worry running on hamster wheels in my brain.
“Don’t you have hockey games? It’s not winter break yet,” I say.
His attention shoots to me. “That’s true.”
I roll my lips between my teeth, not wanting to admit I have an alert on my phone that tracks NHL news for mentions of him.
“So, what—they put in a substitute player for you?”
His jaw works and he stares into the woods. “I’m…on leave. There’s already a player taking over my spot for games.”
“Oh.”
Curiosity bubbles within me. I want to ask what that means and why he’s on a break from the sport he loves. His body language holds me back. The stiff set of his shoulders gives me the hint he doesn’t want to talk about it right now.
Squinting at the sky, he gives a low whistle. “I’d say we’re snowed in indefinitely if this doesn’t let up by tomorrow.”
“How long is indefinitely?” I ask through a new wave of anxiety.
“Last time I was up here for a storm like this, it was weeks before I could go anywhere.”
“Like, more than two weeks? That means we’ll be stuck here for Christmas.” My grip on my mug tightens. “I don’t know if my brother can run my bakery for that long. How am I going to get my customers’ orders out?”
“Hey, take it easy.” He rests a hand on my shoulder, squeezing supportively. “It might not be that long. It depends on when the blizzard passes and when the roads are cleared. Until then, we ride it out.”
As much as I don’t want his help, he has a point. It allows me to calm down a little.
Out of nowhere, the distressed honk of a goose interrupts the steady tink of frozen snowflakes hitting the ground.
“Was that a goose?” I look around, both curious and a bit worried there’s an animal out in the storm. “I think it’s coming from the wood shed.”
“Hang on.”
He sets his coffee down, then ducks inside for his coat and boots.
Without a moment’s hesitation, he wades off the porch into the thick snow.
Even with his towering height, it’s almost to his knees in some spots as he trudges over to the side of the cabin to investigate.
I move to the corner of the porch to watch.
“Oh, Greta,” Caleb croons woefully a few moments later. “Did you come to see me and got stuck?”
I can’t see her, but the goose honks in response. He speaks soothingly to the bird he apparently knows by name, moving chopped wood until he has enough room to scoop a big white goose from the walled side protected from the storm.
“There we go,” he says.
“Is she okay? Was she trapped in there overnight?”
“Maybe. There’s a pond nearby she usually forages at. Doesn’t seem like she’s dehydrated.” He holds her beneath his arm, examining her while she squawks with attitude. “She was probably out looking for food once it started snowing and got herself wedged once she was in there.”
He carries her onto the porch and dusts snowflakes from her feathers, then uses his coat to bundle her. After several bouts of animated honking while he talks to her fondly, she settles, even letting him pet her.
I don’t know what to do with myself while it all goes down.
“So, you’re hugging a goose,” I say.
Caleb chuckles. “This is Greta. She lives on the neighbor’s farm at the next cabin up, about two miles away. Want to say hi?”
I like animals, but geese sort of intimidate me. I edge closer, waving awkwardly.
“Hi, Greta.”
The goose turns her frighteningly perceptive blue eyes on me, giving a single, indignant honk. It feels judgmental. And like she’s warning me to stay away from Caleb.
He laughs. “I won’t let her bite you.”
“She bites?” I take a step back and shake my head.
“No. Well…” He strokes her feathers. “Only once. I warned Layla not to hold her hand like that when she was feeding her.”
“Sure, that makes me feel better. How do you know her?”
“This pretty girl’s been in my life for years,” he says.
I remind myself he’s talking about the bird and not some other woman, extinguishing the hot rush of jealousy I have no right to feel.
“I was around nineteen when her mom was showing her how to free range when she was a gosling. She got tangled in some of my grandpa’s fishing netting and was making such a racket until I found her.
I think she liked the sound of my voice because she sat patiently in my lap while I worked the netting free. ”
All the times I came here with Layla and I had no idea her brother formed a close bond with this goose.
He’s so sweet with her. The touching scene makes me slide my lips together, fighting back the urge to swoon over a man who’s good with animals.
Curse my hormones for being hardwired to find everything about him attractive.
“I didn’t realize geese lived so long,” I say.
“Same. They’re pretty amazing. The neighbor told me all about his flock when I brought her back to him. They forage for up to three miles away, so after I rescued her I guess she considered our property as part of her territory. She goes back to her roost at night, usually.”
“Wow. That’s impressive.”
“Right? She’s a smart girl.”
“Why does she go off on her own if she has a flock?” I wonder.
“She’s just independent according to Jim. I had the same question the first few times she was here. He told me sometimes flock birds feel better off on their own.”
A pang squeezes my heart. My throat thickens with a tangle of understanding and melancholy. I didn’t expect to relate to a goose, but here I am getting misty-eyed.
I swallow the lump clogging my throat. “So what do we do? Take her back?”
“I’ll make a shelter for her in the storage shed so she’s warm and dry, at least until the storm blows over. Once it does, I’ll make the hike to get her home.”
He gets to work, leaving me alone with Greta. I take a seat nearby on the porch swing, sipping my coffee. She nestles into his jacket, honking at me in warning again.
“Be cool, Greta. I don’t want your man. He’s all yours.”
Greta quirks her head. A laugh huffs out of me.
It doesn’t take long for Caleb to rearrange the shed tucked between the trees at the edge of the driveway.
I kid myself pretending I’m not watching him shovel snow to make a path from the shed to the porch.
Even wearing a sweater, his athletic build is clearly in peak condition.
I’m entranced by the appealing flex of his shoulders and biceps paired with the hot grunts of effort as he completes the task.
Warmth simmers in my veins. Once he’s done, he pulls out a hatchet to cut some pine branches which he seems to use for insulating the shelter he’s creating for Greta.
The competence is undeniably alluring.
“Okay, Greta,” he announces when he’s finished. “Home sweet shed. You can head in, Holly. I’ll be right behind you after I get the freeze-proof bowls from my dad’s camping gear to give her water.”
“You don’t need any help?”
“I’m good.”
My lips purse to one side and I hesitate at the door. “I have plenty of oats I brought to bake with. Can we give her that?”
He flashes me a crooked smile. “Yeah. Thanks.”
Feeling useful, I hurry inside to prepare a meal for a goose.
While I’m portioning some oats into a wide bowl, I peek in the fridge to see what else I can give her.
There’s some fresh spinach that, honestly, I was only bringing so we’d feel like there was some nutritional balance between the goodies I planned to whip up for girls’ weekend.
I also add a small handful of cranberries and find a bag of frozen peas in the freezer to thaw.
Caleb’s handsome features light up when I bring the food out. “This is great, sugar.”
My stomach dips and heat blooms in my cheeks. “It’s nothing.”
Hopefully he thinks I’m blushing because it’s winter, not because of his praise.
Our hands brush when he takes the bowl. He lingers and rubs my fingers with his thumb. I jerk away, rushing into the haven of the cabin to put some much needed space between us.
Not long after, he comes in without a word about…whatever that momentary relapse in sanity was. I know I’m still in hell when he changes out of snow-covered jeans back into slutty gray sweatpants.
“Breakfast?” he suggests, entirely unaware I’m fighting for my life not to drool over him more than I have this morning.
“Breakfast. Yes,” I agree, too cheery and forced for him not to notice.
I become a whirlwind of movement in the cozy kitchen, pulling out pans and cooking utensils, grabbing at random from the groceries we both brought. If I keep active, I don’t have to acknowledge the way his green eyes track me.
He catches me by the shoulders. My heart doesn’t stop racing, picking up speed at the warmth of his body nearly touching my back.
“Sit. I’ll make it,” he murmurs.
“I can do it,” I say automatically.
I’m used to making everyone food. It’s a habit engrained in me to always assume if we’re eating, I’m the one feeding people.
“I’m sure you can. But let me handle it today.”
“Do you even know how? I thought you were too busy playing hockey.”
His lips twitch with amusement. “I know what I’m doing. I’ve picked up a few other skills over the years.”
To my shock and awe, he’s not bluffing.
Caleb looks way too good with his sleeves pushed up and a moose print tea towel slung over his shoulder while managing two pans at once on the stove. This is unfair and unusual punishment first thing in the morning.
The delectable scent of bacon and eggs crackling away in the frying pan mixed with the sweet note of cinnamon pancake batter he’s mixing is making my mouth water.
It’s definitely the food, not how hot and laid-back he is multitasking. He surprised me with food in the past, but he’s never cooked a meal for me before. This version of him is more mature than the one who kissed me when he was twenty. It’s throwing me off-kilter.
I still want to offer my help, feeling like I should be doing something. He interrupts me before I make it to where my apron hangs.
“I’ve got this. You sit down and relax,” he insists smoothly.
Letting someone else do things for me is strange, but I perch on a stool at the island to watch him cook. “How did you know I was hungry?”
“Because I pay attention,” he answers as he flips a pancake.
I swallow and occupy myself by pinching the chunky knit baubles on my fuzzy cardigan so I don’t have to think about what he sees if he’s watching me closely…
or how nice his muscles are when they flex with a spatula in hand.
How will I survive being snowed in with him if the little things are testing my resolve?
“You’ve always been grouchy if you aren’t fed since we were kids, and food is usually the answer to making most things better.
” He laughs to himself, the rich sound stirring a flutter in my stomach.
“Not that I don’t have a thing for that mouth of yours when you get going.
Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you don’t go hungry as long as you’re with me. ”
My heart skips a beat when he pins me in place with a look.
It’s tinged with confidence and familiar desire, reminding me how well he learned everything about me, back when I believed we fit well together.
Heated memories I’ve locked away from years ago replay in my head without my permission.
Every blazing touch, every intense kiss permanently etched on a piece of me that can’t forget about him.
This is a part of Caleb that has always been attractive to me. When I have his attention, it’s all mine and no one else’s. He gives his all to the person he’s with, anticipating their needs. I forgot how much I liked it not having to be the one in charge of everything for once.
He holds my gaze for another beat. Then the corner of his mouth quirks up as his focus travels to my lips, lingering a moment before he returns to the food he’s making.
Damn Caleb and his disarming charm. He knows he’s getting under my skin. I saw that satisfied smirk.
Sure, he put me first for one whole summer when we were in college. It was exhilarating sneaking around with him.
But those few months seven years ago were all we had until I overheard him downplaying our short-lived relationship during a call with his coach. He went back to Heston University in the fall to keep playing hockey, and by the following summer he was drafted into the NHL.
Good for him. I didn’t need him then and I don’t now, because without him I achieved my own dreams by opening my bakery.
We might be stuck together in the cabin, but I’m keeping my distance. I can’t let myself fall for Caleb again.
Forced proximity only works in romance books. There’s no way it’ll work on us. Not if I stay strong and get through this until the snow clears.