Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
T eddy closed the door to his bedroom softly. The act resulted in a satisfying click that echoed in the quiet house. Finally, he had her full attention. Sure, she was going to sleep, but she was still a captive audience just for him. And of course the baby, but the kid wasn't a paragon of conversation.
For a moment, Teddy lingered there. His hand remained on the doorknob, as though it were the lock that would keep her here. Keep her all to himself and finally make her see him in a way she hadn't before. Mainly because she was always shoving paper and pens at him and never looking in his eyes. If she had taken the time to look directly at him, she would see the truth.
Teddy got the sense that she had seen some of that truth over dinner. Definitely, as she lifted the cup of tea to her mouth and noticed the brand. He had been paying attention to her. He knew her.
The kitchen was still warm when he returned there. The smell of roasted chicken and rosemary hung in the air. The sight of the empty plate where Bunny had sat made him grin. She’d cleaned her plate, even gone back for seconds, and it wasn’t lost on him how good it felt to have cooked for her and seen her enjoy it.
His gaze fell to the mug she’d left behind, still sitting on the counter. Her tea, her constant companion throughout their workdays. He picked it up. Like a bloodhound, he gave it a sniff, searching for a hint of her. It smelled like chamomile, floral, and a little earthy. Much like its biggest fan.
He stopped short of bringing the mug to his own lips to take a sip. The memory of his one disastrous attempt at drinking tea flashed back to him. It had tasted like someone had boiled grass and decided to call it a beverage. But still, her lips had been on this cup.
Teddy hesitated, then brought the rim to his mouth, brushing it lightly against his bottom lip. There was the barest hint of warmth left, a ghost of her touch, and for a fleeting moment, he let himself pretend. Then the bitter tang of leftover tea broke the spell, and he pulled back quickly, wrinkling his nose.
He moved to the sink, filling it with warm, soapy water and plunging the dishes in. The rhythmic splash of water against porcelain filled the space, a soothing counterpoint to the faint whistle of the wind outside. He worked methodically, scrubbing and rinsing, but his mind refused to quiet.
Out the window, the snow was falling heavier now, blanketing the world in a thick, silent layer of white. It would be at least two days before anyone could get up here. Two days. His stomach flipped at the thought. Two days to figure out a way to make Bunny see him—not as the scatterbrained mayor she tolerated, but as the man who’d been quietly, hopelessly in love with her for years.
Teddy dried the last plate and set it on the rack. How could he make her fall for him in two days when she still thought he was irresponsible? And then there was the baby.
Who would leave a baby on a doorstep? On his doorstep? He hadn’t dated in years, hadn’t even flirted with anyone seriously since Bunny started working for him. The idea that someone would think him a possible father was laughable—and more than a little insulting.
He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. The tension crept up his spine as he made his way to the living room. The couch, his makeshift bed for the night, looked inviting enough, but as he sank into the cushions, he caught a faint scent—soft, floral, earthy, with a hint of lemon, and unmistakably Bunny. It clung to the throw pillow she’d leaned against earlier.
Teddy buried his face in it, inhaling deeply. The scent was like a punch to the chest. It wasn’t just that it was hers—it was the way it made him feel grounded, present, connected. It was warm and comforting and entirely too distracting.
He flopped back onto the couch with a groan, throwing an arm over his face. The snowstorm howled outside. The real storm was in his chest, a swirling mix of hope, frustration, and longing. Sleep was a distant dream, as unreachable as the stars hidden behind the thick clouds above.
Two days, he thought, staring up at the ceiling. Two days to figure out how to show her what he already knew: that she was everything he’d ever wanted. He’d do whatever it took to prove it. If only he could figure out where to start.
Snow tapped softly against the windows, its persistent rhythm a reminder of how utterly cut off they were from the rest of the town. Normally, the thought of isolation didn’t bother him. He liked the quiet. But tonight, the quiet wasn’t empty—it was filled with the awareness that Bunny was sleeping just down the hall.
A faint, insistent ringing cut through the stillness. Teddy sat up. It wasn’t his cell phone—he’d checked it a dozen times, and it was dead. No, this sound was different. The satellite phone.
He pushed off the couch. The chill of the hardwood floor bit at his bare feet as he followed the sound to the kitchen. The sat phone was where he always kept it, tucked in a drawer by the pantry. He pulled it out and answered, his voice low.
“Mayor Carter, this is dispatch,” a calm, efficient voice crackled through the line. “We’ve got crews out trying to clear the roads. Do you want us to prioritize your location?”
Teddy's eyes drifted toward the closed door of his bedroom. He imagined Bunny curled up under the covers, her dark hair spread across the pillow, the baby’s soft breaths a faint counterpoint to the storm outside.
“No,” he said. “Make the citizens the priority. They need it more.”
There was a pause on the other end of the line, and then, “Understood. We’ll coordinate with your communications director to get the word out.”
“Don’t bother. She’s with me.”
A pause. “Bunny Chou is snowed in, in your house, with you?”
Teddy opened his mouth to answer, but before he could, a wail pierced the air. His head snapped toward the bedroom door. “Hold on.”
He hurried down the hall, the sat phone still in hand. He opened the door as quietly as possible. The soft creak of the hinge made him wince. Bunny was fast asleep under his covers as he imagined. She rustled but didn't quite wake. The baby’s cries grew louder as he scooped the little bundle out of the car seat, cradling her against his chest.
The dispatcher’s voice came through the phone, incredulous. “Is that… a baby?”
“Shh,” Teddy hissed, bouncing the baby gently as he shut the bedroom door behind him. “You’ll wake Bunny.”
There was stunned silence on the other end of the line. Teddy could practically feel the confusion radiating through the connection. He sighed, shifting the baby higher on his shoulder.
“We’re fine here. Don’t worry about us. Just focus on the town, okay?”
“Uh, okay,” the dispatcher said, still sounding bewildered. “But Mayor… is there something you want to?—”
“Good night,” Teddy cut in, hanging up before they could finish the question.
He set the phone down and turned his attention to the baby, who had quieted to soft hiccups, her tiny fists clutching the fabric of his shirt.
Teddy looked down at her, and she stared back up at him. They studied each other—silent, assessing. She wasn’t crying anymore, which he counted as a win. Most kids liked him. He was used to them running up to him at the after-school program, asking him to referee their games, sneaking him their extra cookies at lunchtime. He knew how to handle scraped knees, stubborn tantrums, and broken shoelaces.
Babies, though? That was new territory.
Still, this little girl seemed to have already made up her mind about him. With one last hiccup, she snuggled in closer, her tiny body relaxing against his chest. She let out a small sigh, her fist loosening against his shirt, like she trusted him to carry her and not set her aside like her parent had. At that moment, Teddy promised her that he wouldn't.