Chapter 32 Dave #3
She rolls her eyes, trying to hide her smile. “I think you had me the moment you asked me to save the last dance for you.”
I beam at her. “Well played, Dave. Well played.”
Char
I wake to the smell of coffee and woodsmoke, and for one blissful second, I think I’m dreaming. Then the weight of a thick comforter, the sound of the wind sweeping against the cabin walls, and the rhythmic pop of the fire remind me where I am.
Dave’s place.
My heart does that little flip again. The one that feels like a snowflake melting midair.
The space beside me is empty, the sheets still warm.
I pull on one of his flannel shirts that’s far too big and wander toward the kitchen, following the smell of coffee and pancakes.
He’s standing at the stove in a faded T-shirt and flannel pajama pants, humming off-key to something on the radio.
It’s so ordinary it almost makes me cry.
“Morning,” I say softly.
He turns, and the smile that spreads across his face is nothing short of dangerous. “Well, good morning, sleepyhead. Hope you like pancakes shaped like sad snowmen.”
I glance at the pan. “That’s… definitely what that is.”
He laughs. “Hey, it’s the thought that counts. And the chocolate chips.”
He slides a plate toward me, and I take a seat at the counter. Outside, the snow has stopped, leaving the trees heavy and sparkling under the majestic winter sun. The world looks hushed, like it’s holding its breath. I feel that way too. Like I don’t want to break the spell.
“This feels weird,” I admit.
He arches an eyebrow. “Weird?”
“Yes. In the best possible way.” I lean my elbows onto the marble countertop, my chin in my hands. “Normal. Like this is what it’s supposed to be like. I guess, for me, that’s weird. Never had anything normal before.”
“Maybe it is.” He sets a mug of coffee in front of me, then mimics my pose, his elbows on the counter. “I know things aren’t simple. But I’m prepared to give you all the normal you can handle.”
“I’m holding you to that.”
“You better. I already canceled my plans to become a traveling circus acrobat.”
I laugh, nearly spilling my coffee. “Pretty sure you’d pull a hamstring in the first five minutes.”
He grins. “Rude. I’ll have you know I’m incredibly limber for a man in his thirties.”
“I’m not sure I want to know what that means.” My mind immediately goes somewhere delicious, knowing exactly what that means.
His telepathy game is strong. “Lies. You absolutely do.”
I roll my eyes, but the teasing feels good after the heaviness of the night before.
When I finish eating, he grabs his coat and waves me over before placing it over my shoulders. “C’mon. You have to see this.”
He opens the cabin door, and a rush of cold air hits my cheeks.
The mountains stretch out before us, blanketed in snow, the valley below glowing gold from the rising sun.
He wraps his arms around me from behind, his chin resting on my shoulder.
“This,” he murmurs, “is the way the snow catches the light after a storm.”
“It’s beautiful,” I whisper. His meaning isn’t lost on me.
“Yeah,” he says, voice low. “Beautiful.”
I can feel his stare. Again. Knowing he isn’t referring to the scenery or the path we’re on. My cheeks heat. He’s referring to me.
We stay like that for a while. Offering the warmth and compassion holding each other provides. No words, no expectations. Just the sound of wind through the pines and the slow, steady rhythm of his heartbeat against my back.
For the first time in what feels like forever, I’m not waiting for the other shoe to drop.
No running. No hiding.
We stay outside until my fingers start to ache from the cold. Dave’s arms are warm around me, and I make no move to step away until he murmurs against my ear, “You’re shivering.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re freezing.”
“You’re bossy.”
“You’re adorable.”
I shoot him a look over my shoulder. “That line works on a surprising number of women, doesn’t it?”
“Only one.” He grins, then scoops me up, lifting me right off my feet, carrying me inside. “Now, if you could avoid getting frostbite before lunch, that’d be great.”
Once inside, he places me down. My bare feet hit the rug in front of the fire, and before I can come up with any clever quips, he tosses one of his soft, cozy throws from his armchair over my shoulders like a blanket cape. “Better?”
I tug it around me and give a small nod of appreciation.
He leans against the mantel, watching me with that little sideways smile that melts me faster than the fire does. “You know, I could get used to this.”
“Manhandling me?”
“Having you here.”
That stops me cold. I open my mouth, but he raises his hands like he knows I’ll deflect with sarcasm.
“Don’t. I’m not asking for anything. Just saying it’s nice.”
And it is. It’s dangerously nice. I clear my throat and glance toward the counter. “You got any of those sad snowmen left, or did you eat them all?”
“Please. I saved you the one that looks like it’s melting in existential dread.”
“Oh, perfect. My soulmate.” I snicker.
We end up sitting on the couch, the plate between us, Gunsmoke playing quietly in the background. He’d managed to find it on his pricey satellite TV when I asked him if he knew who Miss Kitty was.
He hands me a fork and pretends to be horrified when I start from the snowman’s head. “Cold. Absolutely ruthless,” he teases. “No mercy.”
“Survival of the fittest,” I say, through a mouthful of pancake.
He shakes his head, amused. “You’re something else, Char.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“It’s my favorite thing.” He winks. The way he says it, so soft and earnest, turns my stomach to butterflies.
I try to hide behind another bite, but he nudges me with his shoulder, trying to make me laugh.
“Don’t go getting all shy on me now,” he says, voice low, teasing.
“Who’s shy? I just never know which personality I’m going to get. Flirty and self-deprecating or he-man.”
He smirks. “That’s my backup personality. You’re getting the exclusive, limited-time soft version.”
I giggle, leaning my head against the back of the couch. “Don’t worry, I’ll still buy the deluxe edition if you throw in coffee service.”
He holds up his mug. “Done.”
Outside, the snow starts falling again. Lazy, soft flakes drift past the large picture window. Inside, the fire crackles, the western hums quietly, and Dave stretches his arm along the back of the couch until his fingers brush mine.
No grand declarations, no tension. Just two people sitting close enough for their shoulders to touch, laughing at stupid things a crazy character named Festus says, and pretending they don’t both know what this is.
The beginning of something completely unexpected.
When he finally leans in and presses his lips to my temple, it feels like the most natural thing in the world. And for the first time in a long time, I don’t think about tomorrow.
Just now.
Just this.
Just us.