Gavin
“Iknow that happens sometimes.”
Coraline’s flustered cheeks and airy voice linger and pinball in my head like a song on repeat. A mesmerizing broken record I’d gladly listen to.
Yeah, blood seems to rush to my core when there’s a beautiful woman I could have only conjured in my dreams, who ends up in my bed with her soft arms tangled around me.
I’ve slept with strangers before. Plenty of gorgeous women from my time in the military with names I can’t remember. I don’t know their names on purpose because it’s a rule I set for myself since I was a young man.
No words. No names. No stories.
Just sex. Condoms. And no kissing.
But Coraline is breaking my rules one by one without even trying, and it’s pissing me off.
It’s pissing me off because I want to talk to her. I want to know what her lips will feel like on mine. I want to memorize the shape of them and the way her skin feels. I want to know every single detail about her entire life before the snow stops falling.
This way of thinking is unnatural to me. It’s foreign and weird to feel something flip inside my stomach, but this time, I’m not running from it; I’m chasing after it.
I told Coraline I needed to use the bathroom and to please, for the love God, don’t leave the cabin without me.
I come out of the shower with a white towel wrapped around my waist and step into my bedroom.
I dress from the bottom to my waist. I swipe the wet droplets still dripping down my chest, then run the towel through my hair.
Today, the blizzard stops.
I plan to carry on the annual tradition I used to do when I was a kid.
Shed hunting.
It’s a hobby of mine.
I walk outside my bedroom door, and smell…
Is that pancakes? Breakfast food? Maple syrup? Coffee?
Is she cooking? For me? For us?
Swinging each stiff arm into my sweater, I walk down the hallway, my mouth salivating when I find a kitchen I don’t recognize.
It looks like Santa Claus retched everywhere.
There are shades of bright classic red, emerald green, pearl white, and pops of silver-blue.
Standing before the stove, Coraline flips a pancake with a spatula and sets another atop a pile of pancakes on the countertop, wearing a weightless smile.
I haven’t seen her this cheery since I found her.
My heart seizes in my chest.
These decorations shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t be looking at them like I want to burn my whole house down. I haven’t seen them in decades because they’ve been stored in the basement, untouched, for a reason.
“Good morning, Gavin. Want some pancakes?” she asks, swiping her forehead.
I don’t know how to feel.
Confusion is the first thing to slither into my mind.
Christmas wreaths cover every inch above the wooden cabinets, their ivory lights twinkling slowly—nutcrackers in every corner.
The thumping in my chest switches to my ears.
Opening and closing my mouth, I can’t form a single word.
My palms smooth over my shirt across my abdomen, dismantling the wrinkles.
“What the hell is this?” I snap.
Coraline freezes. My cold tone disintegrates the warmth she oozes with every flick of her wrist as she cooks. Her dark brows knit together as she assesses me, almost afraid to make a move, or I’ll pounce on her like a hungry predator ready to execute his prey.
“Making you breakfast?” she squeaks innocently.
She slowly turns the gas dial until the stove fire is out.
“I made pancakes and grilled bacon I found in the fridge. There’s coffee still fresh and hot in the pot.
Don’t worry, I didn’t put any creamer in it because I noticed you don’t like it.
” She grabs a plate from a cabinet above her head.
“More hazelnut for me.” Tiptoeing, her fingers hook two glass plates.
I drink her in from the side as perspiration breaks out across my chest. Her thick curls are more voluminous, and some stick to her cheek as she waltzes around the kitchen, moving back and forth from the stove and island.
It’s tied up in a bun with little strands of hair poking out.
She’s wearing my mother’s apron and using my dad’s signature butter knife we made together to top the pancakes with butter—cooking surrounded by my parents’ decorations.
It’s too much.
This is all too much at once.
Something inside of me snaps in half.
“Stop.” My jaw ticks.
Her beautiful, cheery, weightless smile disappears, and I already feel like an ass. But I’ve never held back.
“What? Why?” she asks, holding a plate in one hand and a knife in the other. The syrup and butter pool around the pancakes’ crispy edges as she keeps them aloft.
“Just stop. Stop moving. Stop cooking. Stop.”
“Gavin, is everything okay?”
“You went into the basement again?” I accuse her roughly. My emotions are overflowing, beyond my control, intercepting everything. I’m used to being in control here in the cabin. And I’m losing it.
“Yes, I did.” She sets the plates down on the island and pats her thighs.
“I thought just because Christmas is over, it doesn’t mean we can’t pretend, right?
” That smile is back, but it’s forced. The ivory lights glimmer in her eyes.
“I slept through the holiday when you pulled me out of the accident.” She sucks in a breath.
“Cooking and cleaning for you is the least I can do, and Merelyn mentioned you haven’t touched those boxes in years, so I thought—”
“You thought what?” I bark and take a step toward the kitchen counter as she tracks my face, raking up and down vehemently.
She visibly shrinks into place. I feel bad, but it’s not enough to change the tone.
I dart my gaze toward the knife in her hands, and my stomach immediately knots, seeing it again.
I softly take it out of her still hands and place it into the sink.
There are so many reasons for the way I’m reacting.
So many reasons and stories behind every single thing in this cabin.
All of this stays in the basement for a reason because it feels like a portal into the darkness I’ve kept shut for a long time.
Giving her my back, I palm the sink and try to breathe before I crash.
“Gavin. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean any harm. I just know that it must be lonely up here for you. I’m stuck here for some time, and I’m trying to help out as much as I can,” she murmurs.
I turn around and find her slipping off the apron and hooking it on the pantry door.
“I’m not fucking lonely. I’m not someone to fix,” I hiss. “Don’t go into the basement. Don’t touch my things. Don’t make me coffee. Don’t cook for me, don’t do anything,” I quip coldly.
She stares at me, deadpanning. The silence is growing thicker by the second.
Shit, I hate seeing her frown like this.
And I hate that it’s affecting me this much.
I don’t want to care about the way she feels about me; she just met me, but it’s hard when everything about Coraline is effortlessly magnetic.
There’s no way in hell a woman like her could be interested in a man like me. I need to pull away from her. There’s no future with anyone because I refuse to give up this place I call home.
“I’m heading out.”
I need space and room to breathe.
“But what about breakfast?” she asks and points to the plate of stacked pancakes and bacon.
“I’m not hungry,” I tell her as I place my hat on top of my head and exit the house. Cold wind, snow everywhere, nothing but wilderness tuning out the chilling chaos I’ve managed to keep buried.