Chapter 3 Simmering
Simmering
Cassidy
Isplash cold water on my face in the tiny bathroom, trying to calm my racing thoughts. Through the frosted window, snow falls in thick, relentless sheets. The wind howls around the corners, rattling the glass and making the whole structure creak.
We’ve been snowed in for less than thirty minutes, and I’ve already gotten into it with Ethan. My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I pull it out, remembering with a jolt that I was supposed to be meeting Desiree at the airport.
“Cassidy Morgan!” Desiree’s voice explodes through the speaker. “I have been worried sick! Where are you? The airport said all flights are canceled, and you weren’t answering my texts!”
“I’m so sorry,” I say, leaning against the sink. “It’s been... complicated. I’m snowed in at Britney’s house—”
“Wait, why are you there? I thought you were just meeting with social services about paperwork.”
I take a deep breath, staring at my reflection in the cracked mirror. “That was the plan. But her son had nowhere to go, and I agreed to keep him ’til after Christmas. Now I’m trapped with her seven-year-old and... and Ethan.”
There’s a long pause. “Ethan? Your Ethan? The one who—”
“Yes, that Ethan,” I interrupt, not wanting to hear her say it. “He drove Axel and me here to get a few things, and now we’re all stuck because of the blizzard.”
“Holy shit,” Desiree breathes. “That’s... wow. Are you okay?”
I close my eyes, remembering how my heart skipped when Ethan took off his suit jacket. “I don’t know. It’s surreal.” I perch on the edge of the bathtub. “What about you? Did you make it to the airport?”
Desiree’s laugh is bitter. “Are you kidding? I’m stuck in Winter Bay too. This storm has shut down the entire town . And guess where I’m trapped?”
I can tell already from her tone. “Enrick’s house?”
“Bingo. When I dropped Bella off, his sister-in-law Gina insisted I come into their mansion. Next thing I know, the roads are impassable, and I’m stranded with my baby daddy and his perfect family.”
Despite everything, I laugh. “At least you’re somewhere warm and luxurious.”
“Warm, yes. Comfortable, no.” Her voice drops to a whisper. “And it doesn’t help that he looks better than he did six years ago. How is that fair?”
“Life’s not fair,” I agree, thinking of the cruel twist of fate that brought Ethan back into my life after eight years.
“Let’s back up,” Desiree insists. “Is he still... you know... ridiculously good-looking?”
I stand. “Unfortunately, time has been very kind to him.”
“Damn. The universe really said let me make this as difficult as possible for Cassidy and Desiree.”
“Tell me about it. Look, I should go. I’ll tell you everything when I see you.”
“You’d better. This sounds way more interesting than my situation.”
“Don’t be so sure,” I say, hearing something in her voice that makes me curious. “There’s a reason you two never got together properly after your one-night stand.”
“Ancient history,” Desiree says quickly.
“We’ll see. I’ll call you tomorrow. Stay safe.” I hang up and step out of the bathroom.
The hallway is colder than the small space I just left. I make my way down the stairs, wrapping my arms around myself.
At the bottom, I nearly collide with Ethan. He’s covered in dust and cobwebs, a toolbox in one hand and a frustrated expression on his face.
“What are you doing?” I ask, taking an instinctive step back.
“Trying to get the furnace working. It’s completely shot.”
“Of course it is,” I mutter. “Because Britney never met a responsibility she couldn’t shirk.”
I didn’t want to think about how we’re going to survive the night in a house with no heat. Or about the last time I was trapped somewhere with Ethan Whitmore, we ended up naked and breathless and whispering promises we’d never get the chance to keep.
“There’s a fireplace,” Axel says quietly.
I turn to find him standing at the top of the staircase, clutching his worn backpack like a security blanket. He’s changed out of the too-big clothes from earlier into jeans and a sweater that actually fit. But his eyes remain too serious and watchful for a seven-year-old.
“Does it work?” I ask.
I meant what I told him in the car. None of this is his fault, and he doesn’t deserve to bear the brunt of my frustration.
He nods, pointing toward the living room. “Mama used it sometimes when the power went out. There’s wood on the back porch.”
“Smart kid,” Ethan says, running a hand through his hair, dislodging cobwebs but leaving a smudge of grease on his forehead that I have a ridiculous urge to wipe away.
Ethan moves past me, close enough to feel the heat radiating from his body. His rolled up sleeves reveal the strong forearms I used to trace with my fingertips during lazy Sunday mornings. I force myself to look away before my body can fully remember how those muscles felt flexing under my touch.
“I’ll check the flue and get a fire started,” he adds.
“I’ll see what’s in the kitchen,” I say, more to escape the suddenly suffocating atmosphere than because I’m particularly eager to inventory Britney’s food supplies.
The kitchen is a disaster, just like the rest of the house. Dirty dishes fill the sink, and the refrigerator hums like it’s on its last legs.
But when I open the cabinets, I’m surprised to find them reasonably well-stocked. Canned goods, pasta and rice. The basics of survival, if not exactly gourmet dining.
Britney might have been a terrible mother and an even worse sister, but at least she kept food in the house.
I’m pulling ingredients for spaghetti when I hear Ethan’s voice drifting from the living room, as he talks Axel through the process of building a fire. Something about kindling and airflow and the importance of dry wood. The kind of practical knowledge a father might pass down to his son.
My hands still on the can of tomato sauce I’m holding.
His son.
The thoughts I’ve been avoiding all afternoon. The reality I’ve been pushing away since the moment my sister announced her pregnancy. Because if I let myself acknowledge their relationship, I might just lose what’s left of my composure.
“The trick is to start small and build up,” Ethan is saying, his voice carrying that easy authority he’s always had with practical things. “You want the fire to have room to breathe.”
“Like this?” Axel asks, and there’s something tentative but eager in his voice.
“Perfect. You’re a natural.”
For all his protests about not wanting to take custody, for all his cold dismissal in the social worker’s office, he’s being incredibly gentle with Axel.
Patient in a way that reminds me of the man I fell in love with.
The one who could fix anything and never made me feel stupid for not knowing how.
I dump the tomato sauce into a pot and try to focus on cooking. But I can’t stop listening to their conversation, can’t stop cataloging their voices and the way they both have that same habit of thinking before they speak.
From the living room, I hear the fire catch with a soft whoosh, and I gravitate toward the sound, drawn by the light and heat to find Ethan and Axel sitting cross-legged on the floor, feeding small pieces of wood to the growing flames.
“Smells good,” Ethan says without looking up, and it takes me a moment to realize he’s talking about the sauce simmering on the stove.
“It’s just jarred sauce and whatever pasta I could find,” I say, settling onto the sagging couch and tucking my feet under me. “Nothing fancy.”
“Still smells good.” This time he does look at me, and there’s something soft in his expression.
His gaze lingers on my face for a beat too long, and I catch him studying my lips before he looks away.
“Remember that time in college when you tried to make dinner for my birthday and nearly burned down your dorm kitchen?”
I can’t stop my smile. “The smoke alarm went off three times. My RA thought there was an actual fire.”
“You cried because you thought you’d ruined everything,” he continues, and when he grins at the memory and my stomach does a traitorous flip. “But it was still the best birthday dinner I’ve ever had.”
The moment stretches between us, and for a few seconds, we’re not two people destroyed by betrayal and heartbreak. We’re just Ethan and Cassidy, remembering what it felt like to be young and stupid and completely in love.
Then Axel shifts beside the fire, and reality crashes back over me.
“I should check on dinner,” I say, jumping up from the couch.
In the kitchen, I stir the sauce with shaking hands and try to get my breathing under control. This is temporary, I remind myself.
I can handle one night of forced proximity without falling in love with the man who broke my heart. I’m stronger than I was eight years ago. Smarter.
The wind picks up outside, rattling the windows and reminding me that we’re well and truly trapped here. No escape until the storm passes, no reprieve from Ethan.
I close my eyes and try to think of Jamaica.
White sand beaches and rum drinks and blessed solitude.
But all I can picture is Ethan’s hands as he carefully arranged the kindling, the concentration on his face as he showed Axel how to build something warm and lasting from nothing but old wood and patience.
Footsteps approach the kitchen, and Ethan appears in the doorway. He’s pushed his sleeves up further, and there’s a smudge of soot on his cheek that makes him look younger somehow. More like the man I used to know.
“He’s organizing the woodpile,” Ethan says, answering my unspoken question. “Kid’s got a serious thing about making sure everything’s in its proper place.”
“Reminds me of someone I used to know,” I say without thinking, then immediately regret it. Because that someone is him.
But Ethan just nods, his expression thoughtful. “Yeah. Probably does.”
He moves into the kitchen, close enough that I can smell his cologne mixed with wood smoke. My body remembers what it felt like to have him this close when touching was allowed, when the space between us was meant to be eliminated, not maintained.
“Cassidy,” he breathes, and I look up from the pasta I’m stirring.
His eyes are darker than usual, intense. His gaze drops to my lips for a moment before meeting my eyes again, and I remember with devastating clarity how those lips used to feel against mine, how they felt when they trailed down my stomach.
Before I can think better of it, I’m rising on my tiptoes, closing the distance between us.
Our lips meet, and it’s like striking a match in a room filled with gasoline.
His hands immediately frame my face, and I’m gripping his shirt, pulling him closer as eight years of denial ignite into an inferno.
The kiss explodes between us, a furious release of everything we’ve been holding back. I can taste the heat of his mouth, feel the strength in his hands as they slide to my waist.
The timer on my phone suddenly blares, making both of us jump apart. We stare at each other, breathless and stunned by what just happened.
“I—” I start, but words fail me completely as I fumble to silence the alarm.
Ethan steps back, running a hand through his hair. “I should... set the table,” he says, his voice rougher than before.
“Wash your hands first.”
“Of course,” he agrees, moving to the sink.
We move around each other in the kitchen, avoiding collision. When his arm brushes mine as he reaches for the silverware, I feel it like a current.
“Cassidy, about what just happened—” he starts.
“It was a mistake,” I cut him off, not meeting his eyes as I drain the pasta. Steam rises, clouding the air. “We’re both stressed and trapped here. It doesn’t mean anything.”
His jaw tightens. I see it out of the corner of my eye.
“Right.”
“Food will be ready in five,” I say.
Ethan nods, gathering the mismatched plates and heading toward the small dining table that’s wedged between the kitchen and living room. The fire he and Axel built is crackling nicely now, making the place feel almost cozy.
“Axel,” I call toward the living room. “Dinner’s ready. Go wash your hands.”
He appears immediately, heading to the kitchen sink without argument. At least he’s obedient, I think, watching him scrub his hands thoroughly before drying them on a towel.
We settle around the small table, the silence stretching awkwardly until I serve the pasta. Axel digs in immediately, twirling the spaghetti around his fork and shoving it in his mouth.
“This is really good,” he says between bites, and the appreciation in his voice makes me smile.
“Just basic stuff,” I murmur, but his enthusiasm warms me.
Ethan eats quietly, occasionally glancing between Axel and me. In another life, this could have been our son sitting at our table.
We’d planned to have three children once upon a time. Two boys and a girl. Ethan had insisted the girl be in the middle so her brothers could protect her.
“Ms. Cassidy?”
“Yes?”
He fidgets with his fork, pushing pasta around his plate. “Will I get a new family before Christmas?”
Ethan’s fork pauses halfway to his mouth, and guilt forms in my throat.
“I... Axel, that’s not really how it works,” I say carefully. “Finding the right family takes time. Social workers want to make sure—”
“But Christmas is in three days,” he interrupts, his voice getting smaller. “I won’t get any presents if I’m not in a family.”
Ethan sets down his fork entirely. The silence stretches until it becomes unbearable.
“You don’t need to worry about that right now,” Ethan finally says. “Right now, you’re safe and warm and fed. That’s what matters.”
But as Ethan speaks, I can see in Axel’s eyes that he doesn’t believe him. And I’m not sure I believe it either.