Chapter 13 Grayson
grayson
I don’t run after her.
I should. I want to. But I don’t.
No, chasing after her will only freak her out even more. She needs time to process. To come down off the realization that we were two seconds away from kissing.
Frankly, so do I.
I wasn’t prepared for Kat to be here. I thought coming down for a soak would be good for me, allow me to relax a little after today, and also give Kat the room to herself, especially when I got the alert that we were snowed in.
I never suspected that she’d have the same idea, let alone share the space with me.
I wanted to bring her into my arms. Hold her.
Feel her head on my chest as we sat back and relaxed.
But I gave her space. I sat on my hands.
My dick behaved. Everything was going fine and dandy until I watched in slow motion as she started falling back.
I had no choice but to catch her, but I also knew the second she was in my arms that all bets were off.
Because it was in that second I realized that no matter what I thought of this woman before I met her, what I think of her now outweighs all of that.
She’s it for me. Full stop.
Sure, she might be my competition, but when you find the woman you know could change you for the better—who sees you in a way that no other person has seen you before—you don’t throw it away.
You don’t act like a hard-headed jackass and let something like your job, or the fact that you created a narrative in your head that she was your arch enemy, stand in your way of something special.
Which is what I now need to prove to her.
Though for me, it was just an idea I needed to get over.
For her? I think not mixing business with pleasure is more than a mantra—it’s her rule of life.
That it’s rooted in history and also comes with a deep side of pain.
Which means I need to show her why this can be different.
Why I can be different. Help her break down those walls.
Because this? What we share? What’s been evident from that first night? It’s undeniable.
The problem is, I don’t even know where to start when it comes to knocking down those walls.
I rack my brain as I get out of the hot tub and dry myself off.
For some reason, the first thing I think of is to order room service.
Why? Who the hell knows. I mean, my stomach was grumbling, and she did say that she was hungry when she was trying to make a beeline out of the hot tub.
I’m not sure if that was real or an excuse, but I don’t think it’s ever a bad move to order food.
But after that, I’ve got nothing. I sit and stare at the concrete surrounding the hotel pool for at least ten minutes with not a single idea.
I’m willing to play the long game, but I have a feeling once the holidays are over, and we’re free from Timberline Inn, Kat is going to be doing her darndest to stay away from me.
Which is why I have to make my move here.
I don’t know how long I have, but I need to make every minute, every interaction, count.
When I get back to the room and open the door, I see that the bathroom door is shut, but I don’t hear the water running. In fact, I don’t hear anything, despite it being only a little after seven. When I come down the short hallway and turn toward the bed, that’s when I see it.
Kat, pretending to sleep on the cot.
It’s fucking adorable.
“What are you doing?” She doesn’t move, and I can only laugh. “Kat, I know you’re awake.”
I stand over her, arms crossed in amusement, as she slowly rolls over, pretending to wake up, big yawn included. “What are you talking about? I was asleep.”
“Bullshit.”
“How do you know?”
I quirk an eyebrow. “Do you really want me to tell you?”
“Yes,” she says, now sitting up, acting surprised by my answer. “Enlighten me.”
“Because you do this cute little snore when you’re sleeping, and you weren’t doing that.”
“I—” she cuts herself off, not able to find the words. “I don’t snore.”
“You do, and it’s endearing,” I say, not worrying about hiding my words. Not when I’m staring down a mountain that I need to climb. “Now what were you doing on the cot?”
“Sleeping,” she defends again. “Well, trying to sleep.”
“And why were you doing it on the cot and not the bed?”
“I told you; I’m going to be nice and sleep on it tonight,” she says. “It’s only fair.”
I shake my head. “Absolutely not. This is your room. You’re sleeping on the bed.”
I mean, I’d rather us both sleep on the bed. But I know that option isn’t on the table.
Yet. I’m an optimistic man.
“I’m not moving,” she says, crossing her fingers and adjusting her legs to sit crisscross-applesauce.
“I’ve already washed my face and brushed my teeth.
I haven’t had a sip of water today, which I know isn’t something to brag about, but that means I’m not going to need to go to the bathroom for hours.
There’s nothing that’s going to move me off this cot. ”
“What about food?” I ask. “You said you haven’t eaten.”
She shakes her head. “I’m fine. Wasn’t actually that hungry. And if I want something, I can get it myself. I’m pretty independent that way.”
Oh, this is how she’s going to play it. This I can work with. “Oh. So you won’t want any of the food I ordered?”
This throws her. “You ordered food?”
I really want to give me from thirty minutes ago a big old pat on the back.
“I did,” I say as I check the time. “It’s going to be here in five minutes or so.”
Her eyes are about to pop out of her head. She really thought I was bluffing. “What did you order? I mean, probably won’t even like it, but you know, for my information.”
Now I just smile, because I know my play. Katherine might still be a bit of a mystery to me, but Kat I already know like the back of my hand. “Turns out the Timberline’s room service has a good selection of comfort food.”
As if on cue, there’s a knock at the hotel door. “Wait here. I’m going to go get the food, and you can decide if you want to die on this hill or not.”
She’s silent except for a “humpf” as I answer the door and wheel in the huge tray of assorted foods.
When I’m back in the room, Kat’s still in the same position, only now she’s staring at me as I walk past her, situating the cart against the desk, well past her arm’s reach if she stays on that damn cot.
“Not that I’m hungry or anything,” she says over her growling stomach. “But what toppings did you get?”
“Pizza with pepperoni and mushrooms,” I say. “Someone once told me it was the elite combination.”
Her stomach growls some more, and I can’t help but smile the way I imagine a cartoon villain does. If I had a mustache I’d twirl it.
“I also got a little something of everything. Chicken tenders. Spinach and artichoke dip. Truffle fries. And…oh, there it is. Two slices of cheesecake.”
I actually see her lick her lips, which I’m not sure she realizes she did.
“All sounds good,” she says as I open the containers, letting the aroma of the food fill the room.
She holds her ground firm, which I expected. But I’m not worried. She’s only going to be able to resist so long.
“This is really good,” I say, taking a big scoop of the dip with a piece of pita bread. “You should try it.”
“I’m good.” Except I can see her eyeing the table. At any point she could ask me for a plate, but I know she won’t. And I’m not going to offer either. Is this the move? I’m not sure. But like any trip to Vegas, I’m playing the hand I’m dealt. Even if it’s a less than ideal one.
“Suit yourself,” I say as I grab the remote, a beer from the mini fridge, and sit myself against the headboard of the bed. “I wonder what channel we can find a cheesy Christmas movie on? I haven’t played my Christmas movie drinking game in forever.”
This gets her attention away from the pizza. “Drinking game?”
“Of course,” I say. “Every time they say Christmas, take a drink. If it’s a second-chance story, take two drinks. There are a lot more where those came from, but that’s the gist.”
When I say forever, I mean never. I’m making this shit up as I go. Because desperate times call for desperate measures. And sometimes that comes in the form of beer and the big city girl falling for the guy who owns the Christmas tree farm.
She doesn’t say anything, but I can see the wheels turning in her head. I search the channels until I see exactly what I’m looking for. “Oh, this is a good one. She’s the daughter of Nicholas Saint, and he’s the lawyer trying to buy the town.”
Kat turns to the television, and just for a second, I think I see her smile. I don’t say anything—I don’t want to spook her—but I do hold my breath when I see her slowly get up from the cot and walk to where I put the food.
I slowly sit back against the headboard and watch as she takes a little bit of everything—including two slices of pizza, which I had a feeling would be her downfall—before grabbing a beer for herself and sitting next to me on the bed.
“Just because I moved doesn’t mean I’m sleeping here.”
“You keep telling yourself that.”
She peers at me. “You say I’m stubborn, but you’re not too far behind.”
“What can I say?” I pause my statement to take a big bite of pizza before talking with my mouth full. “I yam who I yam.”
For the first time since I got to the room, I see her relax. See her true smile. And I don’t know if I’ve knocked down a wall yet, but I think I loosened a few bricks.
“Really? The store’s manager is named Rudolph? You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”
Kat laughs through the sip of beer she’s taking, because in my game, that I’m making up as I go, anytime someone has a “random” holiday-themed name, you have to take a sip.
We’ve taken a lot of sips.
“I mean, it fits,” Kat continues as we watch the movie featuring the Christmas queen herself, Hollie Berry. “Did you know Rudolph is actually Hollie Berry’s married name?”
I nearly spit my beer out. “What? No way. Also, how the hell do you know this?”