Chapter 4
FOUR
OLLIE
Pine trees and rain. And warmth. So much warmth.
It feels so nice, I don’t want to wake up. I want to stay here, surrounded by this warmth, by this familiar scent. I cling to the slipping vestiges of sleep as hard as I can because I don’t want this warmth to go away. I don’t want it to be a dream. I want it to be real.
I don’t want to feel cold again.
Awareness slowly trickles in and my eyes crack open against my will.
Fear grips me momentarily at the unknown surroundings but everything immediately settles in me when I smell Ethan all over the bed and room.
I don’t understand why his scent calms me this much.
All I know is that everything that happened yesterday is just there, sitting patiently at the edges of my mind, the memories present but not overwhelming.
Kept safely outside this bedroom and cabin.
Wait. This bedroom?
I feel my brows knit in confusion.
How did I end up here, in this bed? The last thing I remember is Ethan bandaging my ankle as the wind howled.
Realization slowly washes over me, making my face heat against the soft pillow.
He must have carried me here when I fell asleep.
He gave up his bed for me, a stranger he happened to find while he was working.
The sting in my eyes takes me by surprise and I rush to rub them before they start burning.
Sitting up, the comforter pools on my lap, and I can’t help looking around me, eager for another glimpse into Ethan’s life.
The bedroom is simple, with just the absolute necessary furniture in it, the bed is huge enough to fit at least four people, and there is a wooden, rocking chair right next to the dresser that is piled with what looks like clean clothes that were never folded and put away.
That small detail almost makes a chuckle bubble up and I still as I try to remember the last time I’ve wanted to smile or grin at something.
He must be up already, judging from the faint sounds of someone moving about.
I’m up, opening the bedroom door and following those sounds before I’ve even realized what I’m doing.
They lead me to the kitchen.
Where Ethan is cooking breakfast in sweatpants and a T-shirt, the casual clothing molding on him in a way that it feels almost indecent for me to be standing here, watching him.
I’m almost on the verge of turning around and heading back to the bedroom, when he turns around.
His eyes widen when he sees me, and for a second, he just looks at me before his face splits into a warm smile that makes something flutter inside me.
Because he’s looking at me as if he’s happy to see me.
“Good morning, Oliver,” he says in his deep, rich voice. “Did you sleep well? Any pain from yesterday’s fall?”
“I slept very well, thank you. And no pain,” I answer with a smile of my own, and watch as his own briefly stutters. But I blink and it’s the same as before, so it must be my imagination.
“I’m glad. Here, come sit. I’m making breakfast,” he says, as he turns towards the stove again. “Do you like pancakes?”
His question catches me off-guard as I sit at the round kitchen table.
“I’m not sure.”
Ethan turns around with a frown. “What do you mean you’re not sure?”
“I’ve never tried them before.”
I feel my cheeks heat at the admission. What 22-year-old guy hasn’t tried pancakes even once in his life?
Ethan’s kind eyes sharpen at my words, his gaze boring into mine with a strange intensity.
But his expression softens almost immediately.
“Then I’ve got to make sure these come out pretty damn great.”
I grin at his words and at how serious he sounds.
“Well, I have nothing to compare them to so there’s no pressure.”
For some reason, the pancake he was in the process of taking out of the pan slips from the spatula and lands on the kitchen floor with a loud ‘smack.’
We both watch the spectacular landing, and as our eyes meet, I have to bite the inside of my cheek to smother a laugh.
“Please pretend you didn’t see that,” he groans.
“I make no promises.”
Ethan snorts as he prepares pancake after pancake, until there is a small mountain in danger of collapsing. The table in front of me is almost overflowing with delicious food and all kinds of beverages—coffee, tea, orange juice.
Why would he do all this?
Did he prepare all this for me?
“Eat, Oliver,” he says in his soothing voice as he takes a seat as well. “You must be starving, you barely ate anything yesterday.”
The concern in his tone makes my chest ache so bad.
But I refuse to choke up and let what he prepared go to waste.
I pile my plate with pancakes and pour some honey on them – on Ethan’s suggestion – while he fills a glass of juice for me.
At the first bite, I swear my eyes almost flutter closed at the sweet fluffiness in my mouth. I can’t help the happy hum that escapes me because this is so good.
Ethan smiles at me over his cup of coffee.
“Good?”
“So good,” I mumble with my mouth full as I devour the first pancake and then attack the second one.
“Are you just saying that because it’s the first time you’ve tried them?” he asks with a twinkle in his eye that makes me think he’s teasing me.
“No, I’m saying that because I don’t think I’ve ever eaten something this good,” I tell him honestly once I’ve swallowed.
He smiles at my answer and I can tell he’s pleased, the thought making my stomach flip.
“I’m glad you like them. Eat more so you can feel better. A full stomach works wonders.”
“Do you make these often?” I sneak a peek at him while he eats his way through his own plate.
“Not really. Usually, it’s just me up here so there’s no one to cook for.”
He says it like it’s no big deal that he prepared all this for me, for someone he’s known for less than a day, when to me it means everything.
“Are you saying I’m your pancake guinea pig?” I ask, hoping that my voice betrays nothing of how moved I am by his incredibly thoughtful gesture.
“Would you mind if you were?” he rumbles, cutting into his eggs and smiling.
“Not at all.” He can feed me all the pancakes he wants.
He chuckles and the sound makes me stare at him for a few seconds, before I go back to the food on my plate.
We eat in companionable silence after that, and for the first time the quiet doesn’t feel oppressive, closing in around me from all sides. It’s not a bottomless void I can’t escape.
It just… is.
I stop only when I’m sure I can’t swallow another bite.
“If you’re done, I can show you how the shower works and then I could change your bandages for you again. Some hot water would be good for you.”
Our gazes lock when I look at him and… I don’t think I can take advantage of his kindness any longer.
“Thank you, Ethan,” I blurt out. “For everything. This was the best breakfast I’ve ever had.”
He doesn’t smile this time but some of the previous intensity bleeds into his eyes.
“You don’t have to thank me, Oliver. I was happy to do it,” he says in a gentle but firm tone that sends a shiver through me. “Now,” he continues, leaning on his forearms, “would you mind telling me why you look so sad all of a sudden?”
“I can’t stay here.” The words are barely a whisper, pulled out from somewhere deep inside. Some place that still hopes and wishes things were different. “I have to go.”
My chair screeches on the floor as I shove it backwards, almost stumbling in my rush to get up.
“Oliver, wait!”
I shake my head, my heart beating faster and faster but I don’t even make it two steps before a strong hand wraps around my wrist and stops me in my tracks.
Ethan pulls me towards him, and I was right last night. He’s so tall and big, I bet he could swallow me up in his embrace if he wanted to.
My eyes lift to his and the tension brewing in them is enough to make my breath hitch.
His hand never leaves my wrist, rubbing instead slow circles on my pulse.
“I don’t know what’s going on, but you can’t leave. The roads are closed. There is a snowstorm warning in effect. It’s dangerous for you to go out there.”
I stare at him, my eyes barely blinking.
“What?” I croak out.
Ethan’s brown eyes swirl with sympathy as he nods.
“I’m so sorry, Oliver. You can’t leave yet, but I promise you I’ll drive you wherever you want once I get the okay that the roads are safe again.” His tone is almost begging me to understand.
Like he thinks my problem is me staying here with him.
Oh God, what am I going to do?
I can’t stay with this sweet man here, but I nod anyway because Ethan looks so worried and I don’t want to see him like that. Not after everything he did to save me, to make sure I was warm and fed and safe.
“Okay,” I manage to whisper. “I’ll go take that shower then.”
“Okay,” he says, and the relief in his voice is palpable.
It’s almost enough to make me smile.
But as I watch him leave to get me clean clothes to change into, I pray as hard as I can that I’m wrong, that the tightness in my gut will go away.
That I still have time left.