Chapter Four #2
“Waffles. Berries. Maple syrup. Sausage. Whipped cream.”
Her eyebrows went up.
“Whipped cream? At breakfast?”
“That’s usually when I serve waffles. You can skip it if you want.”
“I’m questioning the whipped cream, not the hour.”
Caprice looked almost offended.
“I didn’t say I wanted to skip it. I want the reasoning documented.”
“There isn’t any.”
She considered that, then nodded.
“Good. That’s much more convincing.”
I laughed and started breakfast.
Unlike the night before, she didn’t stand beside me asking for exact instructions about every step. She sat on one of the stools with coffee while I mixed batter and browned sausage, talking to me as if sitting in a kitchen together on a snowed-in morning was something we’d been doing for years.
That unsettled me more than the sex had.
Sex I understood.
This was coffee, bare feet, and conversation while breakfast cooked.
For the moment, neither of us had anywhere else to be.
“So,” Caprice said, “did you grow up here with family close by?”
I looked over. “Yeah. One sister and one brother. My younger brother’s in the Air Force.”
“What made him leave?”
“He wanted the Air Force. Nothing dramatic. He talked about it for years, got old enough to make the choice, and went.”
“And your sister?”
“She stayed. Husband, three kids. They’re local. My parents are still here too.”
Caprice watched me pour batter into the waffle iron.
“So your family has evidence that both choices are legal.”
“I’ve always thought so.”
“I like that.”
I closed the waffle iron and leaned against the counter across from her.
“My brother likes his life. I like mine. Nobody has to be wrong.”
Her expression turned thoughtful.
“You talk about staying here as a decision, not as something that happened because you never got around to leaving.”
“That’s because I decided to stay.”
“I know.”
I checked the sausage.
After a moment, I asked, “Does television make staying anywhere difficult?”
“Sometimes. Television has a terrible habit of happening where the cameras are.”
“That seems inconsiderate.”
“I should probably file a complaint.”
I smiled.
“Some of what I do can happen anywhere with enough bandwidth. You’ve seen that. Development, reviews, scheduling, planning. But when we’re actively shooting and my job needs me on set, I need to be there.”
“You like that part too?”
“Yes.”
Her answer came fast enough that I knew she meant it.
“I like the set. I like the pace when everything is moving and fifty people are doing different jobs that all have to become one thing. I like seeing how one decision affects five others.”
“You’d hate a job that kept you quiet at a desk all year.”
“I would. Even if it made my life easier.”
“I wouldn’t expect you to choose something just because it was easier.”
Caprice looked at me over the rim of her mug.
“You really mean that.”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
Her mouth softened.
I checked the waffle before it turned into charcoal.
Caprice laughed.
“Excellent timing. You showed less reverence toward pasta.”
“I respect breakfast. Pasta didn’t plug into the wall.”
“Apparently we’ve found your boundary.”
The first waffle came out crisp and browned. I spooned berries over one side, added whipped cream, then maple syrup.
Caprice watched the whipped cream pile grow.
“That’s aggressive.”
“You said you wanted it.”
“I’m observing.”
I set the plate in front of her.
She picked up her fork, then stopped.
“Are you eating too?”
“As soon as the next one’s done. You don’t have to wait.”
“I know. I want to.”
I finished mine faster.
When I sat beside her, she lifted her mug.
“To breakfast with no measurable outcome.”
“That sounds risky.”
“It does.”
She cut into the waffle.
Her first bite included berry, syrup, and enough whipped cream to settle the argument.
Her eyes closed for half a second.
I kept eating.
Caprice opened them again and pointed her fork at me.
“I can feel you deliberately not commenting.”
“I’m having breakfast.”
“You’re enjoying restraint.”
“I’ve been told I’m good at it.”
She took another bite.
“The whipped cream is excessive.”
“You could stop eating it.”
“I need you to quit offering solutions when I’m clearly complimenting your work.”
“I thought you liked solutions.”
“I contain contradictions.”
“I’m learning.”
Her smile lingered as she kept eating.
Bear appeared halfway through the meal, having decided his breakfast at home no longer counted.
He went directly to Caprice.
“Absolutely not.”
Bear sat.
“You’ve eaten.”
His tail swept once across the floor.
“You’re trying to manipulate me with your face.”
“That sounds familiar,” I said.
“I work with actors.”
Bear leaned into her leg.
Caprice scratched behind his ear.
“No sausage.”
Bear turned his eyes toward me.
“Don’t appeal the ruling.”
Caprice laughed.
She finished the waffle, then looked at the empty plate.
I got up.
“Another?”
She hesitated for barely a beat.
“Yes, please.”
Nothing added.
No reason why she should or shouldn’t.
She wanted another waffle.
So I made her one.
By the time brunch ended, blue had opened between the clouds and the snow outside shone bright enough that we’d turned off the lamps.
Bear had been moving between the rear door and Caprice for several minutes.
She finally noticed.
“Why does he keep doing that?”
“He wants outside.”
“He’s already been outside today.”
“You’re applying human standards to a retriever in fresh snow.”
Bear shoved his nose at the door.
Caprice looked at him, then at me.
“What happens if we take him out?”
“He runs. He dives into drifts. If you throw snow, he’ll chase it. At some point he’ll probably try to knock one of us over.”
“That last part feels important.”
“I wanted you prepared.”
I opened the gear duffel.
Caprice followed me.
She pulled out the insulated snow pants and held them against herself.
“These are mine?”
“Guest Services sent the sizes you gave me with a crew already coming up for storm checks.”
“So legitimate resort equipment.”
“Yes.”
“Not a private collection you maintain for women you plan to throw into snowbanks.”
I looked at her.
“I’m not sure which part of that needs correcting first.”
Her grin widened.
We checked the gear together. The boots fit. The snow pants adjusted at the waist and shortened enough at the cuffs. The coat left room for layers without swallowing her.
“What goes underneath these?”
“Warm leggings are fine.”
“One pair or two? And what if I’m cold?”
“One. If you’re cold, we come inside.”
She narrowed her eyes.
“That sounds suspiciously easy.”
“A lot of things are until people make them complicated.”
“I feel targeted by that observation.”
She disappeared into the bedroom with the gear.
Ten minutes later she came back wearing the snow pants, insulated coat, waterproof boots, gloves, and a knit hat over a low ponytail.
She stopped in the middle of the great room.
“Well?”
I checked the fit first. Boots secure. Pants clear of the ground. Gloves covering her wrists. Coat zipped.
Then I let myself appreciate everything else.
Caprice caught me.
“Safety inspection?”
“Partly.”
“I’m getting better at identifying the other part.”
I stepped closer and fixed the folded cuff of one glove. “You’re good.”
“Do I get a briefing?”
“Short one. Once we’re outside.”
“Excellent.”
We went out through the rear door.
Cold hit fast after hours inside. Caprice inhaled sharply and paused on the deck while her eyes adjusted to the brightness.
The ridge had returned.
Clouds still covered the higher peaks, but the nearest slope showed between the trees, every exposed surface buried under white. Pine branches sagged beneath the weight. The open area behind the rentals stretched clean and untouched except for the paths crews had made near the buildings.
Caprice took two steps.
“That looks like a lot more snow from out here.”
“It usually does.”
She looked at me. “I’m going to need better guidance than that.”
I pointed across the open area.
“Stay between the trees on the left and the marked property boundary on the right. Don’t go past the posts toward the steeper slope. Lift your feet instead of shuffling. If you fall in deep powder, roll onto your knees before you try to stand.”
She nodded seriously.
“Ice?”
“Possible anywhere the snow gets packed. Stay off the plowed road unless I tell you it’s clear. Fresh powder is safer.”
“Bear?”
I looked behind us.
He stood crouched with his tail high.
“He’s probably the bigger hazard.”
Bear launched.
Caprice had just enough warning to turn.
He hit the drift beside her instead of her body, sending powder over her boots, legs, and one side of her coat.
She stared down.
Bear came up with snow covering his muzzle.
I laughed.
Caprice turned slowly toward me.
“You find this funny.”
“I do.”
“That’s useful information.”
She bent, scooped up snow, and packed a rough ball between her gloves.
“Caprice.”
She threw it.
The snowball hit me square in the chest.
Bear barked.
Caprice smiled with deep satisfaction.
“That’s why.”
I brushed snow from my coat.
“You understand you just started this.”
“You laughed first. I’m calling us even.”
“That doesn’t make us even.”
I bent for snow.
Caprice immediately backed away.
“You’re significantly larger than I am.”
“That wasn’t a concern when you threw yours.”
“It became relevant once you were armed.”
I made the snowball smaller.
She laughed.
“Was that mercy?”
“Fairness. I’m not letting you win.”
“Good. I don’t need you to.”
I threw.
It caught her shoulder.
Caprice gasped like I’d committed an actual offense.
Then she came after me.
There was no gradual transition into the snowball fight.
Within minutes she was throwing fast, missing often, and treating every hit as a personal debt that required immediate repayment.
Bear made everything worse.
He chased every snowball, snapped at powder in the air, and twice ran straight through Caprice’s line of fire. She started using him as moving cover.
“This isn’t how it works. He’s on nobody’s side.”
“You never established rules about canine shields.”
“Then he’s an independent contractor.”
Bear plowed into a drift and disappeared up to his shoulders.
Caprice laughed so hard she bent at the waist.