Chapter 3 #2
I thought about my inbox, full of work emails I'd been ignoring. "Not exactly."
He watched me, waiting. Not pushing, just... present. It was disarming, that patient attention.
"I'm good at my job," I said finally. "Really good. But somewhere along the way I forgot why I started doing it." I shook my head. "That sounds ridiculous."
"It doesn't." His voice was quiet. "Sometimes you have to step away to remember what you're stepping back to."
We sat with that for a moment. Outside, the snow fell heavier. Jason had shifted closer somehow, or maybe I had. The space between our chairs had narrowed.
"Can I ask you something?" he said.
"Yeah."
"Why did you really come here? To the lodge."
I met his eyes. "Honestly? I don't think I knew until right now."
His gaze held mine, and I watched him process that, saw the moment he understood what I meant.
The air between us felt thick again, charged.
Jason's gaze dropped to my mouth, and this time he didn't look away quickly.
We sat there for a long moment, the space between us feeling both too far and too close.
Then voices echoed from the hallway, breaking the moment. Jason pulled back first, the spell broken.
"We should probably get ready for dinner," he said, standing. "Social hour starts at six, right?"
"Right." I followed him out, disappointment settling in my chest.
***
The social hour was exactly as tedious as expected—wine, cheese, and small talk.
Someone had strung garland along the mantel, and the scent of mulled cider drifted from the kitchen.
I fielded questions about publishing and agents and craft, while sneaking glances at Jason across the room.
He was talking to Claire again, both of them animated about something, and that irrational jealousy flared again.
I shouldn't be feeling this possessive about someone I'd known for three days.
Eventually I managed to extract myself from a conversation about marketing strategies and found Jason by the windows, looking out at the mountains. The sun was setting, painting the sky in shades of amber and rose, and the light caught in his hair in ways that made my fingers itch to touch.
"Hey," I said softly, stepping close enough that our shoulders brushed. Close enough to feel his warmth. "Surviving?"
He turned toward me, and the movement brought us face to face, only inches apart. "Barely." His voice was low, intimate. "I'm not good at these networking things."
"Neither am I." I didn't step back even though I should. Even though we were in a room full of people who were definitely watching us. "Want to escape?"
"Desperately."
We slipped out while no one was watching, and the moment we were in the hallway, the air felt charged again.
Electric. We didn't speak as we walked back to our room but I was aware of him beside me.
The way our hands almost brushed. The way he'd catch me looking and hold my gaze instead of looking away.
The door closed behind us and I collapsed onto the loveseat. Relief and tension warred in my chest. "Thank god. I thought that would never end."
Jason laughed, settling into the armchair. "Rebecca tried to corner me to ask about my 'relationship' with you. I think she's suspicious."
"Of what?"
"That we're friends? That you're giving me special attention?" He adjusted his glasses. "I don't know. But she's definitely watching us."
"Let her watch." The words came out fiercer than I intended. "She doesn't get to police who I'm friends with."
"Is that what we are?" Jason asked quietly. "Friends?"
I looked at him—really looked at him. The way the light from the lamp in the room caught the highlights in his hair, the intelligence in his eyes, the soft curve of his mouth that I'd been trying very hard not to think about.
"I don't know," I admitted. "But I know I like spending time with you more than anyone else here. And I know I'm going to be disappointed when this week ends and we have to go back to our real lives."
"Me too," Jason said, and his expression made my chest tighten.
We ordered room service for dinner—a luxury, but worth it to avoid more socializing—and ate in the living area while talking about everything and nothing. Books, movies, the quirks of small-town life versus city living. It felt easy in a way I hadn't experienced in years. Natural. Right.
Later, getting ready for bed, the routine we'd established felt different tonight. Magnetic in ways I couldn't ignore anymore.
Jason grabbed his things. "Bathroom first?"
"Go ahead."
The shower ran longer than I expected. I told myself I wasn't counting the minutes. Told myself I wasn't imagining anything. Both were lies.
When he finally emerged, I kept my eyes on my phone, scrolling through nothing. Safer that way.
"Your turn," he said, his voice slightly rough.
I took a quick shower, standing under spray that was too hot.
This was Day Three. We had four more days of sharing this space.
Four more days of this building tension before we both went back to our real lives.
Before he returned to Juniper Bluff and his manuscript and his friends, and I went back to.
.. what, exactly? The job I'd been avoiding thinking about?
When I came out, Jason was in bed with my laptop, reading the pages I'd written today. I stood there in the doorway for a moment just looking at him. At the concentration on his face. The small smile playing at his lips as he read.
He looked up and caught me staring. Neither of us looked away.
"These are good," he said finally, his voice low in the quiet suite. "Really good. This is the story you're supposed to be writing."
I crossed to my bed, settled onto it facing him. We were only a few feet apart, but it felt simultaneously too far and too close. "I couldn't have written it without you."
"Yes, you could have. You needed someone to give you permission to write what you wanted instead of what you thought you should."
"Is that what you do? Give people permission?"
"I don't know what I do." He set the laptop aside carefully, giving me his full attention. "But whatever this is—talking with you, working with you—it doesn't feel like anything I've done before."
"For me either," I admitted.
The air between us felt thick, weighted with everything we weren't saying. I watched Jason's throat work as he swallowed and his eyes darken.
"We should probably sleep," he said, but he didn't make a move.
"Probably." I didn't move either.
We sat there for another moment, looking at each other across the space between our beds. The wanting was physical now, impossible to ignore.
Then Jason yawned—couldn't quite hide it—and the spell broke slightly. He laughed, self-conscious. "Sorry. Apparently my body has an opinion about the time."
"What time is it?"
He checked his phone. "Almost midnight."
"Shit, really?" Where had the evening gone?
"We should probably sleep." This time when he said it, he actually moved, settling back against his pillows.
"Yeah." I did the same.
A moment later, Jason reached for the lamp. "Goodnight, Brent."
"Goodnight."
In the darkness, I lay awake for a long time, aware of every sound. Jason's breathing. The rustle of sheets when he shifted. The knowledge that he was just feet away and that all I'd have to do was cross that small space.
And what? Complicate everything? Ruin the fragile thing we were building?
I rolled onto my side, facing away from him and running things through my mind. Tomorrow's craft session. The one-on-one appointments Danica wanted me to schedule. The email from my agent I'd been ignoring.
Anything but the way Jason had looked at me tonight. The way his pulse had jumped under my fingers. The way his eyes had dropped to my mouth not once but twice.
"Brent?" His voice was soft in the darkness, tentative.
My heart hammered against my ribs. "Yeah?"
"I can't sleep."
I rolled back over, and in the dim light from the window I could just make out his shape in the other bed. "Me neither."
"This is..." He trailed off, and I heard him take a shaky breath. "I don't know what this is. What we're doing."
"I don't either." The admission felt dangerous. Honest. "But I know I'm going to be disappointed when this week ends."
"What if we didn't have to?" The question was barely a whisper. "Go back, I mean. What if—" He stopped. "Never mind. That's crazy."
"What if what?"
"Nothing. Just... wishful thinking."
I wanted to push, wanted to know what he'd been about to say. But maybe it was better not to know. Better to keep this in the realm of possibility instead of crashing into reality.
"Goodnight, Jason," I said again.
"Yeah. Goodnight."
But I lay awake long after his breathing evened out into sleep, thinking about how three days ago I'd been a burned-out thriller writer coming to a retreat to find inspiration.
And now I was lying in the dark, wanting someone I had no business wanting, feeling things I had no business feeling, and wondering how the hell I was going to survive four more days of this.
Four more days of almost touching. Almost kissing. Almost crossing that line.
The thought terrified me. The thought thrilled me.
And I wasn't sure which feeling was stronger.