Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Gina
I wake to the sound of the wind howling against the windows and the steady rise and fall of Wyatt’s chest beneath my cheek.
The afternoon light filters through the big windows, making it look like we’re inside a snow globe.
It’s quiet. Peaceful. And dangerous—because peace like this makes a girl like me start to dream about things she can’t have.
We spent the morning tangled in each other and the quilts.
It was incredible. I can’t find a thing about him that I don’t like.
His hands…his mouth…everything about the man makes my heart trip over itself.
I sigh with contentment when my stomach growls loud enough to echo off the cedar walls.
He laughs and kisses my forehead, “Guess we’d better feed you before you faint, Red.
We’ve had quite a workout this morning. But let’s shower first.”
I suck in a breath—I’ve never showered with a man before.
“Hey, you,” he leans over, kissing my forehead. “If you’d rather not share a shower, it’s okay. You go first, and I’ll wait right here for you.”
“It’s not that I don’t want to,” I whisper. “But no man has ever asked me to before. You know…because I’m…”
He places a finger on my lips, “Don’t you dare say what I think you’re about to say. You are beautiful—inside and out.” His hand drifts to my cheek. “You’re safe with me, Gina.”
Tears sting my eyes. No one has ever made me feel the way Wyatt does. My lips quiver, “I know. I’m just not used to it.”
“You should be. It’s what you deserve.”
My heart melts at his words. Because my life has been a series of horrible mistakes when it comes to men, I know a man like this—a chance like this—will never come my way again. So, I swallow my fear, get to my feet, and slip my hand into Wyatt’s.
We take a long shower together, the steam curling up around us. His big hands are gentle as he washes every inch of my body, then rinses the soap from my hair. By the time he wraps me in a towel, I’m starving and dizzy from smiling so much.
“You’re spoiling me,” I giggle.
“Good,” he kisses my temple. “Get dressed. I’ll meet you in the living room in five. Do you like pasta?”
I start to give my usual, can’t-you-tell-by-the-size-of-my-hips reply, when I push it away. Wyatt has made it clear he likes my body. “I love pasta,” I smile.
“Good. You’re in for a treat. I’m going to make you my famous creamy garlic pasta.”
I float to the dresser, still grinning, and open the drawer to find a purple, oversized sweater, a black pair of yoga pants, and a pair of pink socks. To my surprise, the outfit fits perfectly. I fashion my hair into a braid, then walk into the living room.
“I like your hair like that,” Wyatt is standing by the fireplace. “And the way that sweater hugs your curves.”
“Thank you,” I say, my cheeks heating. “Can I help you with dinner?”
“Absolutely not,” he sits me on the sofa, drapes a fur blanket around my shoulders, and stokes the fire until it blazes bright. Lucky hops up beside me, giving Wyatt a passing glance, then curls in my lap.
“Traitor,” he mutters.
“I think he’s wonderful,” I tease, scratching the cat’s chin.
Wyatt chuckles, moving into the kitchen. Soon, the wonderful smell of garlic and butter begins to fill the cabin. I watch him work—flannel sleeves rolled to his forearms, every movement confident and sure. It’s absurdly domestic and absurdly perfect.
He brings our lunch on a tray: plates of creamy garlic pasta with parmesan cheese, bread, green beans, and a bowl of fresh strawberries. He sets the plates down on the coffee table and hands me a fork. “Eat,” he orders gently. “You’re going to need your strength,” he winks.
I laugh, taking a bite. “This is delicious. You cook, you save damsels in distress, you’re amazing in bed. What can’t you do?”
“I have limits, trust me,” he says, a ghost of a smile at the corner of his mouth. “But I like taking care of you.”
Something tightens in my chest at that. Nervous, I pretend to focus on the food.
“So… where is your road trip going to take you from here?” he asks after a while.
“I don’t know. Wherever it feels right, I guess.” What I don’t say is that here feels right. In a flash, I have a crazy, irrational thought—maybe he’ll ask me to stay. But he doesn’t. He just nods, thoughtful and quiet, and the space between us fills with the sound of the fire.
He breaks the silence first. “How did you find this mountain anyway?”
I laugh softly. “I stopped for gas just off the highway and saw the ridge in the distance. It looked… peaceful. I decided to drive a little closer. One back road led to another, then a deer crossed my path, and I followed it for a picture. Before I knew it, I was halfway up your mountain, and when I saw the eagle—well, you know what happened from there.”
He reaches for a strawberry and holds it out to me. “Well, whatever brought you here, I’m glad it did.”
When I take a bite, he kisses me—quick, sweet, tasting faintly of berries. My heart stumbles all over again.
“It’s still snowing like mad out there,” he says, glancing toward the window. “What do you say we have a lazy afternoon and watch something? I’ve got movies and documentaries on the laptop.”
“That sounds perfect,” I start to stack the dishes on the tray.
“No, siree,” he takes a plate from my hand. “I’ve got this. Why don’t you make us a nest of blankets in front of the fire? We’ll watch the laptop there.”
“Wait!” I jump up as he starts toward the kitchen. I tug him down to my mouth using the sides of his shirt. “I need to kiss the chef.” I slip my tongue into his mouth, then nip at his lips as I sink back down on my feet. “Thank you for cooking for me.”
“My pleasure, Red,” He glances over his shoulder when he reaches the kitchen counter. “I can’t wait to see how you thank me for the cake.”
“Cake?” I squeal.
“Double chocolate fudge cake. I baked it a few days ago.”
“You bake?” I blink, grinning. “You’re getting more than a kiss for that, Mr. Stone.”
He waggles his eyebrows. “That’s what I was hoping for.”
I collect the blankets from around the room, set them in front of the fire, then roll onto my stomach, chin propped on my hands, watching him work in the kitchen. His back muscles move beneath his shirt as he opens a cabinet, and the sight alone could melt the snow outside.
He’s a magnificent specimen of a man—powerful, capable, yet with me, he’s gentle as a kitten. And when he talks—really talks—it’s easy to forget the world outside this cabin exists.
He doesn’t tell me I should skip dessert or joke about calories. He just smiles, tells me I’m beautiful, and that I deserve to be pampered.
He’s everything I’ve ever wanted in a man.
But it’s only temporary.
I have to remind myself of that.
Because when this storm clears, he’ll stay on this mountain—and I’ll have to leave him behind.