Chapter 3
Chapter three
Nathan
The snow’s coming down harder now, fat flakes catching in the headlights as I pull out of the Rusty Pine’s lot. Katy’s taillights disappear around the bend ahead of me, and I sit there at the stop sign longer than I need to, gripping the wheel like it’s the only thing keeping me grounded.
I liked her—more than liked her.
I liked the way she laughed bright, unselfconscious, like she’d never learned how to hold it back.
I liked the way she looked at me like I was interesting instead of just another grumpy mountain hermit.
The way her knee brushed mine under the bar, and neither of us moved away.
And I really liked the way she said my name at the end, soft and sure, as if she already knew she’d be saying it again.
I liked her so much it scares the hell out of me.
The truck’s heater is blasting, but I still feel cold. I mutter a curse and finally turn toward the ridge road, tires crunching fresh powder.
My phone buzzes in the cup holder before I’ve gone half a mile.
Emily.
Of course.
I let it ring twice, long enough to pretend I’m debating whether to answer, then hit speaker.
“What?” I say, trying for gruff and failing.
“Hello, sunshine,” she sings. “How was your big night out? Did you survive human interaction? Did you growl at anyone? Did you—oh my God, you’re smiling. I can hear it.”
“I’m not smiling,” I lie. My mouth twitches anyway.
“You are. You sound different. Lighter. Tell me everything. Is she pretty? Funny? Did she run screaming when she saw the beard?”
I exhale through my nose. “She’s nice.”
“Nice?” Emily’s voice shoots up an octave. “Nice? Nathan James, try again.”
I rub the back of my neck, eyes on the snowy road. “Okay, she’s more than nice.”
Silence. Then a delighted squeal so loud I wince.
“Details! Now! I need details!”
“She’s a graphic designer. Moved here six months ago. Laughs a lot. Talks to birds.”
Emily makes a sound like she’s about to cry. “You’re in love.”
“I’m not in love,” I say too fast. “It was one drink.”
“One drink and you’re smiling like a fool on the phone. I know that tone. You’ve got the glow.”
“There’s no glow.”
“There’s glow, massive glow. Did you kiss her?”
“No.” I pause. “Almost. Outside. In the snow.”
Another squeal. “You almost kissed her! In the snow! That’s movie shit, Nate!”
“It was nice.”
“You keep saying nice like it’s a bad word. Nice is good. Nice is great. Nice is the start of something that’s going to make you stop being such a hermit.”
I turn onto the dirt track that leads to the cabin, snow crunching under the tires. “She’s bright. Loud. Full of color. Everything I told myself I didn’t need.”
“And you liked it,” Emily says softly. Not teasing now. Just knowing.
“Yeah,” I admit. “I liked it.”
The line goes quiet for a second.
“Then don’t screw it up,” she says. “Don’t do the thing where you decide it’s too complicated before it even starts. She showed up. She stayed. She laughed at your grumpy ass. That’s rare, big brother. Don’t push it away because it scares you.”
I pull into the driveway and kill the engine. The cabin’s dark except for the porch light I left on. Bear’s silhouette appears in the window, tail wagging.
“I’m not pushing anything away,” I say. “I’m just taking it slow.”
“Sure,” she laughs. “Text her when you get inside and tell her you had a good time. Don’t overthink it. Just say it.”
I rub my beard. “You’re bossy.”
“I’m right.”
I snort. “Love you, Em.”
“Love you too. Now go inside before you freeze, text the girl, and dream about her. I want updates tomorrow.”
She hangs up before I can argue.
I sit there in the dark truck for another minute, breath fogging the windshield. Then I pull out my phone.
Her contact is already in my phone. Katy added herself before we left the bar, typing her name with a little sun emoji next to it like it was the most natural thing in the world.
I stare at the screen.
My thumb hovers.
Then I type.
Me: I hope you got home safe. Had a good time tonight. More than good. Thanks for not running when Jess ditched you.
I hit send before I can delete it.
Three dots appear almost immediately.
Katy: I’m home. Tonight was wonderful. I like you, Nathan Edwards. A lot. Don’t disappear on me, okay?
I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding.
Me: Not disappearing.
Katy: Good. Night, mountain man. Dream sweet. ??
I set the phone down, lean my head back against the seat, and close my eyes.
She likes me.
A lot.
And I like her back.
More than a lot.
The realization settles over me like the snow outside—soft, steady, impossible to ignore.
I climb out of the truck, crunch through the powder to the porch. Bear greets me at the door, tail thumping, oblivious to the fact that his human is having some internal meltdown.
Inside, I build up the fire, pour a finger of whiskey I don’t drink, and sit on the couch staring at the flames.
My mind replays the night in slow motion.
Her laugh when I finally cracked a real smile. The way her fingers brushed mine when we both reached for our glasses. The almost-kiss in the snow, her breath warm on my lips, her eyes sparkling under the streetlights. The way she looked at me like I was something special.
I rub a hand over my face. I’m in trouble. Deep, beautiful, terrifying trouble.
I pull out my phone again.
Me: Night, Katy. Dream sweet, too.
I add a sun emoji. Then I delete it. It’s too much. Then I add it back. Fuck it. I hit send.
The phone stays silent. She’s probably asleep.
I lean back, close my eyes, and let the fire warm my skin while the memory of her keeps warming everything else.
I’m smiling, actually smiling, and I don’t even try to stop it.