11. Chapter 11
Cate
February - Twelve Years Ago
We weren’t supposed to end up anywhere.
That had been the whole point.
It was one of those rare free Saturdays where neither of us had plans, so we just drove. No map, no destination. Just snow-covered roads winding up into the mountains, the sky low and pale, John’s old truck humming beneath us.
The radio crackled to life, and the sultry voice of Britney Spears filled the cab.
“Oh no,” I said. “Not this.”
John grinned and turned it up.
“Oh yes.”
He sang “Toxic” at the top of his lungs, off-key, dramatic and terrible, pounding the steering wheel like he was headlining a stadium tour.
“Why do you know all the words?”
He glanced at me, daring to take one hand off the wheel long enough to run his finger down my lips. I swatted his hand away and rolled my eyes.
I laughed so hard I nearly choked. “You’re going to cause an accident.”
“Worth it.”
When that song ended and another came on, John gave up the performance in favor of driving.
“So… Brittany Spears?”
He shrugged. “What can I say? She was hot.”
A little zing rolled through me, my insecurity peeking her cruel head out for the first time in a while. “Was?” I asked, glancing down at my average brown locks.
He looked at me and winked. “Definitely was.”
He took my hand, interlacing our fingers, and brought it to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to my knuckles. “I’ve only got eyes for one woman now.”
Butterflies took flight in my belly and I had to change the subject.
“Where are we going?” I asked, my knees tucked up against the dashboard.
Snowflakes swirled thicker around us, the road turning white and winding.
He smiled, eyes never leaving the road. “Somewhere.”
I laughed. “That’s not helpful.”
“That’s intentional.”
The snow started coming down harder somewhere past the foothills. Soft at first, then thick and blinding, flakes slanting sideways across the windshield.
I turned down the radio as John’s grip tightened on the wheel.
“Okay…,” he said. “Maybe we should find a place to stop.”
I swallowed, a lump forming in my throat. “Yeah.”
I watched out the window, looking for a place we could pull off and stop for a while - a restaurant or bar…
A sign ahead loomed through the white, Welcome to Silverpine.
Neither of us had ever heard of it.
Ten minutes later, we were pulling into a cozy mountain town that looked like it had been pulled straight from a postcard, complete with twinkling lights, snow-dusted rooftops, and warm golden windows glowing against the dark.
“Well,” I said. “Guess this is somewhere.”
The only hotel with a vacancy was a ski lodge tucked against a row of evergreens. Inside smelled like pine and firewood and something sweet baking in the kitchen.
The clerk slid a key across the counter. “Last room.”
John glanced at me. “Are you okay with that?”
I hesitated. Not because I didn’t want to be with him… but because I did, and I had been doing so good at waiting.
“Yeah,” I said quietly. “I’m okay.”
The room was ridiculous.
A massive bed with thick blankets folded at the foot. A stone fireplace, and a big window looking out over the snow-covered town.
“This feels suspiciously romantic,” I said.
“I swear,” he laughed, “I did not orchestrate this.”
I arched an eyebrow at him, “Okay, Romeo, if you say so.”
He just shook his head, but the smile never left his face. “Come on, I think I saw a restaurant downstairs.
We went downstairs to the restaurant where I couldn’t help but take in the wooden beams, low lights, and people in sweaters and ski jackets laughing over drinks. I had two glasses of wine while I waited for our food.
Then a third.
John watched me with quiet amusement. “Nervous?”
“Me?” I scoffed. “Never.”
But he didn’t miss anything. He never did.
Our food came a short time later, and I picked at it, afraid to eat too much in case things got… physical later. John watched me with a curious glint in his eye, and I was grateful when his phone buzzed on the table.
He picked it up with a shake of his head. “Seth,” he mouthed before answering.
“Yeah?”
A pause. Then, “No, we’re not back yet… We took a drive… Yeah, I know, I know… Can you keep her tonight?”
I glanced at him. “Everything okay?” I whispered.
He nodded, but continued his conversation. “Yeah. A snowstorm hit the mountains. We’re stuck for a while. Looks like you’re babysitting.”
Seth’s muffled protest made me smile.
“Be a good uncle. Buy her a toy,” John added with a laugh. “And don’t let her eat the couch again.”
He hung up, shaking his head. “Baby's going to be mad at me.”
I laughed. “She’ll forgive you.”
“I hope so. She holds grudges.”
Back upstairs, we lit the fire and sat on the rug, my back against his chest, his arms around me, warmth everywhere - the fire, his body, the slow rhythm of his breathing.
“I like this,” I murmured.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. It’s… safe.”
His chin rested on my hair. “You’re safe with me.”
That shouldn’t have made my throat tighten the way it did.
We kissed, slow and unhurried, the fire snapping behind us, heat curling through me like smoke. I turned in his arms and kissed him again, deeper this time, needier, my hands sliding under his shirt because I couldn’t stand not feeling him, not right now.
His skin was warm, solid beneath my palms. Real.
John made a low sound in his throat and pulled me closer, like he was afraid of letting go, and suddenly the space between us was gone. His mouth moved over mine, unrestrained now, and I matched him without thinking, without holding back.
My fingers traced his neck, his jaw, the corner of his mouth. I wasn’t subtle. I didn’t want to be.
I just wanted him.
When I woke the next morning, sunlight spilled through the window in pale ribbons.
I was warm.
Wrapped.
And not alone.
I blinked and became acutely aware that I was wearing a soft T-shirt that definitely was not mine - and nothing else.
My heart jumped straight into my throat.
“Oh my God.”
John stirred beside me, eyes still half-closed. “Morning.”
“I…” I sat up, clutching the shirt to my chest. “Did we…?”
He smiled sleepily. “No.”
“No?”
“No,” he said gently. “You fell asleep on my shoulder. I carried you to bed. You looked so uncomfortable in jeans and a sweater, so I gave you my shirt. That’s it.”
Relief flooded me so hard I almost laughed.
“You didn’t…?”
“Nope.”
“You didn’t want to…?”
He propped himself up on one elbow, expression warm and steady. “Of course I wanted to. I just wanted you to want it too… without feeling pressured.”
We spent the day in Silverpine, walking the snow-covered streets. We wandered through little shops and drank coffee in a quiet café with fogged-up windows. And that evening, we ate dinner in a tiny restaurant with candlelight and red wine.
It felt like we were living a different life.
One I didn’t want to leave.
That night, back in the hotel room, the fire burning low, the air heavy with everything we weren’t saying, I felt the pull between us like gravity.
I kissed him first.
No nerves, no alcohol, just need.
John’s hands came to my face like he was afraid I might disappear, his thumbs brushing my cheeks, his touch warm and reverent. When he kissed me back, it was slow, unhurried, like he was learning the shape of my mouth, the way I breathed, the way I softened against him.
His hands drifted over my shoulders, down my arms, my back, leaving heat in their wake. Everywhere he touched, I felt more awake, more here.
I slid my fingers into his hair, pulling him closer, needing him nearer, and he made a quiet sound against my lips that sent a shiver through me.
This time, when he touched me, it wasn’t hesitant or unsure. It was careful, like he was memorizing me, every curve, every breath. As if this moment mattered as much to him as it did to me.
His fingers slid to the hem of my top, brushing my stomach as he lifted it slowly over my head. The cool air made me shiver… or maybe it was the way his gaze lingered on me afterward.
“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, his voice low.
He leaned in, his mouth warm against my skin, kissing me through the thin lace of my bra. I sucked in a breath as his hand moved around my back, fingers finding the clasp. He paused, looking up at me, asking without words.
I nodded.
With a soft flick of his fingers, the bra fell away, and his hands were on me, warm and sure, holding me like something precious. His mouth followed, slow and worshipful, until I was pressing closer without even realizing it.
I slid my hands over his shoulders, down the hard lines of his back, tugging at his shirt until he helped me pull it away. Our skin met, and the sensation of him, solid and hot and real, made my knees go weak.
His kisses drifted from my lips to my neck, my collarbone, lower… until his fingers found the waistband of my jeans. Again, that silent question.
“Yes,” I whispered. “Please.”
He eased them down my legs, the loss of fabric replaced by the heat of his body. My hands were already fumbling at his, undoing buttons, desperate to feel more of him.
John stilled me gently, his eyes dark, his breath uneven. “Are you sure?”
I didn’t hesitate. “I want you.”
That was all it took.
He pulled me close again, kissing me like there was nowhere else in the world he wanted to be. When he finally moved between my legs, every inch of me felt awake, tuned only to him.
When we came together, it was slow, deep and careful and achingly intimate. I wrapped my legs around him, clinging to his back, needing him closer as the rhythm between us built.
“John…” My voice broke as sensation rolled through me, too big to hold.
He moved with me, breathing my name like a prayer, until everything shattered into heat and light and feeling, and I was lost in him completely.
Afterward, John pressed a kiss to my hair, his arms still wrapped around me, like he wasn’t ready to let go either.
I stayed curled against him, my cheek pressed to his chest, listening to the steady, grounding thud of his heart. It felt surreal that something so quiet could come after something that had shaken me so completely.
My body still hummed, warm and loose and heavy in the best way, but it was the way he held me that made my throat tighten - one arm firm around my back, the other resting at my waist like he was anchoring me there. Like he wasn’t going anywhere.
I traced slow, absent lines over his skin, my fingers drifting over the familiar dip of his collarbone until they found the small birthmark.
I’d always thought it looked like Africa.
I let my thumb rest there for a moment, grounding myself in something real, something unmistakably him, trying to make sense of what had just happened. Not just the closeness, the heat… but the way it had felt like more than that. Like something had shifted, clicked into place.
“Hey,” he murmured softly, his fingers brushing my hair back from my face.
I looked up at him, suddenly overwhelmed by how open his expression was. No walls. No distance. Just John.
“That was…” I swallowed, searching for the right word.
He smiled, slow and tender. “Yeah.”
I let out a shaky breath and tucked myself back against him, feeling strangely fragile and safe all at once. Whatever this was between us, whatever line we’d crossed, there was no pretending it hadn’t happened now.
And for the first time, instead of scaring me… it felt like something I wanted to hold onto.