Chapter 27
Karan
“Let me get that for you.”
“No, I’ve got it.”
I give up this one battle, which is sure to be only the first of many, letting Rachel grab her own suitcase from the trunk of our rental car while I focus on my own.
We roll the luggage through the freshly fallen snow on the long path up to the A-frame cabin nestled high up in the mountains. It’s late afternoon, and the sun has already begun to set, but I can still see the puff of steam escape her mouth as Rachel breathes heavily during our ascent.
Not that I’m faring any better. With my current job, I haven’t been able to spend as much time at the gym as I’d like, and I can tell. A five-minute walk up to a cabin shouldn’t get me winded like this.
But the gym is the least of my worries. Right now, I need to fix what’s wrong with me and Rachel. The rest can come later.
“I swear,” I say with a huff, trying to force a smile. “The view from the cabin… is worth it.”
“I hope we didn’t forget anything in the car, because I’m not going back down for it.” Rachel turns her head back towards the car, then shrugs. “Yeah, nope.”
“I think we got everything. I can go back if we forgot something.”
“How noble of you.”
“Well, I did pick the place.”
“Fair point.”
Finally, we make it to the cabin. This time, I don’t ask before I grab Rachel’s suitcase to lug both mine and hers up the wooden porch stairs.
“I was doing fine,” Rachel argues, placing a hand on her hip.
“I know. I want to help because I love you, Rachel.”
She parts her lips but doesn’t say anything as I make my way up the stairs, type in the door’s passcode, and open the door for her. She lowers her head with a shy smile and walks inside.
The place is stunning. At this hour, there’s minimal natural light making its way through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the A-frame, but the dark wooden floor and walls are still bathed in a golden glow.
A spiral staircase leads to a mezzanine where I know we’ll find a cozy sleeping area. The downstairs area is fully open concept, with the kitchen area underneath the mezzanine and a living area furnished with a plush, cream-coloured couch I can already imagine sinking into with Rachel in my arms.
“Wow,” Rachel utters, her green eyes wide.
She squints and looks toward the kitchen area, where more large windows showcase the patio with a stunning mountain view.
“That’s where the hot tub is, right?”
“Yup.” I lift my eyebrows and smile at her. “I knew you’d zero in on that first.”
Rachel and hot water are an inseparable duo. When shopping for our condo in the city, a large bathtub was on our list of must-haves.
Part of the reason I drove to see the place in person before booking it a few days earlier was to make sure the hot tub was functional, as advertised. I wasn’t about to risk telling Rachel about it only for her to be disappointed upon our arrival.
I’ve disappointed her enough.
I could tell she was anxious about this getaway—in a good and bad way. Christmas Eve and Christmas Day at Aunt Jocelyne’s cabin both went by without a hitch, but Rachel did keep to herself more than usual. I guess that’s to be expected, considering everything that must be weighing on her.
“Hmmm.” Rachel removes her boots and coat, then takes a few careful steps around the cabin.
That elation from seeing the place has already drained from her, leaving an edgy, nervous version of my wife in its stead.
I remove the large cooler backpack containing the food we’ll be eating for the next few days. “Why don’t you go in for a soak right now? I’ll get dinner started.”
She turns to me like a deer in headlights. “Like, right now, now?”
“Why not?”
“I…” Rachel’s hand goes to her throat.
“Hey.” I take one large stride to close the gap between us. “You go relax. We’ll have a nice French onion soup, just the way you like it, and we’ll talk after. Okay?”
Her jaw clenches, but she nods.
“Okay. Yeah.”
A warm flow of relief seeps through my skin.
It’s not that I think a soak in the hot tub and a nice, warm bowl of onion soup will fix everything. I’m not an idiot. But I do want her at ease. Or, at least, as much at ease as she can be.
I settle myself at the counter and start slicing the onions while Rachel changes into her swimsuit upstairs. Even with the harsh clang of the chef’s knife hitting the wooden cutting board, I can still make out the sounds of cloth hitting the floor of the mezzanine.
At this exact moment, Rachel is straight above me. Taking off her clothes. Letting the cool air caress her soft, kissable skin.
The knife bites into my thumbnail, and I groan out an expletive in a muffled voice. If my nail had been any shorter, the blade would have sliced my skin.
I need to focus.
I fully hone in on what I’m doing, trying to ignore the sounds of silky fabric sliding against Rachel’s skin as she slips on her swimsuit.
Slice. Slice. Slice. Drop onions in a bowl. Grab another onion. Slice. Slice. Slice.
The stairs creak, and gentle footsteps echo all the way to my ears.
I resist the urge to turn and stare at what I know must be a breathtaking sight.
I don’t need to. She’s going to pass right by me to reach the porch and slip into the scalding water.
Water that will make her cheeks red, that will make her skin glisten in the moonlight.
Fucking hell.
I follow the sound of her footsteps right until I know she’s about to enter my field of vision. Instead of looking, I avert my eyes. Still, from my peripheral vision, I catch glimpses of her lean legs and have to grit my teeth.
The patio door opens. A cold draft sweeps inside, and I can only imagine the goosebumps scattering across Rachel’s creamy skin in the short time it will take her to make it to the hot tub. But I keep slicing, slicing, slicing.
Until I look at my bowl of onions and realize I’ve made way too much.
I push the bowl of onions aside and head to the fridge, where I’ve already stored our food. In between a carton of eggs and a block of cheese is a bottle of white wine; I grab it and immediately pour Rachel a glass.
By now, she’s probably in the hot tub, and if I’m lucky, she will have turned on the jets so that I don’t get tempted to bask in her beauty.
I head to the patio, hardly feeling the cold. Rachel’s eyes are closed, and to my relief, the jets are turned on. Her long chestnut hair is tied back into a messy bun. I don’t want to make her jump, so I clear my throat to get her attention.
“Huh?” Her eyes burst open, her brows furrowing when she sees what I’m holding. “Trying to soften me up with wine?”
I chuckle nervously. “I just want you to enjoy yourself as much as you can.”
She frowns. “Getting me all relaxed isn’t going to make me go easy on you, Karan.”
“I know.” I bend and extend my arm towards her. “But you deserve this.”
She sighs, then slips an arm out of the hot water to grab the wine glass. Her eyes narrow at me, but a hint of a smile ghosts her lips.
“Thank you.” She closes her eyes and takes a sip. “This is actually really nice.”
“Good.” I linger for a moment, then go back inside, now fully feeling the effects of the cold.
I go through the motions of caramelizing the onions and preparing the flavourful broth Rachel taught me to make back in our college days. Now that our inevitable showdown is slowly inching closer, an unsettling terror begins to gnaw at my insides.
To be honest, I still have no idea what I’m going to do. Or say. I’ve shown Rachel that I’m willing to set time aside for her, to work out what we have to work out, but how do we even move forward?
I can’t quit my job. The disappointment I’d have to live up to in front of my parents—the shame—threatens to send me spiraling back into panic. The thought of it alone quickens my breath.
They’re finally starting to see me as the provider they know I can be. I can’t fail in my duties as a son, either.
I can negotiate with Rachel, tell her I’ll put her first more often, but I can’t completely put my responsibilities as a son aside. Especially not given my mom’s health.
But Rachel understands. Of course she does. She’s plagued with her own familial responsibilities that she can’t abandon.
After all, she invited her sister to live with us. Without asking me first.
Not that I mind. Océane is a wonderful girl. The twins love having her around. And we weren’t using that guest room anymore, not since my parents moved closer to us.
Still… would it have hurt to ask? To trust that I understand what it means to be there for your family?
This isn’t about Océane, I remind myself, violently pressing some cheese through the grater.
I wince when the edge of my finger catches against the grater. Damn, this really isn’t my best cooking day.
Right as I slide the cheese-covered bowls of onion soup into the oven for a nice broil, the back door opens. I straighten in time to find Rachel, wrapped in a fluffy white towel, her skin flushed and glistening. Her almond-shaped eyes seem a bit heavier than before—more relaxed, maybe?
I run my gaze down her neck to her narrow shoulders. They’re definitely not hiked up to her ears like they have been for the last couple of days, but they’re not as relaxed as I’d like them to be.
I’ll have to work on that.
Rachel shuts the door and closes her eyes, inhaling deeply. “Oooh. It smells so good in here.”
Her raspy voice sends a shiver down my spine.
“It’s almost ready.” I lean one hand against the oven’s handle. “Take your time to change, and I’ll set everything up.”
She peers at me through her eyelashes, which are still wet from the hot tub. She shoots me a small smile. I treasure it like the gift that it is.
“Okay,” she says, hardly louder than a whisper.
Ten minutes later, we’re both sitting at the small mahogany dining table, across from each other like we do at home. If I were to say that out loud, Rachel would call me out about the fact that I haven’t been at a family dinner in forever.