Chapter 4
4
LIAM
“ H ome sweet home,” I said.
I looked around with fresh eyes as I led the way into my tiny cabin. It looked small to me all of a sudden. The kitchen and living room were crammed together and there was no dining room. I had a tiny table where I rarely ate a meal. Most of the time, I sat on the couch and shoveled food into my gullet while watching TV.
“This is so cozy,” she said. “Exactly where I’d want to be on a snowy night.”
Cozy. That was a good word for it. Small and cozy were pretty much the same thing, weren’t they?
Willow closed the door behind her and stepped inside, pulling my coat off her shoulders as she did. She’d been coatless, so I’d given her mine. She’d pulled the hood up over her head and rushed through the lobby, telling me she needed to go incognito. Even though there was nobody around, someone could have come around the corner at any second, according to Willow.
“Thanks for letting me borrow this,” she said, holding it out to me.
I stepped toward her, surprised how eager I was to close the space between us. I didn’t want any space between us. In fact, I couldn’t stop thinking about what it would be like to pull her into my arms. It had been on my mind the whole time we sat facing each other on that weight bench.
I was almost disappointed when the coat transferred from her hand to mine without us touching. But I took it over to the closet and hung it, as I promised myself I’d do every time I came home. Usually, it ended up tossed over the back of the couch, where I’d retrieve it the next morning on my way out.
“Have a seat,” I said. “I’ll see what I can scrounge up for dessert.”
“I’ll help.”
I was already heading toward the kitchen when I heard her words. I started to turn her down, but she was a baker. How could I think I’d make a dessert that would impress her? The best I could do was ice cream with chocolate syrup on it. That was my dessert of choice.
“I don’t have much to work with here,” I said. “I was just going to make some ice cream. Not the homemade kind either.”
“Do you have flour and sugar?”
“Yeah,” I said. “My sister stocked my cabinets with a bunch of stuff I said I’d never use when I first moved in. It’s been eight months, and I haven’t touched any of it.”
She’d breezed around me and into the kitchen, and now she stood in front of the cabinets, holding one of them open. Finally, she started pulling things out.
“Do you have coffee mugs?” she asked.
I frowned and headed over to the cabinet above my one-cup coffeemaker. “I don’t have decaf,” I said, just in case she was one of those types who didn’t drink coffee close to bedtime.
“It’s not for coffee,” she said. “This will be something that can go with your coffee.”
I handed her two mugs and made coffee for myself. Then I headed over to the fireplace to get the fire started. I felt the need to get out of her way while she worked her magic. When I called out an offer to help and she turned me down, I settled onto the sofa, facing the fire, and enjoyed the view.
This really was a kick-ass cabin. I might have originally planned to live here alone the rest of my life, but I couldn’t beat the view through the giant windows on either side of the fireplace.
My previous thought had me lowering my mug and staring at the fire with a frown. Had I just used past tense when it came to living here alone? Nothing had changed, had it?
As if in answer, Willow pulled open the microwave. I heard her sliding something inside, followed by the door closing and the beeps that indicated she was starting it up.
I could definitely get used to this—a woman to sit next to me as I enjoyed the fire and a nice cup of coffee. Maybe even a kid or two, crawling around on the rug in front of us.
No, that was definitely out of the question. This cabin wasn’t big enough. I’d have to move. Besides, I didn’t want kids, did I?
Did I?
Dammit, this woman had me all twisted in knots, and I wasn’t sure when that had happened. Maybe the first second I saw her being hit on by a scrawny bartender who needed to keep his dick in his pants.
“Do you have an ice cream scoop?” she called over.
“Shit. No.”
I hadn’t meant to say those words aloud. They just fell out. I had to quit cussing like a sailor around this classy woman.
“It’s okay,” she called back. “I just don’t want to bend up one of your spoons, and this ice cream’s a little hard.”
Whatever she was making involved ice cream. It wasn’t homemade ice cream, though. I didn’t have cream or vanilla extract, as far as I knew.
A few minutes later, Willow showed up, mug in each hand, spoon sticking out of the top of each. She even held a couple of napkins. Well, they were squares of paper towels. I didn’t actually buy napkins.
“It’s not gourmet, but my roommate and I used to make these. There are all kinds you can make. They’re called mug cakes.”
“Mug cakes.”
That sounded good to me. I liked to keep things simple. I set my coffee mug on the table so I could devote both hands to the dessert I now held. Looking into the mug, I saw a scoop of ice cream and something dark beneath it.
“Chocolate?” I asked.
“I should have asked. You’re not allergic to anything?”
I shook my head. “I love chocolate and I’m not allergic to it…or anything else that I know of.”
She had settled onto the cushion at the other end of the long sofa instead of next to me, but having her plop down in the middle was too much to expect when we’d just met.
I sliced my spoon through the dessert, working hard to get an equal ratio of cake to ice cream on my spoon. Holy fuck, that was good.
“Mmm,” I moaned.
Rude? Maybe, considering I had my mouth full, but I had to let her know as soon as possible what I thought of her baking.
She stopped working a spoonful out of her own mug to look at me. “You like it?”
I nodded, chewed, then swallowed. “That’s fucking awesome. You did that with stuff I had?”
“Cocoa powder, sugar, flour…”
I blinked. “I had all that?”
I wasn’t surprised about the sugar and flour, but cocoa powder? I never would have imagined that was in my kitchen.
“Stick with me,” she said. “I’ll show you how to put together a delicious dessert using all kinds of different ingredients.”
Stick with her. Those three words ran through my mind. That was exactly what I wanted to do.
“That’s kind of what the baking competition is about,” she said, apparently unaware of how hard her words had hit. “It’s like those cooking shows on TV.”
She looked at me expectantly, but I had no clue what the heck that meant. I’d never watched a cooking show in my life.
“I assume those are competitions too?” I asked.
She nodded. “You should watch one sometime. Even if you don’t bake, they’re interesting. They give contestants a list of items, and they have to make something out of them.”
“Like cocoa powder, sugar, and flour?” I asked.
Her mouth was full, so she shook her head until she could swallow and speak. Then she said. “Much more challenging than that.”
I smiled. “I definitely don’t see myself watching baking shows.” I paused. “Not on my own, anyway. If I had a girlfriend, that might be a different story.”
Suddenly, as I enjoyed my dessert, I let myself imagine sitting on this very sofa with her, watching TV. Like a normal couple. Like a normal human .
How long had it been since I did everyday things? Since I let myself just enjoy life?
Before I went into the military. That was the answer. After deployment, I’d never really returned to American life like I’d known it before.
Now that I was a civilian, I felt guilty doing normal things. I guess part of me was still over there. Being in a combat zone, even when the risk was low, took a toll on you. I was still in protective mode, unable to sleep or relax. No matter how many times I told myself otherwise, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was in danger. That at any time, the worst could happen.
“Thank you,” she said.
Her words pulled me out of my dark thoughts. But that was nothing compared to the warmth in her eyes as she looked at me. I saw it as compassion, even though I knew it had nothing to do with that. She was thanking me for something.
“For what?” I asked. “You’re the one who made this delicious mug cake.”
I tilted my mug to show her it was completely empty. I’d wiped it clean.
“For rescuing me from the lodge,” she said. “I needed this. The past couple of days, my whole world has been the competition. It made it easy to believe it mattered a little more than it does. Does that make sense?”
I nodded. “It’s all about perspective. Coming back here from overseas taught me that much.”
Her eyebrows arched. “You were deployed?”
She was impressed. I’d gotten that reaction before, even though I didn’t feel like it was something that should earn me any rewards. I’d signed up, done my duty, and come back. That was how it worked.
“Just one tour,” I said. “But it definitely makes you look at things differently.”
That was an understatement. It wasn’t a good thing. It would be far better to have kept the wide-eyed innocence I had as a boy. I might not have had the perfect childhood, but after witnessing the suffering outside of this little bubble, I couldn’t complain about anything that had ever happened to me. Or ever would.
“Yeah, I guess losing a competition is nothing compared to what some people go through. First-world problems, right?”
I shook my head. “I don’t believe in dismissing anybody’s complaints. You have a dream. But I would argue that even if you don’t win the competition tomorrow, you can still make your dream happen.”
A gentle smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. She was beautiful. Stunning. I could stare at her for hours. Little things—the way her eyes seemed to sparkle when she talked about baking. The way her two front teeth overlapped slightly—a small imperfection that made her all the more interesting to look at.
“Maybe I could open a store selling mug cakes,” she said with a smile. “Or a food truck.”
I laughed. “You’d spend more on mugs than you’d make.”
“Good point.” She frowned. “I guess there’s no way to do that in a to-go cup.”
“It wouldn’t be the same,” I said.
“A pastry shop near a fountain.” She nodded, closing her eyes. “I’m visualizing it right now. It’s in that shopping center near downtown. A little alley with shops.”
“That’s my understanding of what the Shoppes at Brighton Village is going to be.”
“But in the center of all the shops is a big fountain,” she continued. “There are places that sell dog clothing, maybe a coffee shop or two.”
Lord knew we could use a coffee shop. I didn’t need fancy coffee—probably wouldn’t buy it even if we had a place—but the tourists would.
Her eyes popped open. “There, I visualized it. That means it’s going to happen, right?”
I gave a nod. “What else do you visualize for your future?”
She stared at me for a long moment, thinking through her answer. Meanwhile, I was thinking through my own. Where did I see myself in a few years? Ten years? Twenty? Still working on the logging crew? Coming home every night to an empty cabin after dinner at the lodge?
That had never bothered me before, but suddenly, a life that never seemed lonely before felt hollow. And I knew it had everything to do with meeting Willow.
Fuck, I was in deep, and I didn’t see an easy way out. She’d already gotten into my heart, and I hadn’t even gotten her into my bed yet.