Chapter 30
THIRTY
Lake
“Thanks, Mack,” I say, shaking his hand as one of his deputies shoves George into the back of the SUV, not being all that careful of the asshole’s head.
Hit it a few more times and maybe then we’ll be equal.
No, we won’t be.
But I would feel better, at least.
“No thanks required.” Mack grins and rubs his hands together. “I’ve gotten all the payment I need.”
The sheriff doesn’t get that my tickets often go unused or donated. My family has seen enough of me playing hockey. They’re not going to travel halfway across the continent, sleep in a bed that’s not their own, disrupt their regularly-scheduled routine.
Definitely not my mom—she does best in her own home with all of her familiar things.
Certainly not my dad—he would have to give two fucks about me for that to happen.
My siblings have their own lives—and, anyway, it’s not their job to support me.
The SUV pulls out, taking the asshole with it, leaving room for Nova’s car, which is idling on the street, dug out of the snowbank thanks to a break in the storm and another pair of tickets to the local tow company.
They pull it into my garage, pass over the keys as the metal door rolls down.
Mack lifts his brows. “I’m sensing a story here.”
“No story,” I say.
The look he shoots me tells me he knows that’s bullshit, but the wind’s picking up again, and we’re all ready to go the fuck to sleep.
So, he lets that go.
Jer claps a hand on my shoulder. “Keep an eye on that one, yeah?” He nods toward the house. “There’s something special about her.”
I’m seeing that too.
I’ve seen it too.
Which is why I sacrifice another pair of my tickets before I let him go.
“About that,” I say. “Do you still have that contact at the gallery?”
With a promise from Jer that he’ll follow up with me after he makes a few calls, I wait until I’m sure everyone gets off safely—the engine noise of the snowmobiles reverberating through the trees as they pull away.
Nova’s car keys are in my pocket, but George’s are long gone because I gave those to Mack to deal with.
I was slightly annoyed that when Ashley came out of the house, he merely passed them over to her, though the petty in me loved that no one offered her a ride down the hill to where she and George left the vehicle, unable to make it all the way up to my driveway.
Watching her slip and slide her way down the street was perfection.
And it was definitely worth gifting those tickets to the tow company for whatever magic they pulled to get Nova’s car to my house.
Now, though, my driveway is clear and my peace is restored, and I have nothing keeping me out here except for…
The knot in my gut that’s telling me if I do go inside, everything will keep changing.
Slippery fucking slope.
And not just out here.
Sighing, I embrace the inevitable and make my way into my house. Nova’s cooking something that smells delicious, but it’s not her at the stove that has my stomach knotting.
It’s the bottle of vodka on the counter.
The smell of lemon in the air.
Damn.
I move to her, taking a peek at her face, seeing the slightly reddened eyes, the puffiness around them. Crying, but not any longer.
Christ, she’s strong.
“Just grilled cheeses and tomato soup,” she says. “Nothing fancy.”
I want to pull her close, to bend my head and inhale the scent of her, to get that tingle of cinnamon in my nose. “You didn’t have to cook. I could—”
She smiles brightly. “You got my car out of the snowbank. It’s the least I can do.”
“It’s nothing.” I shake my head. “There was a break in the storm, and the tow company—”
“You asked.”
I couldn’t fudge that over. “Yeah,” I admit.
She sighs, that bright smile dimming.
“What?”
A little of her this-is-fine, everything-is-fine veneer shatters. “Why would you do that?” she whispers. “I—you don’t even like me.”
“It doesn’t matter if I like you.” I shrug. “Because, like I said, it’s nothing.”
Her shoulders go stiff and her eyes study mine. “Right.” She stirs the pot. “Just so I’m not confused where I stand. It’s nothing. I’m nothing. This is all”—she waves the spoon, sending splatters of red soup onto the counter—“nothing.”
It’s not nothing.
But I don’t tell her that.
“Yup. Nothing special.”
“Exactly,” she mutters, ripping off a paper towel from the roll and using it to wipe up the droplets.
“I’m nothing special to you, but you helped me—more than once.
” A breath. “So, dinner is the least I can do. Then,” she says, flipping one of the sandwiches, revealing a perfectly crisp, golden-brown toasting, “I’ll eat, gather my stuff and Steve, and get out of your hair so you can get back to your life. ”
My brows drag together. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“Like we’ve established.” She lifts one shoulder, drops it. “This is all nothing, and since my car’s back, and George and Ash made it up here, clearly, the time to get out is now.” A beat. “While I still can.”
The smart thing would be to let her go. Hell, the smart thing would be to help her pack her shit so she leaves all that much sooner.
But…some part of me can’t.
“That’s a terrible idea,” I blurt instead.
She drops some sprigs of rosemary into a pan then frowns up at me. “I’m sure you’re ready to have your house back.”
I should be. But…it would feel empty. Too quiet without the tiny demon’s snoring, without Nova’s presence.
She starts juicing a lemon, catching the seeds in her palm.
“Stay tonight,” I murmur.
Her shoulders hitch up again. “Lake, I—” She shakes her head. “This is a dumb conversation. It’s pointless to have me stay here when you just want me to go. When I want to go. When I want to be anywhere else, with anyone else.”
I should let her leave.
She doesn’t want to be here.
But my palms settle on those shoulders drawn up so high and tight, my fingers gently rubbing at the taut muscles. “Maybe,” I admit. “But it’s not safe for you to drive home. The roads are still dangerous.”
She cranes her neck to look up at me, her hand tight around the lemon, juice dripping slowly over her fingers. “They made it up here.”
“Butterfly.”
A blink. Slow.
Her cheeks red.
Her body wavering the slightest bit and giving me the only excuse I have.
“They also didn’t have half a bottle of vodka.”
She frowns then sighs. “I—”
Reaching by her, I bring the bottle close, point at it’s almost empty contents.
“Oh.” A beat. “Right.”
I slide my hands down the outsides of her arms, turn her, and cup her jaw. “Stay tonight,” I order softly.
Her shoulders rise and fall on a slow exhale. “I would be fine.”
“I know,” I say, still soft. “Stay anyway.”
Silence, her gaze drifting from mine, focusing on the counter.
I hold my breath.
Until she nods. “Okay.”
I exhale silently. “Good, butterfly,” I say, taking the lemon from her hand and ignoring the warning sirens blaring in my mind. “Now, teach me how to make this magical drink of yours.”
Now she smiles. It’s bright but isn’t fake, and that does something to my heart—those fingers squeezing again, my pulse picking up.
“I did make my rosemary simple syrup,” she says, nodding at the pot with the sprigs of herbs in it.
I squeeze the lemon into the bowl. “Does that make it better?”
She huffs out a laugh. “Does it make it better?” She tosses her hair over one shoulder, rubs her hands together. “My rosemary simple syrup is everything.”
“Well,” I say, moving closer and sniffing at the concoction in the pot. “It doesn’t smell like much.”
Outrage now, but it’s good-natured.
And it distracts her enough that she stops talking about leaving.
Instead, she teaches me how to make the drink.
And then supervises me as I match the next batch.
Then the next.
And eventually, we find ourselves back on the pile of blankets, bellies full of soup and grilled cheese sandwiches and Twix bars for dessert, glasses topped off with mules that are definitely better with that simple syrup, and a snoring Steve between us, watching another classic movie—this one Die Hard (the original, because that’s clearly the best one).
And eventually, I have two mammals snoring next to me while gunshots sound on the TV.
That’s when I stop fighting it.
This urge to get closer.
This urge to push her away.
I’m probably leaping from a plane without a parachute, plummeting to my demise.
But…I don’t care.
I scoop them up one by one and carry them to my bed. Then I stand there, just for a moment, before I slide in next to them, the pleasant fuzziness in my mind from all those honey rosemary mules making the battle to resist all that much shorter.
I just…wave my white flag again, get under the covers, and wrap my arms around them.
Then I let sleep come.
But when I wake up the next morning, it’s to find Nova not in bed beside me.