Chapter 10
Dylan
Sunday morning arrives with brutal efficiency.
I wake up alone in the blanket fort we'd rebuilt last night, my back protesting sleeping on the floor. Lauren isn’t next to me. I feel around for my phone on the hearth and manage to pry my eyes open long enough to glance at the screen and realize it’s only a little after seven a.m.
We didn’t stay up late the night before.
We’d snacked for a dinner, played more board games, taken a walk in the woods.
We'd talked and laughed and had sex again until we’d finally drifted off around eleven.
The fire has burned down to embers, but the central heat is humming away reliably.
It’s quiet in the cabin and I don’t hear any movement. Lauren must be in her bedroom.
Through the windows, I can see the newly rising sun reflecting off the snow. It's beautiful—a postcard-perfect winter morning. The kind of morning that makes you believe in fresh starts and new possibilities.
Except I don't want a fresh start. I want to rewind to Friday evening and do this entire weekend over again, slower this time.
My phone buzzes with a text from Malcolm.
Roads opening up. Plow crews been out since dawn. You heading back today?
I stare at the message, my thumb hovering over the keyboard.
Yeah. Probably this afternoon.
My plan is to spend a leisurely morning with Lauren. Make her breakfast. Maybe take a shower together, soap up all of her amazing curves for her…
The smell of coffee hits me. I find Lauren in the kitchen, already fully dressed in jeans and a cream-colored sweater, her hair pulled back in a ponytail. She's got her overnight bag sitting by the door, already packed.
My stomach drops.
"Morning," she says, not quite meeting my eyes. "I made coffee."
"Thanks." I pour myself a mug, trying to read her body language. Everything about her posture says she's putting distance between us. "You're up early."
"Couldn't sleep." She's wiping down the kitchen counter even though it's already clean. "I should probably get on the road soon. I have a lot of work to do on this song, and I think getting back to my own space will help me focus."
There it is. The whole morning after brush-off. I know this move because I’m usually the one doing it.
"Lauren—"
"The roads are clear," she continues, still not looking at me. "I checked the traffic app. Chance texted me too. He apologized about the double booking, which was sweet. He said if I have trouble with my car, I should just call him."
I set my mug down carefully on the counter. "Is that what this is about? The song?"
"Of course. That's why I came here." Now she does look at me, and there's something in her expression that I can't quite read. Sadness? Regret? "I have a deadline, Dylan. This weekend was supposed to be about writing."
"But it wasn't." The words come out rougher than I intended. "It was about us."
She flinches slightly. "There is no us. There's just a weekend that happened because of a double booking. And it was fun, but—"
"Fun?" I know I should let this go, should let her leave with my dignity intact, but I can't. "Is that really all it was to you?"
Lauren wraps her arms around herself. "What do you want me to say? That I'm falling for a guy I just met? This was like a snow globe weekend, Dylan. A perfect little bubble that doesn't exist in the real world."
"It doesn’t have to be that. I don’t want it to be that."
"I can't afford to take that risk right now." Her voice is barely a whisper. "I need to focus on my career. This Christmas song could change everything for me. And if I let myself get distracted by someone..."
"I'm a distraction." It's not a question.
"You know what I mean."
I do know. And I hate that she's probably right. I've been in her shoes—so focused on building Four Brothers that I let everything else fall away. The difference is, I'm starting to wonder if that was the wrong choice.
"It doesn't have to be hard. We could just... see where this goes."
She shakes her head, blinking rapidly. "I should go. I really should go."
I want to argue more, want to find the perfect words that will make her stay. But looking at her face, at the way she's clearly fighting her own feelings, I realize that pushing right now will only make things worse.
"Okay," I say quietly. "Let me help you carry your stuff to your car."
She nods. She pats the giant fake reindeer on her way out. “Bye, Buck. It’s been real.”
We make two trips out to her car, and I brush off her windshield. Thanks to the noticeably higher temperature and the plow service that came through early this morning, the driveway is slushy but passable. The tree branch I moved yesterday is stacked neatly with the rest of the firewood.
Everything is returning to normal.
When we're done loading her car, we stand there awkwardly in the driveway, our breath making white clouds in the cold air.
"Thank you," Lauren says. "For keeping the fire going Friday night. For making me feel safe. For..." She trails off.
"For what?"
"For making this weekend unforgettable." Her eyes are bright. "I mean that, Dylan. I'll never forget this."
The words sound too much like goodbye for fucking forever.
"Lauren, this isn’t a big deal. We can keep in touch."
She goes up on her tiptoes and kisses my cheek, quick and sweet. "Take care of yourself, bourbon boy."
Then she's in her car, engine starting, backing carefully down the driveway. I stand there like an idiot and wave as she turns onto the road. She waves back through the window, and then she's gone, taillights disappearing around the bend.
I stand there for a long time after, staring at the empty road.
The sun is climbing higher, making the snow sparkle like diamonds. It's still beautiful. It's still a perfect winter morning.
But now I'm alone in it.
My phone buzzes. It’s a text from Ian.
You okay?
How does he always know? That’s so damn annoying.
I'm fine.
The three dots appear immediately.
You don't sound fine.
I'm not fine. I met someone and I let her drive away because I didn't know how to make her stay.
Who is she?
A songwriter. Lauren. We got snowed in together at the cabin.
And?
And I think I'm in love with her.
Even typing it out feels ridiculous. How can you fall in love with someone in a weekend? It's not logical. It's not rational.
It's also the truest thing I've felt in years.
Ian's response takes a minute.
Then why are you still at the cabin?
Because she needs to focus on her career.
Fine. Then give up on something before it even starts. Never thought you were a quitter.
You’re a dick.
He’s also right. I’m not a quitter.
Does Lauren really want to never see me again? Or is she really just focused on her career?
The memory of last night comes back to me—the way she'd looked at me in the firelight, the way she'd laughed at my terrible jokes, the way she'd kissed me like she was memorizing the feeling.
That wasn't nothing.
I head back into the cabin, suddenly energized. I need to pack up and get home. But not before I do one more thing.
Grabbing my phone I text Lauren. Thankfully she had given me her number when we were exchanging stupid memes to pass the time.
Rule number seven: Text me when you’re home safe.
I don't expect a response because she’s driving, and I don't get one.
But that's okay. I'm not giving up on this. On us.
I just need to figure out the right way to show her that some risks are worth taking.
Even if it means completely upending my carefully planned life.
Especially if it means that.