Chapter Five
Tinsley
Iwoke to the sound of frantic scratching.
My eyes opened slowly, brain foggy with sleep and champagne and the best sex of my entire life. Warm skin pressed against my back. A muscled arm draped over my waist. TJ's breath stirred my hair in gentle puffs.
The scratching came again—more insistent this time, followed by a pitiful whimper.
Twinkle.
"She needs to go out," TJ mumbled against my neck.
"What time is it?" I fumbled for my phone on the nightstand. "Oh god. It's only six-thirty."
"Ranch hours." He pressed a kiss to my shoulder. "Sorry."
The scratching turned to full-on pawing at the door.
"Coming, baby girl!"
I looked down at myself. Naked. "Um."
TJ sat up, his hair sticking in about seventeen directions. The sheet pooled around his waist, revealing that chest I'd had my hands—and mouth—all over last night. My face went hot.
"Morning," he said with a slow smile.
"Morning." I grabbed his thermal shirt from the floor and pulled it on. It hit mid-thigh, smelling like him—hay and leather and spice.
When I glanced back, he was staring.
"What?"
"You. In my shirt." His voice went low. "That's a good look."
"Focus, cowboy. Dog first, staring later."
He laughed and climbed out of bed—unselfconsciously naked—and pulled on his jeans. No underwear. My mouth went dry.
Down the hall, I opened the second bedroom door. Twinkle launched herself at my legs, tail wagging so hard her whole back end shimmied.
"I know, sweetie. We're terrible dog parents." I scooped her up, and she licked my face. "You probably have to pee so bad."
Outside, the world was still buried in white.
The storm had eased slightly, though snow continued falling—lighter than the night's blizzard but still steady, wind still strong. The sky hung low and gray. Drifts had piled even higher overnight, reaching the top of the deck railing in places.
TJ whistled low. "Still coming down."
We bundled up and stepped onto the deck. Wind whipped snow into our faces, stealing my breath. The temperature had dropped further—my lungs burned with each inhale.
"Damn," TJ muttered, turning to shelter Twinkle against his chest. "This is worse than I thought."
He set her down in a spot he'd cleared with his boot. She took two steps, sank belly-deep in snow, and looked at me with complete betrayal.
"I know, baby. But you really need to go."
She waded through like a tiny ship, found a spot, and did her business as quickly as possible. When she tried to run back and face-planted into a drift, TJ was already there, scooping her up.
"You're okay, girl. Just too much snow for those little legs."
Back inside, we shook off snow in the entryway. Twinkle immediately zoomed to the fireplace and collapsed with a dramatic sigh.
"Someone's not a snow dog," I said.
"Give her a few months." TJ hung his hat on the hook. "Coffee?"
"Please."
The kitchen felt different this morning—comfortable, like we'd done this a hundred times before. TJ started the coffee while I checked Twinkle's food situation. "What does she eat? I saw you give her formula last night."
"She's weaning off it," he said, pulling mugs from the cabinet. "Mom's been introducing soft foods. She can handle some solids now, just needs them mashed up pretty well."
"What if we tried some of that leftover stew? I could blend it with water, make it soupy."
"That'd work. Beef and vegetables are good for her. Just make sure it's not too hot."
I pulled out the leftover stew and added water, blending it in the food processor until it was a thin consistency, then heating it gently in the microwave. The scent of beef and herbs filled the kitchen—rich and homey.
Right on cue, Twinkle appeared in the kitchen doorway, nose twitching, tail wagging.
"Well, look who's up again," TJ said with a laugh. "Guess she smelled breakfast."
I set down her bowl and filled her water dish. She dove in immediately, making happy puppy sounds while she ate.
"Someone was hungry," I said, scratching behind her ears while she ate.
He handed me coffee—black, the way I liked it.
"Thanks." I wrapped my hands around the warm mug, watching Twinkle eat. Outside, wind rattled the windows. Still trapped. Still together.
The thought made me smile.
"So," I said. "It's Christmas."
"It is."
"Want to make the most ridiculous, over-the-top Christmas breakfast possible?"
He grinned. "Let's do it."
I pulled out everything—eggs, bacon, fancy sausage, fresh berries, waffle ingredients. We worked together, moving around each other naturally. He handled the bacon while I whisked waffle batter.
"How's this look?" He held up a piece of bacon.
"Perfect."
The waffle iron beeped. I poured batter, and within minutes, the kitchen smelled amazing. Coffee and bacon and cinnamon-vanilla sweetness.
By the time we sat down, the table was loaded. Waffles stacked high with sliced bananas, whipped cream, powdered sugar, and warm maple syrup. Bacon and sausage on a platter. Fresh berries. More coffee.
"This looks incredible."
"Eat up. You need your strength."
His gaze snapped to mine. "For what?"
"Cookie baking later. Obviously." I took a bite of waffle and flavors exploded. "What did you think I meant?"
"Cookie baking. Sure." But his dimple flashed.
We demolished breakfast—him putting away three waffles and most of the bacon, me matching him bite for bite without thinking about it. Just enjoying food. Just being myself.
After, we tackled dishes together. When I reached past him for a towel, he caught my wrist and drew me against him.
"Hi," he said, palm settling at my waist.
"Hi yourself."
He kissed me—slow and thorough. I melted into him, fingers sliding up his chest.
When we broke apart, we were both breathing hard.
Twinkle barked from the living room. We both jumped.
"Right.” I stepped back with a laugh. "Puppy needs attention."
We spent the next hour entertaining her—trying to teach her "sit" (she forgot after three seconds), watching her chase her tail until she fell over, laughing when she attacked a toy three times her size.
"She's ridiculous."
“Thousand percent adorable," TJ agreed.
"Want to check the weather? See how long we're stuck?"
TJ pulled out his phone. "Still no service."
I grabbed my laptop and pulled up the weather.
Red warnings covered the map.
"Blizzard warning extended through tonight," I read. "Highway 89 remains closed. Additional twelve to eighteen inches expected. Travelers advised to shelter in place until December twenty-sixth."
"Tomorrow then," TJ said quietly.
"Tomorrow." I looked at him. "Guess you're stuck with me another day."
"Can't think of anywhere I'd rather be." He settled me on his lap. "One more day of this? I'll take it."
I curled against his chest, listening to his heartbeat. Outside, the storm raged. Inside, everything felt suspended in a perfect Christmas bubble.
"Me too."
Mid-morning, I grabbed my coat. "Come on. We're going outside."
"In this weather?"
"Just for a minute. Twinkle needs a real snow experience."
We bundled up and ventured onto the deck. I carved out a sheltered spot near the door while TJ tried to keep Twinkle from eating everything white.
"Let's build her a snowman."
"You're serious?"
"A tiny one. Come on."
I packed snow into balls. Twinkle pounced on each one, sending snow flying, then looked confused when they fell apart.
"This is impossible," TJ said, laughing as she demolished our base for the third time.
"Okay, new plan." I made a small mound and stuck a carrot in it. "Snowman adjacent."
Twinkle immediately ate the carrot.
"Perfect," TJ deadpanned. "A deconstructed snowman."
I threw a snowball at him. He dodged, scooped up Twinkle before she could eat more snow, and we retreated inside—cold, wet, and laughing so hard we could barely breathe.
After we'd dried off and warmed up by the fire, inspiration struck.
"We're baking cookies."
"Now?"
"Right now. It's Christmas and I've been dying to bake."
In the kitchen, I pulled out flour, sugar, butter, eggs, vanilla, and food coloring. "Christmas sugar cookies. The kind you cut into shapes and decorate."
"Sounds fun."
I walked him through it—creaming butter and sugar, adding eggs, mixing in flour. He followed instructions well, even if he got flour everywhere.
"How did you get flour in your hair?"
"It's a gift."
While the dough chilled, TJ queued up holiday music on the laptop. A Bing Crosby song came through the speakers—"White Christmas.” He turned up the volume and held out his hand.
"Dance with me."
We swayed together in the kitchen, flour dusting our clothes, butter-and-vanilla scent in the air. He hummed along—slightly off-key—and I laughed against the broad span of his shoulders.
"You're a terrible singer."
"Never claimed otherwise."
"But you're a good dancer."
"Mom made me take lessons before my sister's wedding."
The timer dinged. We broke apart, both smiling.
I rolled out dough and handed him cookie cutters. "Your job is shapes. Try to get them close together."
"Yes, ma'am."
While the first batch baked, TJ flicked flour at me. A white cloud hit my chest.
"Oh, you're going to pay for that."
I grabbed powdered sugar and threw it at him. It exploded across his shirt.
"Oh, it's on now."
The flour fight was brief—just enough to make us both laugh before he caught me around the waist and lifted me onto the counter.
"Surrender?"
"Never!"
His palms settled at my waist. Mine slid into his flour-dusted hair. The laughter faded.
"You have sugar on your nose."
"You have flour everywhere."
He kissed me—sweet and slow. When he pulled back, his eyes had gone dark.
"Cookies are going to burn."
"Right."
I rescued them just in time—golden brown and perfect.
When they'd cooled, I set out colored frosting and sprinkles. "Okay, decorate."
TJ picked up a star and slathered it with green frosting, then dumped sprinkles on top.
"That's... creative."
"It's a Christmas tree. Green with ornaments."
"It's a star."
"Artistic interpretation."