Chapter 7
Blaire
It’s been hours since the snow heart challenge at the lodge, and still, my lips tingle with the sensation of Thatcher’s kiss. Had it not been for an ATV driver with a lead foot, we might be making out like horny teenagers now.
Is this a bad idea?
Maybe.
Probably.
Okay, so it’s a terrible idea.
But I can’t even text Raelyn to see what she thinks because I left my phone at home.
Something I didn’t realize until I wanted to take some selfies with the miniature cows.
For the first time since arriving in Caribou Creek, I haven’t thought about Spencer, or the aftermath, or my life in Chicago for hours.
It’s not just getting out of the house that did the trick. It was Thatcher.
Considering he hasn’t posted a single photo of us since we started this whole thing, I have a feeling there is no ex to make jealous.
He doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who’d get hung up on a woman.
He seems confident. Sure of himself. Like he’s not afraid to walk away from something that threatens to disrupt his peace.
He’s everything I wish I could be.
“No cheating,” he says, using the back of his arm to create a barricade between us on the small writing ledge.
“I’m not looking at what you’re writing,” I insist, though I am insanely curious.
After Rose’s Diner and the hot cocoa challenge that involved two straws, one cup, and a series of questions that led me to discover Thatcher’s favorite soup is halibut chowder, he loves old black and white movies, and he hates it when someone spoils the end of a book, we walked the quick block and a half to the post office.
The challenge is simple: Write a confession on a Valentine, seal it in an envelope with your partner’s name, and give it to the volunteer. We’ll get them back at the end of the crawl, where we can each read what one another wrote.
I’ve considered several options for my simple confession: I know Raelyn signed us up for the Crawl. Or maybe I had a teensy tiny crush on you the summer I was fifteen but you had a girlfriend. Or better yet I’m really grateful you dragged me out of bed against my will.
But ultimately, I go with That was the best kiss of my life. Thank you for ruining me for all other kisses from now until the end of time.
It’s playful, a little flirty, and it leaves the door open to…more.
Should I be thinking about more with my best friend’s brother?
Even if I wasn’t a week fresh out from calling off my wedding, the answer would likely be no.
But Thatcher isn’t some random stranger I met at a bar.
He’s not just some guy who’d make a good rebound.
I’ve known him my whole life. Though he can be grumpy and standoffish, he can also be incredibly thoughtful and compassionate.
I know he didn’t want to do this today, and I know why.
And yet, he did.
It’s why it was so easy to open up to him at the diner and tell him all about the fake flowers and how they were the final straw.
Telling him this made me realize I was never supposed to marry Spencer.
It wasn’t about the money or the cheapness of a man who could easily buy a small town with the money sitting in his bank account.
It was about never being prioritized or considered.
It’s quite possible I fell out of love with Spencer months ago, shortly after he convinced me to quit my job so I could save money planning the wedding myself rather than hiring a professional.
That decision left me unemployed, stressed to the max, and trapped.
Until Raelyn came to my rescue and booked me on a flight to Alaska.
Now, I’m not sure I want to leave.
“Done,” Thatcher announces, handing his sealed Valentine with my name on it to the volunteer.
“Me too.”
“What’s next?” he asks.
“The theater. It’s the last stop left before we get our key,” I say, forcing a smile.
Truthfully, I’m not ready for this to be over.
I know I get to go home with Thatcher when we complete the crawl, but I’m afraid the magic will shatter when the cuffs come off.
When we’re no longer required to be stuck together.
“You ready to win this?” Thatcher asks, flashing me a half smile that makes my nipples tingle. I’m half tempted to say fuck it, let’s ditch the challenge now. I bet we could find all kinds of enjoyable activities to do while handcuffed together in any number of places out of the public eye.
“You kids are in the lead,” the volunteer says. “If you hurry, you just might win the whole thing.”
I don’t know how this older gentleman knows how each couple is doing, but I suspect it has something to do with the walkie talkie resting on the windowsill.
Thatcher and I look at each other. For a single heartbeat, I think he’s going to kiss me. But the moment passes when another couple rushes inside the post office. With hands linked, we run down the street to the local theater.