Chapter 6
Thatcher
The fire burned low sometime before dawn, and I added wood without waking her.
Now the light coming through the window is blue and thin, the kind of light that only exists in deep winter, and snow's piled so high outside that the world looks soft-edged, like a photograph left too long in the sun.
Gia's still asleep, curled against my chest, hair a wild tangle across the pillow. Her skin's warm where it presses against mine, soft and smooth except for a small scar on her shoulder blade that my thumb keeps finding. She makes a small sound in her sleep, something content, and burrows closer.
I should be thinking about what comes next, once the roads are cleared and the real world calls her back, but all I can think is that the cabin feels right with her in it. The air, the silence, the way the world pauses for a heartbeat between storms.
She stirs and murmurs, voice soft and rough with sleep. "You're awake."
"Barely."
She smiles without opening her eyes, one hand sliding up my chest to rest over my heart. Her palm's small and warm, and I can feel my pulse jump under her touch. "You're warm. Don’t move. Stay like this."
So I do.
We lie there while the snow slides from the roof in slow sighs, while the morning light strengthens and turns the room golden. She traces idle patterns on my chest—circles, figure eights, the outline of the scar below my ribs from a slip with a grinding wheel years ago.
"Do you ever miss it?" she asks finally.
"Miss what?"
"Living closer to people. It’s Christmastime, you know. Mercury Ridge is twinkling with lights and life.”
"Sometimes." I press a kiss to the top of her head, breathe in the scent of her. "Then I remember how much I love peace and quiet."
She laughs softly. "But I’m loud."
I smile. “You’re not quiet,” I agree, “but you’re not loud. Your voice is better than any Christmas music to my ears.”
She tilts her head back to look at me, and her eyes are soft, still hazy with sleep and satisfaction. "Smooth talker."
"Just honest."
When she finally sits up, the blanket pools at her waist, and the morning light paints her skin gold.
She's wearing my shirt—the flannel one she claimed last night—unbuttoned and hanging open, revealing the curves of her breasts, the dip of her waist, the small bruise I left on her hip with my mouth.
The sight of her in my shirt, in my bed, hair wild and lips still swollen from my kisses… it's a punch I'll never get used to.
She catches me staring and smiles, slow and knowing. "See something you like?"
"Everything," I say, voice rough, and pull her back down.
This kiss is slower than last night's urgency—languid, thorough, the kind of kiss that says we have time now. I roll her beneath me, settling between her thighs, and she wraps her legs around my waist with a sigh that goes straight through me.
Her hands slide up my back, nails dragging lightly, and I shudder. "Again?" she asks, but she's already arching against me.
"Again," I confirm, and set about proving just how much I want her.
Later—much later—we finally make it out of bed. She's drowning in my flannel, the sleeves rolled up several times, hem hitting mid-thigh. Her hair's even wilder now, and there's a hickey blooming on her collarbone that I'm not even slightly sorry about.
She pads to the window, coffee in hand, and looks out at the glittering world. "It's beautiful."
I come up behind her, wrap my arms around her waist, rest my chin on her shoulder. She fits against me perfectly, like she was made for me. "It is."
We stand there, breathing in sync, watching the way the sunlight catches on the snow and turns it into diamonds.
"You're going to go back down the mountain," I say finally, because someone has to say it.
She stiffens slightly in my arms. "Not yet.”
"No?"
She turns in my arms, looks up at me with those hazel eyes that see too much. She glances at the little brass button on the table, now sitting next to the gold coin, both of them catching the morning light. "But I haven't finished the story yet."
“Am I part of the story?”
She meets my gaze, steady and sure. "You’re the twist I didn’t see coming.”
I reach up, brush my thumb along her jaw, feeling the softness of her skin, the way she leans into my touch. Something in my chest settles—something that's been restless for longer than I care to admit. "Then I guess you'd better stick around a while."
Her smile could light up the whole mountain. "Yeah?"
"As long as you want.”
She rises on her toes and kisses me—soft, sweet, and full of promise. "Okay then."