Chapter 6
SIX
RHODES
Facing the wind is like walking straight into a wall
The cold stings, but I’ve lived on this mountain long enough to know the difference between a cold that’s dangerous and one that’s annoying.
This is just annoying.
I slog toward the noise near the cabin’s corner. A sheet of metal roofing from the old shed peeled loose and smacked into the snowbank. Not ideal, but not catastrophic. I drag it back toward the wall and wedge it under the overhang to keep it from blowing again.
By the time I’m done, my hair and shoulders are drenched. Snow is crusted onto my eyelashes. The wind shoves me once, hard.
I shove back.
Literally.
I actually plant a boot and push.
The mountain takes the hint.
Or maybe I’m imagining things.
Either way, I head back to the cabin.
The moment I open the door, warmth hits me like a blanket. Firelight flickers across the walls. Lantern glow paints soft curves against the wood. And Jovie stands near the mantle with the blanket wrapped around her shoulders, hair wild, cheeks flushed, eyes wide when she sees me.
She looks like she stepped out of a dream I didn’t know I had.
“You’re soaked,” she says.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re dripping,” she says.
I shrug out of my coat. It hits the floor with a wet thud. She rushes forward, scoops it up like it weighs nothing, and hangs it on the hook by the door.
That soft thing in my chest twists again.
“You didn’t have to do that,” I say.
“I know.” She tucks a curl behind her ear. “I wanted to.”
Her voice does something to me I don’t want to admit.
The fire pops.
The storm howls outside.
But in here?
It’s warm.
Golden.
Quiet.
I rub a hand through my hair and step toward the fireplace. The heat sinks into me. My clothes steam a little.
Jovie watches me like I’m something she’s trying to figure out. Not judging. Not wary. Just curious. Soft. Open.
“Everything okay out there?” she asks.
“Just a piece of the shed roof,” I say. “I moved it. No danger.”
“Good,” she murmurs. “I was… worried.”
I look at her. Really look.
She means it.
She actually means it.
Maybe she shouldn’t.
Maybe I shouldn’t like hearing it.
But I do.
I clear my throat and gesture to the sofa. “You should sit. You’re still cold.”
“I’m warmer now.” She gives a shy smile. “The blanket helped.”
“You want another?”
“No,” she says. Then softer. “Just… this.”
Her eyes drift to the fire. She steps closer to it. The blanket falls slightly, baring one shoulder. I should not notice that. I do anyway.
Then she looks back at me.
“We didn’t finish talking,” she says.
“No,” I agree. “We didn’t.”
She takes a breath. “About my dad. About the spring. About the plan.”
“We’ll figure it out,” I say.
“I know,” she says. “But right now… I want to talk about what happened before you ran outside.”
Her eyes flick to my mouth.
Heat spikes through me fast.
“That,” she says in a whisper, “felt like a moment.”
“It was,” I say.
She steps closer. Just a half step. Just enough for the fire to catch gold in her hair.
“Then what happens now?” she asks.
My heart stutters. Not from fear. From something else. Something bigger.
“You tell me,” I say.
She swallows. Her throat moves. Her lips part. She looks soft and warm and determined all at once.
“I’d like to kiss you again,” she says quietly.
Every muscle in my body goes tight.
“I shouldn’t,” I say.
“I know.”
“This is… complicated.”
“I know.”
“I shouldn’t want to.”
“I know,” she says. “But you do.”
She steps closer again.
We’re inches apart now.
Barely breathing.
Barely thinking.
Her hand lifts. She hesitates. Then touches my chest. Right over my heart. Light. Almost shy.
That single touch breaks something open.
I reach for her waist. Tug her closer. Her breath catches. She leans in without meaning to. Like her body moves toward mine before her brain approves it.
“Jovie,” I murmur.
“Yes?”
“Last chance to stop.”
She shakes her head. “Not stopping.”
So I kiss her.
Not cautious this time.
Not careful.
Not questioning.
Just full.
Warm.
Deep.
Her hands slide up my chest. Mine curve around her hips. She tilts her head and makes a soft sound that nearly knocks me to my knees.
She tastes like heat and winter air.
Like everything I should not want.
Everything I suddenly do.
The blanket slips off her shoulder. My hand finds the curve of her waist beneath it. She shivers.
“Cold?” I whisper.
“No,” she breathes.
I kiss her again.
Slower.
Deeper.
The fire cracks.
The storm rages.
But none of it matters.
She presses closer. The blanket falls to the floor. My hands slide up her back, learning the shape of her through the softness of her sweater.
Her fingers curl into my shirt. Her mouth opens under mine. We stumble back a step, then another, until her calves brush the sofa.
She breaks the kiss just long enough to breathe against my lips.
“This is a bad idea,” she whispers.
“The worst,” I say.
“We’re stuck here.”
“I know.”
“I barely know you.”
“I know.”
Her fingers tighten on my shirt.
“I still want you,” she says.
I swear the cabin tilts.
I open my mouth to say something. To tell her I want her too. That I shouldn’t. That she’s leaving. That I’m not the kind of man she falls for.
But the words don’t come.
Because the wind slams into the cabin so hard the lantern rattles.
The power surges back on. The lights blaze alive, and the heater clicks back on, roaring to life.
Jovie startles and pulls back just enough to break the spell. We stand there, our chests rising up and down rapidly. Our faces flush.
Our gazes locked.
And before I can figure out what to say…
A loud, sharp knock echoes on the cabin door.
We both go still.
Jovie whispers, “Is that… someone?”
The knock comes again.
Harder.
I step in front of her and reach for the door handle.