Page 5 of Cold Snap

Rosa has me under her spell. I need to know everything about her. I'm obsessed with finding out what she wants so that I can be that for her.

I've never craved a woman like this before. What do I do? If I tell the guys, they'll laugh their heads off and tell me to read romance books for ideas, or channel romantic movies that I've accidentally seen.

Hmm. Maybe not the worst idea, actually.

4

ROSA

Cooking always makes me happy. It's a way to connect with people without having to engage in awkward conversations.

I'm sure some psychiatrist would tell me that my desire to nurture people is part of wanting to be a mother someday. But that's unlikely, since men don't pay attention to me.

I wish I could pay more attention to the men who are our guests this week. Or, should I say, one man in particular.

Honestly, it's mostly because of Baz that I'm serving steak tonight. A classic meat and potatoes meal, inspired by the sexiest man I've ever laid eyes on. I parboil the carrots and prep the broccoli for steaming, while wondering if there's any way I could find an excuse to peek at him while he's eating.

After I poke at the carrots with the tip of a knife, I look out the window at my right elbow, still dazzled by the endless drifts of snow skimming over the coat of ice that fell yesterday. Turning back to the stove, I poke the carrots again.

A sudden, small movement outside the window catches my eye. A hand reaches up to place something on the exterior windowsill.

Leaning closer, I burst into laughter. It's a miniature snowman, maybe seven inches tall. His eyes and mouth are pebbles that were probably snagged from one of the plant pots near the front door.

Looking to the side, I see that Baz is waving. Then he spots the knife in my hand as I wave back. Pointing to his left forearm, he mouths the words, "How is your cut?"

I set the knife down and show him the bandage, smiling and nodding. "Much better," I mouth back.

He gives me two thumbs up, then stops, just staring at me. After a moment of total stillness, he reaches out as if cupping my face with his hands. I can't be sure, but I think he may have just mouthed the word, "Beautiful."

Then he grins, pointing behind me and mimicking stirring a pot before disappearing back around the corner, leaving his smiling snowman offering behind.

My hands are shaking as I turn back to the carrots. That was completely adorable. Like something out of a romance movie. Men don't do sweet things like that in real life, do they? Well… I guess this one just did.

Since there's no one else in the kitchen, I rush to the drawer where we keep our phones. With one quick snap, I have a photo of the only gift a man has ever given me. He actually made something to keep me smiling while I'm working! That's sweeter than flowers.

My mind spins as I prepare dinner. Baz made an effort to connect with me. I want to do the same for him.

I never go into the dining room, but I'm going to tonight. Since Mrs. H. goes on about how these are special repeat guests, wouldn't they like the cook to come out to check personally how they'd like their steak done?

Just the thought of having an excuse to speak to Baz again has my stomach fluttering. I wait until Maya has taken out thebread and salad, then smooth my hair and sneak on a little tinted lip balm.

When Maya returns, I take a deep breath and force a smile. "Is it okay if I go out to ask how they'd like their steaks?"

Her eyes light up. "I was just about to ask you if I should check. I'm sure they'd love the chef herself asking. Go for it."

Smoothing down my apron, I walk into the dining room where the men are laughing, apparently about how liberally Baz is pouring the wine.

"Good evening, gentlemen." My voice is so small. I wish I could force it louder. "Maya probably mentioned that we're serving steak tonight, and these are excellent cuts of Canadian beef. Could I please ask how you'd like them cooked?"

Baz smiles, his rugged, almost stern face completely transforming. "This is Rosa, our cook this week. Rosa, this is Dylan and Moore."

They shake my hand politely, shooting curious glances at Baz.

"May I check your arm?" he asks, reaching for me. My feet shuffle closer, as if being drawn into his orbit. Everything about this giant man pulls me in.

He examines the bandage, lightly poking around the edges. "The soreness isn't spreading? It doesn't feel warm at all?"

It feels like he's reluctant to release my arm. I smile at his light, careful touch. "No, it's not infected. The knife had nothing but orange peel residue on it. Thank you again."

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