Page 32 of Since Day One

Gunnar slammed the door closed, blinking wide-eyed at me. “What are you doing?”

“Helping?” I said, and he shook his head.

“Go sit down and act pretty. I’ve got this.”

“Excuse me?” I snapped, unhappy that he would say something like that.

“Princess, sometimes it’s okay to be waited on. Now, go sit,” he commanded. Narrowing my gaze, ready to prove to him that I was as strong as he was, but then it settled on me. He wasn’t saying I couldn’t do it, but that I didn’t have to. He wanted to take care of me. I let that thought roll around my head. Someone wanted to take care of me.

I slowly nodded and handed him the other pot, an odd empowering feeling draped upon my shoulders. Returning to the couch beside the fireplace, I relaxed. Pulling the blanket from the back of the couch, I let it flutter across my body, lifting both of my legs onto the furniture. He hadn’t moved but watched me, an innocent smile playing across his lips as those dimples pressed deep into his cheeks.

He really was quite handsome.

Gunnar began the long and tedious work of collecting snow, boiling it, and transporting it to the tub. I watched as he worked, trying several times to at least do the boiling part but he shook his head. What a sight it was, too, as I relaxed into the couch, the blanket cuddled around my torso as a man doted on me while asking nothing in return. Not a complaint about it, either, as he brought in bucket after bucket.

Finally, he carried in the last two pots, bumped the door shut behind him, and kicked off his boots. Once those last pots had boiled, he poured them into the bathtub, returned them to the kitchen, and smiled at me.

“Go on, Princess,” he said, sitting down at my feet and smiling. His shirt was damp, his sweats wet from the melting snow, but he seemed content.

“Why do you call me that?” I asked. He blinked, and then shrugged his shoulders.

“I’m not really sure. It just came out when you were sitting with your nose stuck in the air from the airport, and the more I say it, the more it’s shifted from something offhanded to fitting you and what you deserve. And I like it,” he answered.

“So do I,” I whispered, leaning toward him and pushing the blanket off as I slid from the couch.

Chapter 12

Igrabbed a new button-up before disappearing into the bathroom for my sponge bath. He showed me where the fresh towels were stacked, washcloths included, on the shelves beside the standalone porcelain tub and then let me be.

The water was blisteringly warm, and I worked quickly to make sure some hot water was left for him. Dressing in the shirt once more and shrugging it off one shoulder again, I left a few buttons undone as promised and sighed. I faced the mirror above the small single vanity and used my fingers to comb through my hair. This was as good as it was going to get. Never before had I cared that I hadn’t put makeup on but now, in this moment, I briefly wished he could see it just once.

Grabbing the old button-up off of the toilet to my left, I opened the door and walked out of the bathroom to see Gunnar lounging on the couch, one leg propped up with his arm resting against it.

And he was reading. Like an actual fiction book.

My brows shot up, surprised. Yet, despite the shock, there was something oddly attractive about him being engaged so deeply in the work of art that he hadn’t noticed me leaving the bathroom. Tiptoeing to the bedroom to not disturb him, I placed the folded, dirty button-up on top of the dresser and padded back into the main room.

There was no sound apart from the fire crackling near him. The flickering flames illuminating the dark cabin made shadows dance across the brawny figure of the man I now found myself absolutely intrigued by.

As quiet as a mouse, I walked around the recliner and slid toward him, gently placing a hand against his forearm. He twitched and then whipped his head up from the book, startled. At first, he looked like he was about to jump off of the couch and murder someone, but then he sighed.

“You’re reading a book,” I stated, looking at the fingers that held the literature in their grasp.

“Is that wrong?” he questioned, sliding his leg flat and placing his veiny hands in his lap.

“No. Just not what I expected,” I answered, and he chuckled. Rolling to his side, he placed it onto the now-clean coffee table and slung his legs off of the side of the couch. I backed away slightly to give him room, then he stood up, placed his hand on my face, and gently brushed some hair from my cheek.

Calloused fingers whispered so delicately across my skin, and as he dropped his touch, it left a yearning for him to do that again.

His hazel eyes roamed my face, and then he flashed a crooked smile before walking away and disappearing into the bathroom. I made my way over to the rocking chair with the thick blanket he abandoned and curled up into the chair, gazing out through the black window. Though I couldn’t see anything, it gave me a sense of peace. It had been a really long day, and exhaustion seeped through my bones. I had no desire to leave my bundled-up position, cradled firmly in this rocking chair.

My eyelids bobbed open and closed, and at some point, I couldn’t pry them open anymore.

Time seemed to whirl around me, the world spinning forward just out of reach as I slipped back and forth between reality and dreamland.

All of a sudden, strong arms scooped me up, and I was lifted from the chair, blanket and all. My eyes fought to open, finally meeting Gunnar’s gaze. He was carrying me.

“Put me down.” The words came out in an exhausted slur.

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