Page 17 of The Fix

Smoke plumes from the chimney, and a cozy glow radiates from the large front windows, the cabin framed by a blanket of snow like a scene straight out of a romantic comedy or the front of a small-town greeting card.

“Can you at least say shit?” Toby scoffs, his large frame bowed forward in the seat, his sight on the building in front of us. “This place is worth more than a crap.”

Rolling my eyes, I park the car. “It’s a massive step up from the last time I saw it. Hopefully, the inside is just as good.”

“It is,” Toby mutters, opening the door and filling the cabin with chilled air. A lit cigarette hangs between his lips before he completely exits. His leather jacket draped over his shoulders despite the freezing cold.

I, on the other hand, am quick to snag and burrow into a puffy coat I had stored in the back seat, with a fur lined hood. I pocket the keys, double check my sanitizer bottle, and grab my travel mug of hot cocoa before slamming the door and wading through Toby’s footsteps in the snow.

The crisp white layer only disturbed by his tracks seem to be a few inches in depth, but the width of his strides have me nearly jumping to reach the next crater created by his foot.

Better this than snow in the shoe.

He’s already at the door, punching a code into the lock and stomping his boots out on the mat that I’m fairly certain is covered in a floral pattern when I reach the porch.

Not at all what I would expect from Leo.

“Whoa, hey,” I say as I grab his elbow. He pauses in the threshold, his lit cigarette now pinched between his fingers, and wings a brow in my direction. “No smoking inside.”

Grumbling, he rolls his eyes. “Why the hell not?” He puts the stick to his lips and takes a deep drag, the smoke blowing from his nose. “We own it.”

I scoff and shake my head. “We is not on the deed to the house, I can guarantee that.” I snatch the cigarette from his fingers and flick it into the snow.

With one challenging look, including a raised brow and pursed lips, I push past the man and enter the house before I freeze to death arguing over cigarettes.

“So damn plain.”

I choose to ignore his mumbled words as I set my mug on the counter because I’m not here to impress Toby Jeffers. In fact, the less he likes me, the better.

Instead, I focus on the expansive layout in front of me. The open concept kitchen leads to a living space that is encompassed by floor-to-ceiling windows, tall enough to stretch up past the second story and touch the apex of the roof.

A one-hundred-and-eighty degree unencumbered view of the forested mountains lay out in front of me like a painted portrait.

“This was definitely not here last time.”

Somehow, I've edged closer without realizing it, until my nose is nearly pressed against the glass.

It’s gorgeous. Breathtaking.

But it’s not for me.

“It was there all along.” Toby’s deep timbre startles me with its closeness, and I turn to see him admiring the view, an amber-filled decanter lifted to his lips. “Just needed the elevation.”

“Right.” Broken from the spell of a beautiful view and reminded all over again why I’m here, I stalk across the tiled floor. My short heels tap with each step back to the kitchen that smells of fresh citrus cleaner. My luggage is already there by the door, alongside the duffel Toby packed.

That’s … odd.

“Did you …?”

“So you wouldn’t break your neck in those fucking heels and have Leo blame me for your murder? Yes.” Toby speaks to the window, raising his glass to his lips.

“Thanks, I guess.”

Brushing off the weird feeling his words stir in the air between us, I snag the wheeled case and turn down the short hallway to my right. I pass open bifold doors holding laundry equipment that looks like it might be original to the cabin I remember, and I sigh.

Of course the man wouldn’t care to remodel the laundry. No way my poor delicates can go in there.

I continue down the short path to the only archway left to explore in this portion of the house.

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