Page 24 of Wynter's Second Chance

We were standing so close, just inches apart. The playful laughter had given way to silence, the snowy world around us fading into the background. His eyes searched mine and I felt the pulse of something more—something I’d been telling myself couldn’t possibly be real.

Then, he dipped his head, gaze flicking to my mouth for just a second, and my pulse leapt. The air between us felt charged, and I had the sudden urge to close the small space left between us, to feel that warmth that radiated from him in a way that had nothing to do with friendship.

With a shake of his head, as if trying to break the spell between us, Wynter reached back to his pack, pulling out a thermos and two cups. He slipped off his gloves, then poured the cider carefully, steam curling up between us in the cold. When he held a cup out to me, I took off my gloves too, feeling the bite of the winter air. As I reached for the cup, his bare fingers brushed mine, his touch warm and rough against my skin. His fingers lingered, eyes meeting mine with a look that sent a shiver through me that had nothing to do with the cold.

The cider’s steam rose between us, and I forced myself to look away, taking a slow sip to calm the heat spreading through me. “This… it’s perfect. Tell Bill and Edie I’ll need the recipe.”

“Yeah? Figured you’d like it,” he murmured, as he took a sip of his own.

When I looked up, he was watching me, something warm and intent in his gaze. I couldn’t remember the last time he’d looked at me like that. Or maybe he never had, and I’d just wanted him to.

My pulse picked up, my breath coming faster than the snowball fight alone could explain. For a second, it felt like the rest of the world had melted away, leaving us in this small circle of warmth and snow. His gaze flicked to my mouth, lingering for the briefest heartbeat before he looked back up at me. My pulse pounded and I felt my throat tighten, the tension between us thickening with each second.

Was he…? No, he couldn’t be.I’d known Wynter for more than half my life; if he was anything but straight, I would’ve noticed. Right? But in that moment, he felt like someone I didn’t quite know, someone whose intentions were unreadable and yet so enticing, drawing me closer to him by an invisible thread.

I leaned in, just a fraction, and the warmth in his gaze held steady, the edges of his mouth softening, his eyes drifting to my lips again. The space between us felt almost unbearably small, yet still too wide. I wanted to close it, to find out if the way he looked at me now meant what I thought it did.

The brush of his breath was warm on my face as he opened his mouth slightly, and I felt the faint pull of his aura on mine.

Just as I gathered the courage to close the remaining distance, he pulled back, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Come on,” he said, motioning toward the path. “We should probably head back before we turn into snowmen out here.”

His tone was light, almost casual, but the faint pink in his cheeks gave him away.

“Right.” I nodded, swallowing hard as I tried to mentally steady myself. The air felt colder suddenly, sharper, the moment slipping away too quickly, leaving me in a daze. I followed him,trying to get my head around the fact that something had almost happened—if it really had.

CHAPTER 12

WYNTER

The cabin at Pinecrest was quiet, but my mind wasn’t. I lay back, staring up at the ceiling, replaying yesterday over and over. The snow, Taran’s laughter, his breath curling in the cold air, that one charged second when I thought?—

I shook my head, trying to brush it off as wishful thinking. Taran, my best friend since we were kids, the guy who had always been… off-limits. The same Taran who’d been by my side through everything before I went off to pursue a career in the army, but who’d never given me a reason to think he wanted me in any way other than that.

But then, yesterday happened. The snowball fight, his smile that stayed just a second too long, his eyes that held mine just close enough to make me wonder. There was something there, wasn’t there? Or had I been reading into it, hoping for something that wasn’t real?

I dragged a hand down my face, willing myself to be logical, but the urge to see him gnawed at me, sharp and relentless. I stood up, grabbing my jacket before I could overthink it.

Maybe I just needed something to eat. Mabel’s had the best Christmas cookies in town, and, well, I had been craving themlately. Perfect excuse. I smirked to myself, pulling the door shut and heading into the fresh, cold air toward Mabel’s shop.

Inside, Mabel’s Sweet Treats was the picture of holiday charm. Warm, golden lights sparkled around the windows, framing shelves piled with cookies, cakes, and pastries. The smell of cinnamon and nutmeg, rich and sweet, filled the air, blending with the low hum of Christmas music from an old radio behind the counter. I felt my shoulders relax, the warmth of the place easing the restlessness that had been building in me.

Mabel spotted me as soon as I walked in. She was small and sharp-eyed, with a way of seeing more than she let on, and the look she shot me was one of knowing. She crossed her arms, a sly smile creeping over her face as she leaned against the counter.

“Well, well. It’s not every day we get a visitor with such good taste in both friends and sweets,” she said, her gaze amused.

I bit back a grin, caught off guard. “Just figured I’d stop in for some cookies.”

She nodded slowly, her eyes twinkling. “Uh-huh. Cookies.”

I chuckled, not quite able to meet her eyes as I glanced around. “Is Taran around?”

“Of course he is,” she said, giving a nod toward the back. “It’s his day to run the kitchen. You want me to let him know you’re here?”

I shook my head. “I’ll surprise him. But if he starts throwing flour at me, you’re taking the blame.”

Mabel laughed, waving me off. “I’m counting on it.”

I lingered near the counter, watching Taran work in the kitchen. His focus was steady, hands kneading dough with practiced ease, his movements smooth, confident. Flour dustedhis forearms, and a light smudge streaked his cheek. There was something magnetic about him like this—comfortable in his space, at ease, fully in his element.

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