Page 17 of Icebound Hearts

But as soon as I turn off the bedside light, the exhaustion I felt a moment ago seems to evaporate like mist. I’ve had a problem with insomnia ever since I was a teenager, so between that and the fact that it’s only my second night sleeping over as a live-in nanny in an unfamiliar setting, it shouldn’t be a surprise that I’m having a hard time sleeping.

That doesn’t make it any less frustrating though, especially when my body is exhausted and practically begging to sleep, but my brain just won’t let it.

I lie staring up at the pitch-black ceiling, listening to the pops and creaks of the house settling around me and hoping that sheer boredom will eventually make me pass out. But after tossing and turning for what feels like at least an hour, I remind myself that this is the last thing I’m supposed to do if I’m having trouble sleeping.

Sitting up, I throw the covers off.

I don’t want to be creeping around the house after everyone else has gone to sleep, but there’s truly nothing for me to do in this room, so I decide to go downstairs to fix myself a midnight snack. Maybe Sawyer has some books or magazines I can occupy myself with for a while. There’s a heavily loaded bookcase down in the living room, so I figure that’s as good a place to start as any.

Somehow, I make it downstairs without a sound, then pad to the kitchen and flip on the light. It’s a long shot, but since the ingredients are fairly common, I’m hoping that with a little boy in the house, Sawyer will have the stuff to make my favorite insomnia snack: ice cream with a cornflakes topping. But I’ll settle for a bowl of cornflakes and milk if that’s all he’s got.

I open the sliding freezer chest built into the bottom of the fridge and have to fight the urge to let out a sound of victory when I spot a tub of vanilla ice cream sitting right on top. I grab it and then head toward the cabinet where I know he keeps his dishware. I’m getting more familiar with the layout of the kitchen after making Jake a snack yesterday and some breakfast this morning, but I still have to hunt around a bit to find the ice cream scoop.

Once I do, I serve myself several scoops and return the ice cream to the freezer before searching for the next ingredient.

Fortunately, the cereal is easy enough to find in the large pantry, and Sawyer does have a small box of cornflakes. Once I’ve sprinkled a sufficient layer of them on top of the ice cream, I head for the bookcase in the living room to find something to read.

The shelves are mostly full of books about hockey. There are dense tomes about the history of the sport, some that look like old playbooks that are probably from Sawyer’s own games, and all kinds of biographies. That all makes perfect sense.

But what’s surprising is that there are just as many cookbooks and biographies of famous chefs, and that the two subjects seem to be perfectly divided on the shelves. On the left, hockey. On the right, cooking.

I would never have guessed that Sawyer would be so into cooking, but the more I think about it, the more it fits. He seems to enjoy taking care of people, and what better way to do that than with food?

A book about Julia Child catches my eye. I honestly don’t know much about her other than her general connection to French cuisine, but I’m intrigued, so I grab it and settle in on the couch to read.

I’m just about finished with my ice cream when I hear the floor above me creak. A few moments later, Sawyer pads down the stairs, shirtless and wearing a pair of gray sweats. My gaze immediately lands on his broad chest, dusted with a bit of dark hair, and the six pack—or, holy fuck, is that an eight pack?—beneath it.

I wrench my focus upward before it can travel any lower, since gray sweatpants leave almost nothing to the imagination and mine is already running way too wild. My gaze meets Sawyer’s in the dim light of the lamp beside the couch, and he grins when he sees me sprawled out on the couch with the book and my nearly empty bowl.

“Couldn’t sleep, huh?” he whispers.

“No. Sorry, I hope I didn’t wake you up.”

“Not at all. I just got up to check on Jake and saw that the light was on down here, so I figured I’d make sure everything’s okay. You good?”

I shrug and set the bowl down on the table. “Yeah, everything’s fine. I just couldn’t sleep. I’ve had insomnia every now and then ever since I was a teenager.”

“Well, I’m sure it isn’t easy to move into a stranger’s house and go right to sleep in an unfamiliar bed,” he says as he joins me, sitting on the opposite end of the couch. Close, but not too close. “What are you reading?”

“All about Julia Child.” I hold the book up so he can see it. “Did you know she used to work as a top-secret researcher for the Office of Strategic Services?”

He chuckles, resting one arm along the back of the couch. “I didn’t until I read that book. She’s amazing, isn’t she?”

“Beyond amazing. I had no idea. I thought she was just a TV chef.”

“Most people do, but she was so much more than that. Anyway, I’m glad you found something to eat. And something to read. I don’t have the most exciting library.” He makes a face as he gestures at the bookcase.

I can’t help grinning. “It’s definitely an odd combination, but it suits you.”

“Thanks. Oh, and thank you for bringing Jake to the game today. I didn’t get the chance to say that earlier, but it means a lot.”

“Of course.” I sigh softly, nestling back against the plush cushions of the couch. “God, that kid is so in love with you. He seriously wouldn’t stop talking about you the whole drive over to the game. It’s really sweet.”

Although Sawyer smiles, his face flushes. “Jake is far and away the best thing that came out of my marriage. I love him more than anything.”

“It shows.”

Our gazes hold for a moment, and the room falls silent. It lasts just long enough to make my heart beat a little faster, and then Sawyer’s eyes drop down to the bowl on the coffee table. He frowns, his brows drawing together. “What on earth is that?”

---