Page 24 of Snowy Secrets

"Wait." Marcus's voice is guttural. Someone is knocking on the door.

The knocking grows, becoming more insistent. I roll in my bed, my eyes opening indignantly. What the fuck?

With a stifled gasp, I sit up, my chest heaving. No, thank God that was just a dream…right? I check under the covers. I'm still in my clothes. So, it was a dream.

"Are you seriously about to be disappointed right now?" I fire the question at myself, since I'm positively sulking. "Get it together."

"Bella?"

It's Marcus' voice that floats to me. I'm not sure I can handle an audience with him right now after what I've just done—me, or the dream me? Who knows? I clear my throat hastily. "What is it? I'm resting."

"Oh." There's a beat of silence, then Marcus speaks in more of an apologetic tone. "I'm sorry. I wanted to ask if you'll be down for dinner."

My stomach rumbles immediately. I hadn't realized it, but I'm starving. I've barely eaten the entire day, save for the cup of hot chocolate. "Give me ten minutes," I call out.

"Sure." There's the sound of footsteps retreating, clunking comfortably down the stairs. I rush to the adjacent bathroom to splash some water on my face. A change of clothes later, I'm mostly ready to go down.

With quick steps, I go out and head to the kitchen, where I stop dead in my tracks. Because, standing at the head of the dining table and looking infuriatingly handsome, is River. He's involved in a conversation with Marcus, but his gaze diverts to me, and he immediately raises a pacifying hand. "I can eat in my own room," he says with a slight frown.

The audacity of this man to actually look annoyed at my presence. "You can eat here," I snap back with a frown of my own. "I'm adult enough not to cause a scene."

And hungry enough as well.

"Sit down, Bella." Marcus offers me a smile and a tumbler filled to the brim with a warm, golden-toned liquid. I give it a suspicious stare. "What's this?"

"Moonshine," he replies easily. "To soothe the bones and also…the nerves." The last bit he adds after a pause. I have this sudden urge to laugh, but I hold it together. This is what my nervous system does when I'm furious and hungry—it makes me do things that just annoy me to no end later.

"You didn't mention you made this kind of thing," I say, cocking a brow at Marcus.

He merely shrugs. "Some things are best left discovered."

He's not wrong about that.

I take the alcohol in my hand and give a hasty swig, and a split second later, I'm sputtering and wheezing as Marcus taps my back apologetically. If this is alcohol…then whatever I have drunk in the name of alcohol up until this moment has beenflavored water. This tastes of forest winds, spiced liberally with joy and promise. This is danger in a mug. Fine by me.

River watches me as I gasp and pinch my nose, concern in his ridiculously beautiful eyes. "Is it too strong for you?"

"No, not at all," I choke out through a throat that is full of flames. "I'm totally fine. Thanks for asking this time."

A vein stands out on his forehead, and he mumbles something indistinct. Marcus examines the tumbler with a perplexed eye. "Maybe I've left it to rest for far too long. Alcohol can grow stronger with age."

"Ah, you don't say." I put the tumbler back down and wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. The initial shock of honest-to-God, authentic alcohol has passed. Now, the taste lingers on the back of my tongue, mellow and slightly sweet. I lick my lower lip in appreciation. "You know what? I'll take another glass."

River stands rigidly, his body stiff. Marcus gives me a small, lopsided grin and refills my tumbler. Glass in hand, I sit down at the dining table. This has escaped my attention before, but the entire setup here is pleasingly vintage. It takes me back to my Grammy's kitchen, to sunlight filtering through chipped kitchen windows and worn wooden tables and chairs in soft gold. My nose suddenly picks up on familiar scents that aren't in the room with us—cinnamon, nutmeg, apple. I can almost hear the timer on the oven ticking and the clatter of pots and pans.

A phantom pressure rises in my throat as I look around me. Marcus is holding a worn recipe book in his hands, its cover stained and yellowing. I gesture at it. "Did you cook up something special?"

He looks down at the book and then at me. "You could say that." He chuckles. "Come on, sit down."

The aromas of roasted garlic and rosemary fill the air as Marcus moves to stir something in a pot. River pulls out a chairfor me. I give him my sweetest smile and sit on the chair next to the one he's holding.

His face grows tighter, a muscle in his jaw twitching. "Fair enough."

He moves as far away from me as he can and sits at the very end of the table. Marcus returns with dinner. He looks at me, then River, and sets the food down.

"Smells divine," I murmur, nodding my appreciation at him. The flicker of candlelight dances on his chiseled features, highlighting the shadows beneath his eyes.

Marcus beams at the platter of succulent roasted chicken with gravy and what looks to be braised Brussels sprouts and mash. "Enjoy. This is a family recipe passed down for generations."

---