Page 12 of Garrett

Her hand comes up to cup my cheek, thumb tracing my stubble. The tenderness in her touch undoes me.

“Neither am I,” she whispers.

I kiss her then, slow and deep, pouring everything I can’t say into it. She responds in kind, and for a while, we let the morning fade away around us.

She tastes like dawn, like possibilities. My hands run down her sides, savoring the way she arches into my touch. Each response draws out something primal in me - a need to cherish and protect.

“You’re thinking too hard,” she murmurs against my lips.

Of course she sees through me. She always does.

“Just wondering how I got lucky enough to have you here.”

Her smile could light up the whole cabin. “Must be your decent omelet-making skills.”

I laugh against her neck. “Is that what won you over?”

“Among other things.” Her fingers trace patterns on my back. Outside, the wind still howls, but in here, time seems suspended.

“Stay,” I say again. “Let the storm pass.”

She pretends to consider it. “Will there be coffee with this omelet?”

“French press. The good beans.”

“Now that’s persuasive.” She stretches beneath me like a cat. “Though we should probably eat something soon. We worked up quite an appetite last night.”

I press a kiss to her forehead, then her nose, then her lips. “Whatever you want, beautiful.”

The domesticity of it all should terrify me. Instead, it feels right. Like pieces falling into place.

A glance at the window confirms what the howling wind suggests - at least two feet of snow, still coming down hard. Thepath to Rachel’s cabin would be treacherous, and the road into town is definitely impassable.

“Looks like the weather’s making our decisions for us,” I say, running a hand down her spine. “No site work today. And the roads won’t be cleared until at least tomorrow.”

She props herself up on an elbow to look out the window, the sheet slipping to her waist. The sight is distracting enough that I almost miss her frown.

“The lumber delivery was supposed to come today for cabin four.” She bites her lip. “And the plumber was scheduled to finish the main house bathrooms.”

“They won’t be driving up the mountain in this.” I pull her back against me. “Nothing we can do about it today except...” I trail kisses along her shoulder.

“Except?”

“Stay warm.” Another kiss. “Stay in bed.” My hand slides lower. “Let me take care of you.”

She shivers, but not from cold. “We should at least check the generator. Make sure the pipes don’t freeze in the main house.”

Always practical. Even when I’m doing my best to distract her.

“Later,” I promise. “Right now, I have other plans.”

After thoroughly carrying out those “other plans” - twice - we finally make it to the kitchen around mid-morning. Rachel’s wearing one of my flannel shirts, looking far too tempting as she leans against the counter, watching me cook. Her hair’s still messy from my hands, marks visible above the collar. Something primitive in me loves seeing her like this - clearly claimed, clearly satisfied.

I’m whisking eggs when the generator sputters, then dies. The sudden silence is deafening.

“That’s not good,” Rachel says, wrapping her arms around herself as the temperature immediately starts to drop.

“Stay here.” I hand her my coffee. “I’ll check it.”

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