Page 56 of Every Promise Broken

He smiles before he leaves the kitchen, and it makes my heart race. I don’t know if I’m ready for this. I don’t even know how to process what happened.

And so much happened.

The possessiveness that radiated off him in thick waves.

How he tied me up.

The way he kissed me. How he touched me.

Reaching for the wine bottle, I pour myself averygenerous glass, downing a large sip, before taking a deep breath and topping it off.

It doesn’t help.

My palms are slick with sweat and my pulse roars in my ears as I pad toward the living room on shaky knees.

Conrad is kneeling in front of the fireplace as I sit down on the couch. I can feel the heat from the fire already, and it puts my tense shoulders slightly at ease. After he’s seemingly satisfied with it, he stands and sits beside me, not close enough that he’s touching me, but enough that my pulse spikes all over again.

Neither of us says anything for a moment, both of us just watching the fire. The heat, the crackling, all of it is so soothing. There’s not much more I love than a nice fire while it snows outside.

“The ranch is going to look beautiful by morning,” I murmur, wishing suddenly that I could replace my glass of wine with a hot cup of cocoa instead. “Everything covered in fresh, untouched snow.”

Conrad sits back, an arm slung across the back of the couch. “You always loved the snow, haven’t you?”

I smile softly at him as I nod. No matter how many winters come and go, I don’t think I’ll ever tire of seeing a Copper Lake snowfall. “There’s such a peacefulness that comes with it,” I tell him, my voice hushed, like if I talk too loudly, it’ll all go away. “A tranquility in the way everything quiets. The way the world slows as the white kisses everything in sight. I love it.”

“I would love to see the snow through your eyes,” Conrad hums thoughtfully.

My lips twitch, but I don’t say anything. Instead, I grab my wine and take another sip while my heart thunders behind my ribcage.

“Do you remember the first time it snowed after you moved into the loft?” he asks, glancing at me with something akin to nostalgia coloring his features.

It doesn’t take but a second for the memory to come back to me, my lips curving into a wide-toothed grin. “Of course,” I reply with a small chuckle. “I’m surprised you do, though.”

He chuckles gruffly. “How could I forget? You made all of the horses their own hats, and insisted my father and I help you put them on before getting started with chores for the day.”

I can’t help but laugh. “To this day, I still can’t believe I talked you two into that.”

Getting Henrik and Conrad to agree toanythingoutside of what was normal business back then was a fat chance, and I’ll never forget the look on Henrik’s face when I presented them with the cardboard box stuffedfullof colorful, knit hats made specifically for the horses.

“My dad always had a soft spot for you,” Conrad murmurs. “Even if he never would’ve admitted it. He did more for you than he ever would’ve done for anybody else.”

“Besides your mom. That man would’ve moved mountains for her had she asked.”

Huffing out a breath, he says, “Yup, he would’ve.” A comfortable silence settles between us as we watch the fire burn and crackle for a few minutes. The air is thick, and I know it’s coming, but I still tense up all the same when he finally says, “We should talk about the other night.”

Something not quite a laugh comes out of me as I keep my eyes trained on the fire. “I don’t know if I’m ever going to get used to this new, into-talking-about-things version of you.”

“Yeah, well, what can I say,” he mutters lowly before taking a swig from his beer can. “When you lose something that means the world to you because of your lack of emotional intelligence, you kind of find a way to figure it out, even if it’s too late.”

The organ in my chest skips a beat as my gaze darts over to meet his, feeling like the breath has been stolen from my lungs. My mind blanks, and my mouth dries. I don’t even know what to say back to that. Words simply don’t come to me.

Thankfully—or not-so thankfully—Conrad continues, so I don’t have to. “I don’t want you to tell me that Saturday night was a mistake or that you regret it. I don’t want you to shut me out or say it can never happen again. And I definitely don’t want to keep walking around, pretending like it didn’t because I haven’t stopped thinking about that night since, or any other night with you.”

My throat feels tight, like it’s closing up on me. “But how can it be anything other than a mistake?” I ask, unable to look at him.

“Nothing that feels that good between us could ever be a mistake.” There’s a fierceness behind his words that bringsgoosebumps to my flesh. “Can you really look me in the eye and tell me the other night didn’t alter something inside of you?”

I look up, feeling like my skin is ablaze as I take in the desire and the utter truth looking back at me. “Well, no, but that doesn’t exactly change anything either, Conrad.”

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