Page 20 of Snowbound
Owen
She worked all morning,locked in her little office. I wondered if she’d feel strange with me here, but if she does, she hasn’t let on.
But I can’t tell if she’s getting anywhere. It’s almost dinner now, and dusk paints the room in amber light.
“How’d it go?”
She only groans.
“Glass of wine?” I ask her.
“That sounds delectable,” she says, smiling up at me. “I think that ought to warm me through, hmm?”
“Aye.”
I rise and head to the fridge, and pull out a bottle of wine. The kind that costs more than I used to make in a week, but is worth every damn penny.
“This is my favorite,” she says, her brows lifting. “How did you know?”
I shrug, brushing her shoulder. “Lucky guess.”
I don’t want to terrify her. I want her to trust me.
“Before you went to the office, you were telling me about another memory,” I prompt gently.
Her expression shifts. “God, it’s not a happy one… but you just look kind of—” she stammers, cheeks blushing. “You look, I don’t know.”
“For a romance writer, you blush awful quickly, don’t you?”
“Sorry,” she whispers. “Somehow, it’s easier getting the words on the page than saying them with my mouth. Well. I mean, in theory. Not like I’m getting the words Ineed.”
I lean in closer, resting her feet in my lap again.
“Tell me the memory.”
She swallows. “It was a family Christmas party, right? I was—what was I? A sophomore in high school?”
“I think a freshman,” I say because I know exactly what she’s talking about. “We were outside. Chopping wood?”
“We?” She laughs. “Youwere. You were shirtless, chopping firewood with your cousins. All of you were kind of showing off how hard you could swing the axe. But I think… you were really showing off your abs.”
Her voice drops. “My mother caught me looking at you.”
I make a low rumble in my chest. “What did she do?”
“She…” Her voice trembles. “She pulled me away. It hurt. She pushed me against the wall and screamed at me. Said, ‘That’s your brother. You can’t look at your brother like that.’”
I shake my head.
“God. I’ve carried that shame for so long.”
“Why?” I ask her, meeting her eyes. “Jesus Christ. I wasneveryour fucking brother. Why did they have to foist that on us? As if we were some goddamn happy family that sprouted from the damn ground.”
She giggles. “No. But youactedlike it, didn’t you?”
“Did I?” I ask.
She shrugs in response.
