Page 14 of Snowbound
“Drink this.” I obey.
The tea’s scalding, sweet, creamy, and perfect. It warms me all the way through, and I let out a soft sigh.
“That’s good.”
He visibly relaxes. He’s still wearing his heavy coat and boots, but he shrugs them off as the fire warms the room. I let my eyes travel over him.
Five years. That’s all it’s been. But in that time, Owen has gone from boy to man. The lean, cocky teenager I remember is gone. In his place is someone bigger, broader. Stronger.
He wears a long-sleeved white tee that’s snug across the chest. His worn jeans hang low, worn leather belt snug around his hips. He has a scruffy beard that was once scant, and his hands… they’re rougher, wider, capable.
I swallow hard.
Has he changed so much? Or have I just been surrounded by the wrong kind of men for too long? The ones who wouldn’t last a day out here.
None of them hold a candle to Owen Callahan.
He clears his throat, pulling my attention back to his eyes. “How are you feeling?”
I realize it’s suddenly very warm in here.
I shrug because I don’t know how to answer that question and drain the rest of my tea.
Now that I'm not going to die from frostbite, I say, staring at him, “Tell me why you're here.”
“You first,” he says, his eyes wary.
“Why am I here? What do you mean?”
“Why did you come to this cabinalone, Emma? What brought you here?”
I swallow and look away from him. “Jake and I were having… problems.”
“Feckin’ prick,” he mutters, darker this time.
Owen might be a lot of things, but apologetic isn't one of them.
“Why’d you end up with a man like him? Why did you choose the safe route?”
I blink at him.Safe route?Does he have any idea? That I was in love withhim?
Safe route.
Of course not. He doesn’t know. He has no idea my mother found my journal—that she read every single page. Every made-up fantasy about us being in love. Every sketch I drew of him. Every word I wrote, thinking I was safe.
She lost her damn mind. Said I was sick. Twisted. Said I couldn’t fall in love with my brother.
He was never my brother.
“Safe route?” I snort. “I fell in love with a fucking narcissist.”
His jaw tightens, and he asks, “Why’d you finally leave him?”
I swallow hard. I don’t know how he’ll react, but why hide the truth?
“He cheated on me.”
He sets his own cup down slowly, so deliberately, it makes my stomach clench. Something in the movement—too careful, too calm.
