Page 13 of Merry'd to the Mountain Man
And I’d never be able to stop.
She shifts in her sleep, lets out a tiny, adorable snore that makes me grin in the dark. Then she rolls over, and before I can react, her head finds my chest, her hand resting just above my heart.
Every muscle in my body locks.
Her breath is slow and steady, the sound sinking into me like a lullaby and a curse all at once.
I stare at the ceiling and wonder what I did in a past life to deserve this kind of punishment. The one thing I want more than anything is lying right next to me, close enough to touch but never to keep.
She sighs in her sleep, murmuring softly. Then—clear as day—my name slips from her lips.
“Cole…”
My heart stops.
I don’t move, don’t breathe. Just lie there in the dark, listening to her breathing even out again.
And as snow falls outside the cabin, I give up on the fact that sleep is the last thing I’m getting tonight.
CHAPTER 11
Frankie
I wake up warm. The kind of warmth that wraps around you, steady and safe. And it takes me a second to realize why.
Cole’s arm is around me, heavy and solid, his hand resting just above my hip. His chest rises and falls against my back, slow and even. I can feel his heartbeat through the cotton of his shirt. His breath brushes the back of my neck, sending a glorious shiver down my spine.
For a few perfect seconds, I forget this isn’t real.
I forget that we’re not really husband and wife. That this—this feeling of being held—is temporary. That there’s an expiration date on everything happening in this cabin.
He shifts in his sleep, pulling me a little closer, and my heart betrays me by aching.
He may be my husband on paper, but that’s all he’ll ever be.
This situation has an end point, a finish line I can already see, and when it comes, he’ll stay on this mountain and I’ll go back to my life. Whatever that even means anymore.
I’ve tried to tell myself that what I’ve been feeling isn’t real. That it’s just the magic of Christmas and close quarters and a man who looks at me like I’m something worth keeping.
But lying here, wrapped in his arms, I know the truth.
The one thing I want for Christmas is the one thing I can’t have.
Cole Whitaker.
Carefully, I slide out from under his arm, holding my breath as I ease off the bed. He mumbles something in his sleep but doesn’t wake. I stand there for a moment, watching him—the way the morning light softens the lines of his face, even the faint furrow in his brow. It takes a moment but I force myself to move.
I get dressed quickly, needing space, needing air, and head downstairs.
The smell of coffee greets me, rich and comforting. For a second, I think Cole’s already been up, but when I round the corner, I know it won't be him sitting at the table.
Ryan’s sitting in Cole’s seat, a steaming mug in one hand, staring at the framed photo of his grandparents propped in front of him. His expression is unreadable, somewhere between nostalgia and something darker.
“Morning,” I say, trying for polite. “You’re up early.”
He doesn’t look at me. “Didn’t sleep much.”
I nod awkwardly, moving toward the counter to grab a mug. “Are you and Marnie staying the day or heading back early to beat the traffic?”
