Page 44 of Please Send Snow
“I like writing too,” he says casually. “Can you read me a story now?”
He turns and pads back up the stairs without even waiting for me, and now I’m standing here wondering how in a matter of two days, Maddie Foster has my boy saying he likes to write.
I’m also trying to ignore the knot in my stomach telling me that the real reason she left is me, and the way I was looking at her across the crackling fire all night.
I vow to do better.
If I screw this up for Dylan, I’ll never forgive myself.
11
MADDIE
My heart is pounding again as I hurry down the mountain on foot for the second night in a row.
I’m carrying the bags with all my new clothes. The air is damp, and so cold I can see my breath.
Maybe we’ll finally get the snow Dylan wants tonight. I picture his little face if he wakes up tomorrow to find a winter wonderland out the window, and I can’t help smiling myself.
I wonder how he’s feeling right now.
Guilt twists my stomach. He was expecting to come downstairs and find me and give me a ride down to the lodge.
But that moment I spent in the kitchen with his dad had me spinning out. So I cleaned up and got out of there as fast as I could.
The problem isn’t that he was about to make a move on me, it’s that all I wanted was to get lost in those intense blue eyes andletmyself melt into him.
But the reality is that I’m as drawn to the idea of falling into his life as I am drawn to the man himself. Spending time with Jake and Dylan today, shopping at the thrift store, playing at the park, cooking supper, and telling stories around the fire—those are the things that remind me of what I used to have with my parents.
So do I really like Jake Stone, the man?
Or do I just want a family of my own so badly that I’m seeing it everywhere I look?
The truth is that Jake and I have nothing in common. Sure, I’m attracted to him—any red-blooded woman would be. That strong jaw and the ruthless expression in his eyes probably have every woman he meets falling at his feet.
But I’ve got too much on the line to let myself get lost in the woods over a man. I need to get my life in order, and find a way to earn a steady living so I can get a permanent roof over my head.
Focusing on what I want to do instead of what I absolutely can’t do is the right idea. I think about writing my book, and about finding a room rental in town, or maybe a housesitting gig after the holidays, and I’m starting to calm down again by the time I reach the lodge.
Jogging up the front steps, I drink in the warm light spilling out the windows. Once again, I have the sensation of coming home, even though it’s only temporary.
“Welcome back, Miss Foster,” Margo sings out as I come in the front door.
Two of the housekeepers step out of the office and stand at attention, flanking her.
Michael sweeps across the lobby, approaching me with a fond smile that feels sincere.
“Where is he?” Margo barks out before Michael and I can greet each other. “And where were you all day?”
“I just walked down,” I tell her. “He was giving Dylan a bath.”
“Miss Foster,” Bronson’s voice comes from the hall that leads to the dining room. “Your dinner is served.”
“He’s not here,” Margo yells back to him.
“But I made a feast,” Bronson says as he enters the lobby. There’s a forlorn look on his face, and even his starched chef’s hat is drooping a little.
“I already ate,” I say apologetically.
