Page 8 of Thankful for My CEO

“I’m going to change,” he said, pulling a few items from the closet. “The bedroom is there,” he motioned. “If you’d like to change in there.” He ducked into the bathroom.

I pulled my suitcase into the bedroom, closing and locking the door behind me. As much as I wanted to trust Kit, I couldn’t. Just because he was unbelievably rich, built like a J Crew model, and oddly polite at times, didn’t make him a trustworthy man. In fact, some of those might even have been points against him.

I didn’t really have anything to change into. I decided to quickly pull on my pajamas. The soft, dry fabric felt amazing against my skin. Before I left the room, I couldn’t help but let my eyes wander.

The bed was made immaculately, but there couldn’t have been time for room service to come. I guess it didn’t surprise me he would be a make-your-bed-first-thing type. A little amber bottle sat on the wardrobe across from the bed. The cologne I had smelled him wearing this morning. I approached it and read the label. Some brand I didn’t recognize. Wildly expensive, I assumed.

What was I doing? Embarrassed, even though he hadn’t seen me snooping, I grabbed my bag and pulled it back into the living room of the little cabin.

Chapter 4

Kit was at the door. A young man engulfed in a raincoat handed him a box of firewood and a large plastic bag. I watched as Kit slipped him a hundred-dollar bill and thanked him as he left.

“Our firewood and things,” he said casually, carrying the box over to the fireplace.

I joined him, trying not to be too self-conscious about how I must look in my Target matching pajama set and messy, soaked bun. He had put on something more casual, too, but somehow still looked incredibly put together. A sweater that looked so soft -cashmere? -and a pair of joggers.

He pulled open the cardboard and started arranging the kindling on the grate. I saw a newspaper on the coffee table and lifted it up. “Can I…?”

Kit nodded. I began crumpling it up and handed it to him. He used it to support the kindling.

Working together without barely a word between us, we got the fire roaring in no time. I grabbed a pillow from the couch and sat on the floor as close to the flames as felt comfortable and took my hair down, shaking it out so it could dry.

I looked up to catch Kit watching me. That fire within me grew warmer. He immediately looked down at his watch and seemed to feign surprise.

“It’s already nearly lunchtime,” he said.

I hadn’t realized I was hungry, but I could definitely eat.

“What did the handyman bring?”

Kit opened the bag on the coffee table and took out some sliced bread, cheese, and cold cuts. He got up and walked to his kitchenette and opened a cupboard and pulled out a bottle of wine. “Sandwiches… and a glass of Merlot?” he offered.

“Isn’t it a bit early for that?”

We both looked out the window that faced toward the main building of the lodge. It was still a mess of gray and white flashes of hail out there. The fire crackled in the fireplace, competing with the steady staccato of the weather. Someone could have told me it was midnight and I wouldn’t have questioned them.

I looked back at Kit. He was already putting the bottle back.

“No, no, it’s fine.” Just one glass would help calm my nerves about this whole situation.

I thought about offering to get up and help, but Kit had already uncorked the wine and was pouring two glasses. He brought it to me and set it on the coffee table. Sipping the wine, I watched as he pushed up the sleeves of his sweater, found a couple of plates, and began making the sandwiches by firelight. Moments later, he returned.

“Thank you,” I said, genuinely. He nodded from his seat on the couch.

“I wanted to try some of the local wines and ordered some to be stocked when I arrived,” he explained. “One of them in there is yours.”

“You’re too kind,” I answered automatically, defaulting to formalities in this awkwardly intimate situation.

I fell into silence, chewing my sandwich thoroughly. The tips of my hair had dried, but I knew it would take a long time for the rest to dry. At least I was warm by the fire.

When I finished eating, I washed my plate and then looked back into the living room. Now that my hair was half dry, I didn’t really want to sit on the floor if I didn’t have to. But the only other place to sit was on the couch with Kit.

This isn’t middle school. I think you can handle sitting on the same couch as an attractive man.

“Another glass of wine?” I asked. That would be the last one.

He gave me that one eyebrow raised, amused expression I was already so familiar with and shrugged. “If you’re having another.”

---