Page 95 of Stuck with Me

I force a smile. “Yep.”

Outside around the fire, we’re all just friends. Nico and Jones have seemed to hit it off. It warms my stupid heart. I don’t know if I’d rather my friends all hate him or like him.

Sabrina rests her head on Jones’s shoulder and he wraps his arm around her while he tells us a funny story about one of the locals being drunk at the bar. Nico listens intently and his laugh makes me feel rueful. Cammie sits on Maverick’s lap, and he snuggles her close to his chest. My heart balloons in my chest.

Growing up as an only child and then being raised by Gigi, that was my family. But surrounded by these friends, the ones I do life with, they’re my family now.

Something tells me, in the end, Nico and I are going to have to find a way to share the cabin. As much as I hate sharing, it’s the only way I won’t lose it completely. And after spending nearly a week with him, maybe it won’t be as bad as I previously thought.

Keeping this is worth it.

It’s late when we put out the fire and head inside for the night. Dean is still passed out on the couch. Sabrina and Jones and Cammie and Maverick retreat to their rooms upstairs. Nico is quick to say goodnight before heading down the hall to the big bedroom.

There’s an ache in my chest I can’t explain. But I know going to Nico’s bedroom tonight would be a mistake. That is over.

After I turn the lights off, I tiptoe up the stairs and crawl onto the mattress on the floor in the loft. When you’re single at the cabin, you succumb to the loft or the couches downstairs. The bedrooms are left for the couples. I shouldn’t be sad about it. The mattress is comfortable. And I’m just grateful for somewhere to sleep. Grateful for the cabin.

But no matter how comfy the mattress, I’m restless. I toss and turn and can’t find a relaxing position. I flop onto my back and open my eyes to the blackness of the dark cabin.

Maybe I’m overtired? Maybe I drank too much spiked eggnog? Maybe the filthy talking cowboy sleeping downstairs is too distracting?

If it wasn’t Nico keeping me awake before, he’s the reason now. I can’t shut off the images of him flashing through my mind. Instantly, my body is aching for him.

Fuck. Not only am I restless, now I’m horny too.

This is going to be a long night.

* * *

The robust scentof coffee and sweet maple syrup wakes me from my coma. The rum consumption leaves my head feeling foggy. I’m not even sure how many hours of sleep I ended up getting last night. I’m not even sure what time it is.

I squint and reach my hand out, fumbling around on the floor for my phone, not ready to open my eyes fully. 7:30. UGH. Too early to be awake. Especially after the rough night I had.

But the faint sound of Cammie’s singing voice drifting up to the loft has me smiling. When my mood is low and the days ahead look bleak, Cammie will always be the sunshine I need. Even when I don’t deserve it.

I throw the layers of blankets back and tug on a pair of fuzzy socks before slogging down the stairs. Shocking to no one, Dean is still sleeping on the couch. The irony of his nickname beingDesignated Deanis not lost on me.

Cammie is dancing in the kitchen while she flips French toast on the electric skillet. She hears me shuffle into the kitchen in my fuzzy socks and glances over her shoulder at me. Her blue eyes brighten and a smile spreads on her face.

“What’s got you so chipper this morning?” I grumble, dropping onto a stool and leaning my elbows on the island.

“It’s New Year’s Eve. How can I not be in a good mood?”

I groan. “Guess I forgot.”

I’ve been dreading this day since Nico and I decided we’d put off discussing the fate of the cabin until New Year’s Eve.

Now the day is here.

It makes sense now why Cammie is making French toast. It’s tradition on New Year’s Eve. Then following breakfast, we search through the baskets of ice skates, bundle up and head to the frozen pond for a few hours of skating. It’s usually one of my favorite days of the week here at the cabin. But everything is different now.

Nico is here.

I rest my face in my hands and watch as Cammie adds another spatula full of French toast to the already toppling pile. The scent of cinnamon wafts in the air and despite it smelling delicious, sorrow throbs in my chest. I can’t help but feel like all these small details will simply become memories of the past.

Cammie slides a plate of French toast in front of me and my eyes flick up to hers. I give her a half-smile as a thank you.

“What’s going on?”

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