Page 55 of Love Under Snowfall

Francesca released a slow, wobbly exhale, and reached over to lay a hand on Benjamin’s forearm. She squeezed.

“It’s good that you want to be better than your father, but don’t punish yourself for following his lead in the past. You switched gears and now you do something positive with your gifts. You might be a hard-ass in the process, but I guess I can see why.”

“I was unnecessarily hard on you.”

“Yes, you were,” she said with the hint of a smile. “But I’ll survive. Water under the bridge or whatever cheesy euphemism you want to use.”

“What can I do to make amends?”

She rolled her eyes. “Saying you’re sorry is a good start.”

“I am sorry, Francesca.”

“I forgive you,” she stated simply.

“Just like that?” It couldn’t be that simple. He really had been unbearably cruel to her, holding her to an impossible standard, intentionally trying to edge her out of his classroom. There’s no way those few little words did anything. Yet any animosity she’d been harboring seemed to drift away as she sat opposite him wearing a calm, if sympathetic, expression.

“Do you mean it? Are you actually sorry?”

She couldn’t imagine how much Benjamin’s poor treatmentof her weighed on him. He felt like he’d reverted to his heartless days as a high-powered attorney. He’d spent months cutting Francesca down, attempting to reduce her to a dog that had been beaten down enough times that there was no fight left. He was disgusted by his actions. He did not deserve her forgiveness, but the apology wasn’t about him.

“More than you can fathom.”

She chuckled softly and nodded. “Then I forgive you. Just like that.”

Something pricked at his heart. He hadn’t learned how to forgive. In his experience, forgiveness wasn’t something freely given. Ever. Following his parents’ divorce, his mother held onto her hurt and anger, allowing its intoxicating venom to poison her heart. In turn, she added alcohol to the mix and poisoned her body along with it. She allowed herself to rot from the inside because she refused to let go and create a new life for herself.

For her son.

Francesca drummed her fingers on the table. “Especially if you clean up from dinner so I can test out that shower I’ve been working so hard on.”

“You call melting a little snow hard?”

“Hey. I’ve melted a whole damned igloo all right? Either way, I’m doing philanthropic work by washing the stink off. You should be thanking me.” She stepped close, leaning down and taking an exaggerated sniff of Benjamin, then moseyed across the room. “And do the same.”

“That all depends on how things shake out for you.” He shrugged. “And if you leave me any hot water of course.”

“No promises,” she grunted as she lifted the five-gallon sack of water she’d left warming behind the stove.

“Allow me.” Benjamin rose from his seat and took the hefty container from her. Following her to thecloset-turned-shower—necessity really was the mother of invention—he lifted and hung the water jug from the metal hook. Slowly releasing his hold, they both stepped cautiously out of the way to see if the contraption would, in fact, hold. Miraculously, it did. Francesca wiggled with glee and then disappeared into the bedroom next door.

Returning to the main room to clean up from dinner, Benjamin wondered how he felt both heavier and lighter. Something had felt—not quite comforting, but perhaps cathartic to confide in Francesca about his fear of becoming just like his father. She listened, empathized. Selflessly. It was like she snatched the ache from his chest and stuffed it into hers so she could help him process it.

A flicker of warmth invaded his heart.

Which became enveloped by an all-out inferno at the sound of her showering. She squeaked with the first hit of water, groaned after a few minutes when she’d likely gotten the majority of her delectable body clean, and sang a couple of his favorite 90s songs. She was off-key, but still. He imagined scooping her up after she finished and making her filthy all over again.

Did he want to take advantage of their time stranded together in the cabin? Yes. Was it a smart idea to sport fuck his best friend’s little sister? While Johnny was a great man—solid, loyal, joyful—he probably wouldn’t take too kindly to the overstep.

“No peeking.” Her words startled him out of the problematic fantasy.

“I would never.” Benjamin scoffed a little too adamantly. Because while he would do just about anything to see Francesca wrapped in terry cloth, water dripping from the ends of her hair, nipples straining hard through the threadbare weave of the towels he found in the hope chest, he also had some honor. Perhaps not enough to boast about, but enough to where he didn’t feel like acomplete creep.

“Ha! Don’t sound so disgusted.”

“The only person I’m disgusted with is myself,” he murmured.

“What was that?”

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