Page 75 of Hometown Heart

I squeezed his hand gently. "Is that why you're good at running a café? You've mastered the art of comfortable silence?"

"Maybe. Or maybe I just make a damn good cup of coffee."

The drive continued, conversation flowing easily between topics—hockey strategies for Cody's team, the antique display case we were still restoring, and a debate about the merits of different syrup grades that was far more passionate than I'd anticipated. We learned the rhythm of each other outside our usual settings.

"Turn here," I said, spotting the narrow access road I'd been watching for. It was barely visible, marked only by a weathered wooden sign half-buried in snow. The SUV handled the unplowed drive admirably, its tires crunching through the fresh powder.

The trees closed in around us, creating a tunnel of pine boughs. After a half-mile of winding through the dense forest, the cabin appeared—a classic A-frame nestled in a small clearing, its steeply pitched roof designed to shed snow efficiently.

"This is it," I announced, pulling to a stop beside the cabin's covered porch. "Middle of nowhere, as promised."

Silas peered through the windshield, taking in the rustic structure. "It's perfect," he said softly, and I detected genuine appreciation in his tone.

We unloaded quickly, eager to escape the biting cold. The temperature had dropped as we'd driven north, and now our breath billowed in thick white clouds with each exhale. I fumbled with the keys, my fingers stiff despite my gloves, while Silas stamped his feet on the porch to keep warm.

The lock finally yielded, and the cabin door swung open with a creak of protest. Inside, the cabin smelled of pine and woodsmoke from its last occupants—clean but distinctly rustic, nothing like the polished vacation homes that dotted the coast.

"Generators already running," I noted, flicking on the lights. "Olivia must have had the caretaker come by."

The interior was simple but thoughtfully laid out. A stone fireplace dominated the far wall, flanked by a well-worn leather couch. The kitchen, little more than a compact lineup of basic appliances, occupied one corner. A wooden ladder led to the sleeping loft above, where I could make out the edge of a queen-sized bed covered in plaid flannel.

Silas set down his duffel bag, surveying the space with an appreciative eye. "Cozy."

"Too small?" I asked, suddenly aware of how compact the quarters were. We'd never spent forty-eight uninterrupted hours together, let alone in a space barely larger than his apartment.

"No." He removed his coat, hanging it on a peg by the door. "It's perfect."

While Silas explored, opening cabinets and examining the bookshelves, I tackled the fireplace. There was already a neat stack of split logs beside the hearth, along with kindling andnewspaper. The familiar process of building a fire—arranging the kindling, stacking the logs just so—steadied my nerves.

I was aware of Silas moving behind me, the soft pad of his footsteps across the wooden floorboards. When I struck the match, the sudden flare illuminated the cabin in a brief flash of yellow. I held my breath as the kindling caught, exhaling only when I was certain the fire had taken hold.

"You're good at that." Silas's voice came from directly behind me, closer than I'd expected.

I stood, brushing wood chips from my hands. "Eagle Scout. Some skills stick with you."

When I turned, he was so near I could count the individual flecks of amber in his eyes, now reflecting the dancing flames. The usual barrier of the coffee counter, hockey bleachers, or Tidal Grounds tables was conspicuously absent. Nothing separated us—only air and slight hesitation.

"I brought wine," Silas said, clearing his throat. "Red. It seemed appropriate for a cabin in the woods."

"Excellent thinking." I stepped back, creating space between us. "I'll get the groceries from the car."

The blast of cold air as I stepped outside cleared my head. I'd been the one to suggest this getaway, yet now that we were here, truly alone, I found myself uncharacteristically nervous. It wasn't a stolen moment after hours at Tidal Grounds or a quick kiss in my kitchen while Cody was at practice. This was deliberate, intentional time carved out of our lives specifically to be together.

When I returned with the grocery bags, Silas had opened the wine and was rummaging through the kitchen drawers. "No corkscrew," he explained sheepishly, holding up a butter knife. "I had to improvise."

The cork was mangled but removed, and he'd managed to find two mismatched mugs. "Glasses are also in short supply."

"Very resourceful," I chuckled, setting the bags on the counter. "Between your MacGyver skills and my Eagle Scout training, we'll survive the wilderness easily."

"This barely qualifies as wilderness," he pointed out, gesturing toward the electric stove. "But I appreciate the vote of confidence."

We fell into an easy rhythm as we unpacked the groceries and prepared dinner. The cabin's kitchen was compact but functional, forcing us to navigate around each other in a careful dance. Each time we brushed shoulders or reached past one another, the contact lingered a fraction longer than necessary.

"What are we making?" Silas asked, examining the ingredients I'd laid out.

"Nothing fancy. Pasta aglio e olio. Simple but satisfying."

"Garlic, olive oil, red pepper flakes," he identified, running his fingers over the ingredients. "The holy trinity of quick cooking."

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