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She shrugged. "It was a long time ago. I keep pictures of her so I can remember what she looked like. I got my love of cooking from her, and when I use her cookware and make her recipes, I feel closer to her."
A smile tugged at her lips as a memory surfaced. Her mom setting her on the counter, letting her stir the batter with a spoon way too big for her tiny hands. She hadn't been much help, but her mom had made her feel like the best assistant in the world.
Instead of empty platitudes, Noah shared a story of his mom's cooking that turned into a disaster when one of his brothers "helped" by adding salt instead of sugar.
"Actually, that wasn't the worst one," he said, his smile nostalgic. "I think I was eight or nine when Connor decided the bag of flour in Mum's pantry made the perfect substitution for a rugby ball. Never mind that it was almost two kilograms—er, four pounds—heavier." He chuckled at the memory. "The way that sack exploded! We thought we'd done a fine job cleaning it up, but you can imagine the quality efforts of three lads under age nine. And we'd completely forgotten to clean up ourselves. My mum came around the corner to find three white ghosts hiding brooms, rags, and buckets behind them."
Claire pictured three little boys, all miniature versions of Noah and covered in flour, running around trying to hide the mess before their mother could catch them. "Three ghosts? Aren't there four of you?"
"Yes, well, Tristan was still in his nappies at that point. And Rowan was barely out of them, so he got a pass on that one."
Noah shared more adventures with his brothers, and she shared stories of growing up in West Texas, where coyotes and rattlesnakes were common sights. Soon Claire was yawning and having trouble keeping her eyes open in the warmth of the cocoon they'd made on the couch.
"We should get to bed. Let's divvy up the extra blankets and get some sleep, no? You want first turn in the loo?" Noah asked.
Honestly, she didn't want to move. She felt warm and safe, tucked against him like they'd done this a hundred times before. Did he feel the same? Or was he just being kind? The doubt hit hard and fast, and she sat up, putting a little space between them before she could embarrass herself.
"Um, yes, thank you." Claire stood and made a beeline for the bathroom, shutting the door firmly behind her. She leaned against it, trying to collect herself. She hadn't expected to feel so… comfortable next to him. When was the last time she'd felt that with anyone? She drew in a slow breath, then another, waiting for her heartbeat to find its rhythm again. This was something she could get used to, which meant she needed to tread carefully.
Chapter 21
Heat
Claire drifted awake, her brow drawn in confusion, her sleepy mind trying to figure out what was wrong. She was uncomfortable. Cold. When she opened her eyes, the darkness was thick and disorienting. Where am I? The howling wind answered.
She sat up in the twin bed, teeth chattering. After the electricity had gone out, she'd chosen the bed against the inner wall, hoping it would be warmer than the one next to the window. It hadn't made a difference.
Fumbling for the flashlight on the nightstand, she switched it on and checked her phone. Only a few hours of sleep. She needed more, but not in this icebox. Wrapping the blankets around her, she shuffled into the sitting room, drawn to the fire's warmth.
She stood in front of the hearth for a while, letting the heat soak into her bones. The settee looked tempting, but it was too short to stretch out on, and curling up didn't help much. She tried laying across both chairs. After sliding between them, she checked to see if she could move the cushions to the floor to form a sleeping pad. No such luck. The cushions were fixed. Next, she arranged her blankets and pillows on the floor, but they weren't thick enough to protect her from the cold, hard surface beneath.
She sat back on the hearth, hugging her knees. The is ridiculous. She was exhausted, freezing, and out of options.
Her gaze drifted to Noah's door. Don't even think about it. But she did. She thought about how warm and cozy she'd felt sitting beside him under the quilt. How steady. How safe.
It's just for warmth, she told herself. Survival. Like camping. Nothing weird about it.
Biting her lip, she gathered her extra quilts and padded to his door. She knocked softly. When he didn't answer, she cracked open the door. "Noah? Noah, are you awake?"
"Mmph," he muttered.
Claire hesitated at the door. "Noah, it's freezing. I can't sleep out there. Is it okay if…?" She trailed off, unsure if he could even hear her.
The lump under the covers grunted and shifted in bed. Claire smiled. She'd come to understand his nonverbal cues over the last few months and grunts were usually code for "yes, but I don't want to agree out loud."
Aiming her flashlight at the floor to avoid blinding him, she tiptoed into the room. The queen-sized bed was tucked into the far corner with Noah curled up against the wall. "Plenty of room," she whispered, more to herself than him. Please don't let this be a mistake.
She spread her quilts over the bed, careful to cover him too, then slowly lifted the covers and slid in, staying on the outer edge. He didn't stir.
The weight of the blankets and the heat radiating from his side calmed her shivers. Her muscles slowly relaxed, and her thoughts grew soft around the edges. She snuggled deeper into the covers, letting the growing warmth and Noah's steady presence lull her back to sleep.
Noah drifted to awareness, his body warm and his arm anchored in place by a soft weight. Normally he slept on his back, but this morning he woke up on his side, with multiple points of heat searing his skin. He wasn't alone. He locked his legs around her and pulled her tighter against him, pressing into her softness. His hands roamed her body, finding skin under way too many bedclothes, then running along the curve of her waist up to the soft weight of her breast.
As his mind awakened, he wondered where he'd met her and how she'd wound up in his bed. Sleep fled and his eyes flew open. He was in his room at the guest house in Leesburgh, where they'd had to seek shelter from the storm. And the woman in his arms, whom he was grinding his morning boner against, was—Shit! Claire!
One arm cushioned her head, and the other was busy kneading—Damn it! He removed his hand from her breast and slowly unraveled his legs from hers, attempting to create some space between them. Why was Claire in his bed? This was not good, despite just how fantastic his body thought it was.
Before he could extract himself further, she rolled over and blinked up at him. She stared blankly at him as he carefully extracted his hand from her stomach, where it had landed after abandoning its exploration.
