Page 6 of Curvy Cabin Fever
I take a deep breath, search my phone for the code to the key box that should be on the porch, and try to memorize it.
“0214. Got it.”
Holding my grocery bags in one hand, I push open the door and squeal when the wind and snow wrap around me, creating a mini blizzard.
Holy shit!
I shut the door and grit my teeth, cursing my shitty choice of footwear. These boots maylooknice, but they’re not built for snow.
Why didn’t I check the weather?!
Because I just wanted to leave.
I make my way around the cabin, my fingers brushing against the wood as I turn, finally seeing the porch bathed in a soft light.
Thank god they left the porch light on.
I make my way there, barely able to lift my head with the force of the weather, slowly making it to the steps. Bracing myself, I hold onto the railing with one hand, trying not to fall or slip on the icy stairs.
Pity they didn’t salt them for me.
I spot the key box and hurry over, slipping and sliding on the wood as I do.
“Fuck!” I mutter as my fingers slip on the code, but after another try, the box opens, and I’m greeted with the key.
My teeth chatter and my fingers go numb in seconds, the wind slicing through my coat. I’ve been out of the car for maybe two minutes—what kind of icy hell is this?!I slide my key into the door and open it, hurrying inside as the wind howls behind me.
I drop my bags onto the floor and attempt to move my hair from my eyes.
The cabin is so warm!
I stamp my feet on the mat before sniffing the air. A delicious scent greets me—chargrilled meat and potatoes, I think, and it’s only then that I stop.
Leaving a porch light on is one thing. Making dinner is another.
A chill sets in, and it’s got nothing to do with the weather. I lift my head to see I’m not alone, and a yelp leaves my mouth.
Because there, in front of me, are three men.
And they’re all staring at me.
What. The. Fuck?
4
DAMIEN
It’s four in the afternoon, and I’m still fucking tired. It’s the kind of exhaustion you feel in your bones, the heaviness at the back of your eyes forcing your eyelids to close. I don’t bother to suppress the yawn stretching across my mouth. Morgan shoots me a look, his mouth twitching, brows pulling together like he’s about to lecture me. But then he meets my stare—the slight lift of my brow, the silent warning—and thinks better of it.
Smart move.
The cabin door swings open, letting in a sharp gust of icy air before a woman steps inside, her cheeks flushed from the cold and snow clinging to her pink puffer jacket.
Well,hello.
Charged silence stretches between us as she stares, wide eyed. Her gaze shifts from each of us to the next, before landing on me. I stare back, openly admiring her curves that are still visible underneath those thick layers.
Her dark hair spills over her shoulders, making the pink of the jacket even brighter, her lips forming a small ‘o’ as she straightens up. She’s small, probably only five two, give or take, but goddamn, she’s pretty.
