Page 1 of Up to Snow Good
One
Caden
The warmth from first light cut through the frigid air and warmed my face. A glimpse of her mocha colored skin as the sun hit it warmed my heart.
I watch her. It’s my job. Since I knew of her existence ten years ago.
Back then, she was all thin arms and long legs. Frizzy curls framed her face round face. Her smile brightened my world and her tears plunged me into a sea of darkness.
Today, she was content. Content was her favorite emotion. It allowed her to live in the present and forced me to do the same.
She was no longer awkward and skinny.
She filled out in all the right places and gained an awareness of how her body worked.
A strategic hand placed on the curve of her hip turned men into babbling idiots. A tilt of her head as her fingertips brushed the curve of her tits brought strong men to their knees.
I wasn’t immune to her charms.
When I looked at her, the past and the future didn’t exist.
The present was exactly where we both wanted to be.
When I say watching her was my job, I mean a self-imposed responsibility I accepted years ago.
Over the last week, watching her was my official occupation. Her father sent me to watch her while she tested his boundaries. She flexed his control over her, but it was an illusion.
She’d done it before. Begged her father for more independence, more freedom. He agreed and allowed her to go away to college. Make no mistake, Robert McCoy was in control. Whether she knew it or not, a detail was on her at all times.
She had perfected the art of illusion and pretended her life was her own. She lived in a fantasy world of denial, and I, occasionally, burst the denial button if for no other reason than to see the fiery passion she kept bottled up.
I wasn’t sure why I did it. Crushed the lies she told herself.I enjoyed causing her pain. I was a sadistic fuck.
That’s not true.
I knew why I did it. I relished in her pain because deep down, in the part of my heart I ignored, I wanted tobe her only source of joy.
She sat on the porch of the small cabin, in a valley ofWhistlerMountain. Blankets draped around her. Heat lamps overhead offered her enough warmth to sit for hours.
She held her mug with both hands, sipped, and watched.
Every morning since she arrived a week ago. She spent her morning on the porch. Some days she’d read a book. Other days she’d type away on her phone or iPad for hours, and then she’d make herself breakfast. I watched through the large picture window on the left side of the house.
She drank a second cup of coffee and ate scrambled eggs and bacon. The aromawafted out of the stove vent and across the valley and hit me in the gut.
One morning, she baked banana bread. The sweet and spicy flavor filled the valley and my nose.
I wouldn’t put it past her if she did it on purpose. She knew I was here. I knew she knew I was here, lurking in the shadows.
She tried to tempt me, lure me into her presence. It’s how it’s always been between us.
I wanted her but couldn’t pursue her.
She wanted me, too.
She made it clear on more than one occasion.
My rejection did not dissuade her. It spurred her on.
