Page 19 of Say It Isn't Snow
“I’m sure you can. But let me handle it today.”
“Do you even know how? I thought you were too busy playing hockey.”
His lips twitch with amusement. “I know what I’m doing. I’ve picked up a few other skills over the years.”
To my shock and awe, he’s not bluffing.
Caleb looks way too good with his sleeves pushed up and a moose print tea towel slung over his shoulder while managing two pans at once on the stove. This is unfair and unusual punishment first thing in the morning.
The delectable scent of bacon and eggs crackling away in the frying pan mixed with the sweet note of cinnamon pancake batter he’s mixing is making my mouth water.
It’s definitely the food, not how hot and laid-back he is multitasking. He surprised me with food in the past, but he’s never cooked a meal for me before. This version of him is more mature than the one who kissed me when he was twenty. It’s throwing me off-kilter.
I still want to offer my help, feeling like I should be doing something. He interrupts me before I make it to where my apron hangs.
“I’ve got this. You sit down and relax,” he insists smoothly.
Letting someone else do things for me is strange, but I perch on a stool at the island to watch him cook. “How did you know I was hungry?”
“Because I pay attention,” he answers as he flips a pancake.
I swallow and occupy myself by pinching the chunky knit baubles on my fuzzy cardigan so I don’t have to think about what he sees if he’s watching me closely…or how nice his muscles are when they flex with a spatula in hand. How will I survive being snowed in with him if the little things are testing my resolve?
“You’ve always been grouchy if you aren’t fed since we were kids, and food is usually the answer to making most things better.” He laughs to himself, the rich sound stirring a flutter inmy stomach. “Not that I don’t have a thing for that mouth of yours when you get going. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you don’t go hungry as long as you’re with me.”
My heart skips a beat when he pins me in place with a look. It’s tinged with confidence and familiar desire, reminding me how well he learned everything about me, back when I believed we fit well together. Heated memories I’ve locked away from years ago replay in my head without my permission. Every blazing touch, every intense kiss permanently etched on a piece of me that can’t forget about him.
This is a part of Caleb that has always been attractive to me. When I have his attention, it’s all mine and no one else’s. He gives his all to the person he’s with, anticipating their needs. I forgot how much I liked it not having to be the one in charge of everything for once.
He holds my gaze for another beat. Then the corner of his mouth quirks up as his focus travels to my lips, lingering a moment before he returns to the food he’s making.
Damn Caleb and his disarming charm. He knows he’s getting under my skin. I saw that satisfied smirk.
Sure, he put me first for one whole summer when we were in college. It was exhilarating sneaking around with him.
But those few months seven years ago were all we had until I overheard him downplaying our short-lived relationship during a call with his coach. He went back to Heston University in the fall to keep playing hockey, and by the following summer he was drafted into the NHL.
Good for him. I didn’t need him then and I don’t now, because without him I achieved my own dreams by opening my bakery.
We might be stuck together in the cabin, but I’m keeping my distance. I can’t let myself fall for Caleb again.
Forced proximity only works in romance books. There’s no way it’ll work on us. Not if I stay strong and get through this until the snow clears.
CHAPTER 8
CALEB
WatchingHolly eat the meal I made her is everything. I’m fixated on every sigh of enjoyment and muted squeal she thinks she’s hiding from me. She can’t fool me. I know her happy food dance when I see it.
“You like it?” I ask affectionately.
My fork hovers halfway to my mouth because I’m too entranced by her lips and the way her lashes flutter with each bite. I’m torn between scooting my stool at the island closer to hers to feel her nearness or staying put to enjoy the full view.
Holly pauses her delighted wriggling and swallows. “I mean, it’s only the basics. It’s not hard to make.”
An amused huff escapes me. That mouthy demeanor of hers is addictive. I can’t get enough.
“Everything made with love tastes better, right? Even the simplest meal,” I say.
