Page 32 of Snow Much Trouble
Dylan glances at me, and I can tell he knows I'm lying. "Is it?"
I just nod as I watch him work, the way his shoulders move under his thermal shirt, the concentration on his face as he plates our sandwiches.
"Soup too," he announces, ladling tomato soup into two bowls. "The full experience."
We eat at the kitchen island, our knees bumping underneath. The grilled cheese is perfect—crispy bread, gooey cheese, everything I could want in a comfort food.
"Not bad," I admit.
"High praise from the queen."
"Don't let it go to your head."
But I'm smiling, and he's smiling, and there's that feeling again. Like a spark has been lit between us. It’s a problem. I want to spark with Dylan. But only if I can return to mynormally scheduled life and not have him become a long-distance distraction.
I need to write the best damn Christmas song ever and I’m torn between thinking Dylan is inspiring or just a very sexy form of procrastination.
After we done eating, Dylan builds up the fire again. The sun has set, and the cabin is bathed in that cozy golden glow that only firelight can create.
"Want to watch a movie?" he asks.
"In this romantic setting? Absolutely not." The words are out before I can stop them. “Technology has no place here.”
Dylan turns to look at me, his eyes dark in the flickering light. "Romantic setting?"
“You know what I mean. Fire. Snow. Cabin. It's very… atmospheric. This is about nature and cozy vibes, not about streaming the latest psychological thriller."
"Atmospheric," he repeats, moving closer. "Is that what we're calling it?"
“What would you call it?”
“Sexy.”
My nipples instantly tighten. I nod. “Agreed. That works too.”
"Lauren." He's standing right in front of me now, close enough that I have to tilt my head back to meet his eyes. “Should we take advantage of the sexy atmosphere?”
“I think it would be a damn shame to waste it.” I’m not going to write anyway. I can’t hole myself up in the bedroom and work on chord progressions when there is a gorgeous guy in the next room who can dish it and take it.
"I haven't been able to stop thinking about kissing you since this morning."
"Me neither," I whisper.
That's all the encouragement he needs. His hands come up to cup my face, and then he's kissing me like he's been waiting his whole life to do it. Not rushed or desperate, but thorough. Deliberate. Like he wants to memorize every single second.
I make a sound in the back of my throat—half sigh, half moan—and press closer. My hands fist in his shirt, pulling him against me.
This is different from the kiss this morning. That was sweet, testing. This is intentional. This is both of us admitting what we want.
"Couch?" Dylan murmurs against my lips.
"Floor," I counter. "By the fire."
He groans. "You're right. That would be the sexiest, most atmospheric, nature-inspired thing to do. I’m ashamed I didn’t suggest it."
That makes me laugh softly. “I didn’t hear a word you said after ‘you’re right.’”
Dylan gives a low growl. “Hold that thought.”
