“I will.” She shivered, and he thumped his hand against the porch.
“All right, inside we go. We can’t have you freezing for two.”
Back inside, she kicked off her boots, then shucked off the too-big slush pants Tom had pulled from the magical, all-giving truck cab for her. She carried all her wet stuff to the hearth, where Tom was adding another log to the fire.
He pointed to the coffee table. “Cards again?”
“You want to redeem yourself?”
“Hell yes.”
And he did. He won two games in a row, and then when she insisted they could do best out of five, he won the third game, too.
“If we’d bet on that, I’d call you a card shark,” she muttered. “Where was that Slap skill last night?”
He laughed long and hard. “Slap skill. Chloe, I grew up in the middle of four kids, best friends with four brothers. You don’t want to know about my training in this regard.”
She poked him with her big toe. “Sure I do.”
“So many kidney punches. It was brutal.” He grinned. “Probably a morality tale for leaving children to fend for themselves in a pack.”
She wouldn’t know.
His face sobered. “Your childhood was nothing like that.”
She shook her head. “Nope.”
“Tell me about being a single child.”
So much of her childhood had been defined by the battles back and forth between her parents. The divorce proceedings went on and on. Custody disagreements, child support fights.
“Resentment,” she finally said. “That was the theme. But I think that’s more about my parents than not having any siblings.” She touched her fingers to her belly. “I want something different for this baby. No drama. No conflict. Just a perfect acceptance of them, and us. I just want us all to be happy, Tom.”
His face darkened. He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t need to.
She sighed. “You don’t agree with that idea?”
“For others, absolutely. I agree, people shouldn’t stay together for the kids, and they shouldn’t fight each other if they decide not to be married. But—”
“But what?”
“But yesterday, you said we aren’t a couple in love. Something like, that’s not what we were.”
“It wasn’t.” She believed that so strongly.
“Because it wasn’t a possibility for you.”
“For good reason.”
“I get that. I do, I swear to you, I do, Chloe. I always saw that you couldn’t risk your heart with me, and I never asked you to. But you want to know the truth?” Tom rocked back on his heels, then pushed up to stand. He paced back and forth as he let loose a stream of words she never expected him to say in any form. “I fell in love with you the first minute that I saw you. Not lust. Love. I saw you, wanted you, craved you on any level I could get. The only thing on offer was sex, so I took it. I grabbed it with both hands.” He stopped pacing and looked at her helplessly, his hands swinging at his sides. “I’ve been hopelessly, pathetically in love with you for a year. Every time you crawled into my bed, every time you made me feel so unbelievably good I wanted to shout about it from the rooftop, I had to bite my fucking tongue, Chloe. I almost told you a million times that I loved you, and now it feels like you’re punishing us both because I didn’t. That was your rule, not mine.”
Each word was a direct hit. But the last line was the worst, because it broke her heart. “No. It wasn’t only my rule. It was ours.”
“How?”
He truly didn’t see himself the way she did. She stood up, too. Her voice cracked. “You didn’t want our relationship to be different. You wanted it exactly as it was, with this extra layer of feeling good about yourself painted on top. Maybe that was exactly what you needed—you could pretend to love me without having to do any of the hard work of actually being in love with someone.”
“So let me do the hard work. Now. Let me prove to you that I’m here, that I’m in.”
It was so tempting.
But it hurt, too, because she would never know if he was actually choosing her for Chloe, or her for being a baby mama.
So she shook her head. It was the only thing she could do, because hot tears rushed to her eyes and closed up her throat.
“Ah, Chloe, no...” He stalked back, stopping right in front of her, and pulled her into the front of his warm, flannel shirt. “I said the wrong thing.”
She shook her head again. “I just lived the wrong life for any of this. We are not supposed to repeat our parents’ mistakes, you know? And yet, here I am. Doing exactly the same thing my mother did. Desperately hoping I might be loveable when I’m really just fuckable.”
He swore under his breath and pressed his lips to her hair. “I don’t think that. That’s never in a million years how I’d describe you. Think of you. Anything. At all.”
“But it’s how you treated me,” she whispered. “And I treated you the same right back. I know that. I know what I did, what I chose. And it was fine. I liked being friends with benefits. I really did. But I won’t have that kind of relationship with a child in the mix.” The thought it actually hurt. Physically caused her pain, and the tears flowed harder as the agony of it all racked through her body.
“I hate crying,” she said as she desperately wiped her eyes. “God, what a mess.”
He wrapped his arms around her tighter. “I’m sorry.”
She tried to catch her breath and shake it off. “It’s hormones.”
“It’s also a shitty boyfriend.”
“You’re not my boyfriend,” she muttered.
“I want to be.”
That made her head swim. “I think we both deserve a cleaner start to parenting than that.”
He breathed in, his whole chest moving against her. “Maybe.”
She stepped back. The hug had been good, but too much could be dangerous. Taking another deep breath, she tried to make light of what had just happened. “One of those horrifying parenting books said that pregnancy hormones can make you cry.”
“Did you throw it across the library?”
“I would never throw a book,” she said disapprovingly. “But I did consider taking it out of circulation.”
He chuckled gently. “Is that how a librarian takes a hit out on a book?”
“Yeah.” She sniffled. “Listen, about earlier...and now...the hugging....”
He stepped back and crossed his arms over his chest. “Got it.”
“It’s just—”
“No, it’s fine.” He shoved his fingers through his hair. “Listen, I’m going to chop some wood. Then I’ll get dinner started.”
She frowned. “We could cook together.”
He nodded, a short, hard clip of his head. “We sure could.”
“Do you not want to?”
He gave her an incredulous look. “Do I not— Chloe, there is nothing I don’t want to do with you. I want to cook with you. Play cards with you. Read a book with you, go to sleep with you. Keep you warm, chop you wood, hold you down and make you fucking listen to me. There is nothing I don’t want to do with you. You’re the one throwing up boundaries, not me. I’m just trying to respect your limits.”
What was she supposed to say to that? What could she say over the too-fast, too-hard beating of her heart? “Let’s cook together,” she finally whispered. “Please. And then after we eat, let’s go for another walk.”
Chapter Seven
TOM CHOPPED TWICE AS much wood today as he did yesterday. He soaked through his undershirt, and when he dumped the fourth armload of logs on the hearth, he stripped down next to the fire, right in front of Chloe.
She’d seen his bare back before.
Behind him, she flipped a page in her book. Loudly. He grabbed a clean shirt from his bag, tugged it over his head, then turned around, letting the heat of the fire dry his back before he pulled the shirt down over his torso.
She didn’t look up once the whole time.
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“Good book?”
That got her to look at him. She smiled. “Great.”
“Which one is that?” He sat at the other end of the couch, and she pulled her feet back, giving him room.
“The thriller you picked up and put back down last night.”
“You stole my book.”
“Apparently. It’s a page-turner. You missed out.”
“I got to play cards with you. I missed nothing.” He leaned over and snatched the book from her hands, careful to keep his finger on the page she was on. “Let me see—whoa. ‘Careful,’ I warn her. ‘I don’t want to be careful.’ She pushes up, sitting squarely on my lap as she grinds away. ‘I want you to fill me up before we go out. I want to feel your—Chloe Davis, you were reading this while I was outside chopping wood?”
She grinned.
Tom flipped the book over and read the back. “I had no idea it was that explicit. Who is this guy?”
“An asshole.” She shrugged. “Sometimes I like reading about characters I can’t stand.”
He gave the book back. “I’ll want to read it when you finish. I’m going to raid the pantry again.”
She set the book aside and stood up. “I’ll come with you.”
He followed her to the mudroom off the back of the kitchen. The temperature had dropped again, and it was cold enough to take his breath away. Quickly, he scanned the shelves. “Soup is fast.”
“S-s-sure,” Chloe chattered. She grabbed a can of peaches and cream corn. “I like corn, too.”
“Deal. We can add that to...chicken noodle?” There were two cans of that. Simple but classic.
“Yum.”
Sold.
Back in the kitchen, he dunked those cans in a sink hot water to thaw them, then joined Chloe on the couch again.
“Are they still having sex?”
“Nah, they’ve moved on to fighting about how to take down the bad guy now.”
“Sounds about right.”
She put the book down and looked at him.
He shrugged. “What? It does. Fucking and fighting. It’s human nature.”
“On the page, maybe. I’d rather real life was more of lying on a couch and reading all day. There’s something underrated about just being warm and safe and entertained.”
Point. Taken. He grabbed one of the other books and joined her again, stretching out, one of his legs up on the seat of the sofa. She let her leg fall softly against his calf, and he opened the book.
She had a point.
As he got into the story—this one more of a humorous mystery—he found himself pulled out of the conflicted angst of their current situation. Yeah, that was still there in the background, but right here, right now, he was chuckling at shit on the page, and enjoying the warm press of her leg against his.
This moment, removed from everything else, was pretty damn perfect.
At one point, Chloe drifted asleep, and he watched her have a nap. When she woke up, he went back to reading his book like he hadn’t been staring at her like the creeper she would think he was.
The day was ticking by. Their fight earlier was still on his mind. She hadn’t brought it up again, but maybe it was for him to broach.
When her tummy gurgled from the other end of the couch, he put his book down. Standing up, he held out his hand. “Cook together?”
She slid her fingers over his, squeezing for a second before pulling herself up. “Soup, ho.”
The first thing she did in the kitchen was grab a couple of crackers, which she carefully washed down with a glass of water.
“You feeling okay?”
She wrinkled her nose. “It’s always there, a weird quiver like I could get sick, but I won’t. The crackers help a lot.”
He’d buy her all the crackers in Pine Harbour when the storm ended. “Let’s get some soup going then.” He started with the corn, adding spices and seasoning to that in the pot before adding the two cans of chicken soup. “And...done.”
She laughed. “So fancy.”
“Only the finest tinned cuisine at Chez Vance.” He nodded toward the mudroom. “I guess they’re not renovating that space?”
“I guess not.”
“How did you exactly end up here, anyway?”
“Uh...” She gave him a sheepish look. “I brazenly told them I wanted to use it? Mrs. Vance is a library regular all summer long. I was going to try to find a hotel room somewhere, but Olivia said something when I bumped into her—about the town being surrounded by idyllic escapes that never get used in the winter. And I...wasn’t ready to leave just yet.” She looked at him, and he realized that was about him. She hadn’t been ready to leave him fully in the dust, maybe. Or she’d wanted to give him another chance to talk, after she’d had some space. Either way, he was grateful. “I immediately thought about this place—I’d been out here a couple of times, to drop off and pick up books when Mrs. Vance broke her leg the summer before last.”
“Ah ha.”
“I promised to be a model houseguest. She said I was welcome to stay, but I’d have to bring everything I needed because they would be the opposite of model hosts.”
“It’s a pretty nice place to hide out.”
“Except you found me in less than a day.” She crossed her arms. “How exactly did you do that, by the way?”
“Uh...” He stirred the soup. “An accomplice who shall remain nameless had someone find out where your cell phone was.”
“I turned it off.”
“After you got here. It pinged off the cell tower at the head of the road Christmas Eve morning. Then it was just a matter of looking for the house with the lights on. This was the only one.”
“I would really not be good on the run.”
“Librarians are more suited to being subversive street fighters than fugitives fleeing from the man?”
“Precisely.”
“Good to recognize your limits—and your strengths.” He wanted to tell her to stay and fight, not to run again, but there were other things to say first.
“Listen,” he said after they’d settled back in front of the fire with mugs of soup. “I’ve been thinking about what you said. About your parents, and I’m sorry. That’s...I think I understand better now why you don’t want to get stuck in something that isn’t right.”
She tilted her head. Listening, giving him space to say more, which was good, because he had a lot more to that train of thought. “I know there isn’t any one thing I can say to you to prove that we won’t hate each other in a year. I’ve heard that, finally. I don’t even know if there are a dozen things I can say or do. It’s not going to happen in a single conversation. It’s going to have to be everything, over time. I’ll show you how I feel.” Her lips parted, and he sped up, wanting to get it all out before she protested. “We can figure that out together, because as you’ve made me see, I have no freaking clue how I truly feel. Chloe, I know I spent a year showing you—accidentally—that I didn’t want a relationship. I regret that, but I accept it could take another year to show you that I do want one now.”
“Wow.”
He exhaled. “Was that...was any of that close to the right thing?”
“Was it all real?”
“Very.”
“Then it was the right thing to say.”
He smiled in relief. “Good things happen when you lie on a couch and read all afternoon.”
“Maybe we should switch books. I could use some clarity like that.”
He bumped shoulders with her. “Deal. I want to read the rest of that scene where she wants to be filled up.”
Chloe smiled and blushed.
“Eat your soup,” he said gruffly. “And I’m going to stop talking now before I ruin a good thing.”
That made her laugh, and that made him happy.
After they finished eating, they washed up their misfit dish collection together. As Chloe set the second mug on the counter to dry, she looked sideways at him. “I have a confession to
make.”
“What?”
“I almost didn’t let you into the cottage when you showed up. I didn’t want you here.”
That wasn’t exactly a secret, but it was good to talk about. Name and put on the table. “I’d have left. Eventually. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
“Good. But I’m glad I let you in. Maybe that’s the real confession.”
He wanted to kiss her so much it hurt. He clenched his hands at his sides instead. “I’m glad you did, too.”
She swayed towards him, then nodded and stepped back. “Time for a walk? I want to go for another lap of high-knees around the house, because that was so much fun, Tom.”
“The funnest, Chloe. I know it. But it’s gotten colder out there,” he warned her.
“I’ll have to work harder to stay warm. Brace yourself for snowballs.”
CHLOE HAD AN ACE UP her sleeve. Tom had no idea she was a master snowball builder. He may have childhood experience of besting his brothers, but she’d spent three years volunteering at an elementary school when she was in university. That was more recent.
Advantage, Chloe.
Of course, he had arms that were honed from chopping wood like a Norse god. Advantage, Tom.
But he was also hampered by a misplaced sense of chivalry and he wouldn’t use that strength against her.
Advantage, Chloe, again, and she intended to use it.
They did the same tromp around the house they did earlier. This time the path was still there. Filled up again, both from fresh snowfall and some blowing around, too, but the beaten down stuff underneath was easy for their feet to find. Casually enough that Tom wouldn’t notice, she scooped up a bit of snow with her fingers and tested the clumping strength of the powder.
Perfect.
As he rounded the third corner and ducked out of sight, she grabbed her first ball-sized weapon and packed it tight, then held it loose as she followed him around the bend.
Dusk had fully settled on them, a gorgeous dark blue sky that popped above the bright white of the snow shimmering in the light streaming out of the cottage windows.
“Hey, it’s stopped snowing,” she said. Both as a factual observation, and a way to get Tom to twist around.
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