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CHAPTER3
Jensen leads me through a doorway toward the side of the house where we descend a small set of stairs, leading to what appears to be a sunroom. My eyes widen in disbelief as I take in the elegant sight. There are glimmering, white Christmas lights draped through the beams of the ceiling, lighting up the entire space above us, resembling a starry night.
From the warm ambiance of my surroundings, I’m left completely in awe.
“Are you serious,” I whisper, more to myself than to him.
Jensen’s hand rests on the small of my back. “Micah went all out decorating this place for you.”
“I can’t believe this!”
He laughs at my enthusiasm.
Two steps lead up to a wooden deck, supporting a large hot tub. A blue light illuminates the water. Steam rises as I ascend the steps, and humidity fills the space around us. It’s a winter wonderland outside, snowflakes falling steadily from the night sky.
“This cabin is amazing.”
He brings me against his chest. “I’m glad you like it,” he breathes, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “As long as you’re happy, I’m happy.”
“Damien said it’s ours, but who does it really belong to?”
Clenching his jaw, he remains silent for a moment. “It belonged to his parents,” he says.
“Past tense,” I say, inhaling an anxious breath.
He nods.
“He’s never told me about them.”
“I don’t blame him.”
Frowning, I avert my gaze to the water. “What happened to them?” I question, trying my best to sound casual.
“Quinn—”
“Sorry,” I blurt out. “You’re right. I shouldn’t pry.”
“Don’t ask him,” he warns.
Locking my eyes with his, a sudden feeling of concern washes over me. “Don’t?”
“Don’t,” he sternly repeats. “I’m sure he will tell you eventually. When he’s ready.”
“You’ve never told me anything about your parents, either.”
His lips part, and he weakly grins. “I don’t have parents.”
My heart immediately sinks. “Jensen,” I apologetically rush out. “I’m so sorry—”
He brings me into him once more, and my body dissolves against his. “It’s fine,” he reassures me. “I don’t mind. You have the right to ask questions.”
Wrapping my arms around his waist, I breathe in his heady cologne. “It’s just that, you know everything about my family,” I begin. “And I know nothing about yours.”
“I don’t have a family, Quinn,” he lets out, and tears fill my eyes. The moment he notices, his hold on me tightens. “It’s fine. Really. I’m just not sure it would be the best conversation for Christmas Eve. It’s pretty depressing.”
“I don’t want to make you talk about it.”
“You’re not forcing me,” he objects, cupping my face with his hand. “I’ve never been asked about them. Never had anyone to tell.”
