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But then she turns her head and leans away from me. “I think our soup is cold.”
That’s not the only thing rapidly cooling down in this cabin. Still, I let her go.
“Don’t worry about it. That’s what we have a fire for.” I walk over to the table, grab our soup bowls, and then crouch in front of the fire to return the contents to the original pot. Repositioning the pot over the flames, I realize we’re low on fuel. “You give this a few stirs while I grab some more wood.”
Her smile is toothy and excited as she eagerly reaches for the spoon handle.
I pull my jacket off the coat rack and slip my feet into my boots, not bothering to tie the laces when I’m only going as far as the porch.
The cool air hits my chest and creeps into the exposed seams of my shirt. Quickly, I gather an armload of split wood, balancing it on one arm as I pull the cabin door back open and shut it behind me, doing my best to keep the heat from escaping.
Holly is still by the fire, standing now, with her hands held out for warmth. The sight of her there, in her bulky sweater that hangs low over her leggings, cheeks flushed from the heat, short chestnut hair tucked behind her ears, I can’t do anything but stare. This situation feels so right, like fitting that last little piece into the puzzle you’ve been working on for weeks. Spending time with her settles me but also sets my heart racing.
We’ve both cut ourselves open tonight. Been vulnerable with each other.
Greedy bastard that I am, I crave more.
I want to claim her as mine. I want to hold her at night when we fall asleep, kiss her in the morning, talk to her every day, worship her body, and have her explore mine.
Question is, does she trust me enough to give me a chance?
HOLLY
“You don’t have to do that. I can get this.” Ben comes up beside me at the sink, trying to take the sponge out of my hand.
I dodge him and flick some suds his way. “Nuh-uh. You cooked. I clean. Go pick out another movie.” Besides, I need something to keep my jittery hands busy.
We almost kissed. At least, that was what it felt like to me. I barely pulled myself away from him.
He was probably just being kind. A good friend. Comforting me as I told him about my grams. That’s all it was.
It would’ve been horrible if I’d leaned in for a kiss and he’d backed away, looking at me like I was a crazy person. Or even worse, what if he’d let me kiss him out of pity or because he’d felt obligated to keep me happy? Humiliating.
Good thing I have some self-restraint.
Instead of following my directions, Ben leans against the counter and grabs a towel. As he picks up dishes from the drying rack and starts wiping them down, he watches me.
I try not to fidget.
“What do you find attractive in a guy?”
The bowl I’m holding slips out of my hands, clanking around in the sink and splashing water onto my sweater.
Real smooth.
“What?” I try to recover my composure, concentrating on the dirty dishes.
“You know … what makes someone attractive? To you specifically,” Ben asks casually, like he’s inquiring about what movies I like or how I take my coffee.
“That’s a complicated question.” I scrub vigorously at a specific spot that doesn’t really need as much attention as I’m giving it.
“Really? I don’t think so. Here, I’ll go first.” Out of the corner of my eye, I see him scoop up some utensils to dry. “Obviously, there’s got to be something physical, but I like women in all different shapes and sizes.”
I snort and can hear the grin in his voice as he keeps talking, “Then, there’s the really important stuff. Like, do we laugh when we’re together? Can we talk for long stretches without running out of things to say? Does my family like her? Is she passionate about life? Does she have a kind heart? Do I smile every time I think about her?”
I’m hanging on every word, applying his questions to the two of us.
Is that what he wants me to do, or is Ben just making casual conversation?
