Page 35 of All Snowed Gin

And there wasn’t.

The banging starts up again, so I pick up my pace to the door. If it woke me, it could wake Rose, and that’s the last thing I want. I want her still in bed, snoozing away, so I can return to her, rewrapping myself around her and waking her with my mouth whenever I’m done with whatever barbarian thinks it’s okay to bang on doors at the butt crack of dawn on the day after Christmas.

I yank open the door, ready to let whoever is standing there have it, when I see Winston de Baer. I freeze, blinking hard, taken aback. He was the last person I was expecting to see here.

“Winston.”

“Morning, Pierce!” he replies, way too chipper for the early hour. The sun is barely up, only the earliest pieces of sunlight starting to peek through the trees. “Got that spare you needed. I assume it’s for the lime-green Jeep out by the gate?”

It takes a moment for it all to fully register. Winston de Baer is standing on my doorstep. Which can only mean one thing.

“How’d you get here? I thought the bridge wasn’t supposed to be open yet?”

Winston shrugs. “That was the original thought, but it wasn’t that bad. Only a portion of the roof collapsed. You know that one corner that was starting to sag? Well, that’s what came down. Once the snow melted a little, it didn’t take more than a couple of shovels full to remove the debris and make it passable. No biggie.”

No biggie.

Except, it was. Is. It’s very much a “biggie.”

I’ve had a stranger in my house for four days because we thought the bridge was impassable. That it needed a lot more than some shoveling. Did they turn out to be an amazing few days with an incredible woman? Yes. But neither of us had any way of knowing that.

Moreover, it meant that Rose missed Christmas with her family for nothing. That she was stuck here with me when she could have had all that magic with them.

My heart squeezes, hating that thought. I know firsthand the pain that comes with missing your loved ones over this damn holiday. Hell, it’s something Rose and I bonded over. When we didn’t need to, because she could have been with hers. Fuck.

“So, yeah, the Jeep?” Winston asks, pulling me back.

“Err, yeah.”

“Great! I’ll get to changing it then. Since the gal gave me the size tire over the phone, I was able to just bring it up with me. Once I get it on, she’ll be good to go. No need to stop by the shop.”

She’ll be good to go…

His words ring in my ears, a bell of realization resounding, making my stomach drop. Rose will be good to go. As in leave. My gut knots up, the thought of her leaving weighing me down. Even more so than the guilt of her missing Christmas with her family when she didn’t have to. Because I like having her here. A lot. And I don’t want her to leave.

I thought we had more time. At least another full day. Time to spend together, watching movies, tasting the gin, maybe even trying to cook together again. More time getting to listen to her laugh and her energetic stories about the farm back in Georgia. All of her brightness filling in the cracks of the shell that was left of me, helping me to feel whole again when I thought I couldn’t.

“Sounds good,” I choke out. I nod, trying my best not to come off rude.

“Great! Send you a text when it’s all done.”

I nod again, starting to close the door, then stop. “Hey, Winston,” I call out. He spins around, lifting his chin to ask what’s up. “Do me a favor? Put it on my tab and I’ll reconcile it when I’m in for my oil change next week.”

“Works for me!” He gives me a thumbs-up and starts back down the drive.

Letting out a sigh, I gently close the heavy wooden door, trying my best not to let my emotions get to me. We always knew this was temporary. That there was an expiration date. Nothing more than a holiday fling while we were killing time snowed in.

Except my heart isn’t having it.

Somewhere along the way, he got himself involved. Sneakily working behind the scenes, planting little seeds of attachment while I wasn’t paying attention. Letting it look like my dick was the one in charge, when it was really my heart opening up for the first time in what feels like forever, carving out a Rose-shaped space. Stupid fucking organ.

None of that matters though, because she’s leaving. She doesn’t belong here. She belongs back in her little town, with her family, that farm, and her brewing company. Not with a semi-recluse of a stockbroker who secretly distills gin in his basement. She deserves better.

“Who was that?”

I look up, Rose’s sweet, dreamy voice swirling around inside me, lighting me up. Dressed in nothing but one of my shirts that sexily hits her midthigh, she rubs the sleep out of her eyes as she walks toward me.

“Winston de Baer,” I answer, my voice catching.