Page 41 of On the Slopes of Tahoe
One more inch.
In the space of that inch, Willow stirs behind us and I startle back, hitting my head on the window.
“Ow, shit,” I mutter.
From the back seat, I hear a quiet voice. “Swear jar for you, Daddy.”
Then she’s back to sleep and I’m feeling completely and totally untethered. Rory’s in the seat next to me, her shoulders heaving with silent laughter, and I wonder if what we just agreed to is a terrible mistake or the perfect escape.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Rory
It’s been four days since our almost-kiss in the Jeep and despite me asking Breck point-blank to kiss me again, he hasn’t. It’s understandable; Willow’s been around every minute we’ve spent together, but there’s a constant frisson of anticipation under my skin that I can’t shake. I go back to work tomorrow, and after two weeks off I’m struggling with the prospect of jumping back into the grind.
Anytime I haven’t been with Breck and Willow over the last few days has been spent on my laptop, knee-deep in edits. I lovethe pictures from Wes and Joss’s elopement so much. They’re personal, which makes holding these memories in my hands even sweeter.
Wes sent me a couple pictures of him and Joss in New Zealand, along with some videos of them bungee jumping and luge-ing down a mountainside, twin smiles on their faces. That’s what I want someday: a partner to go on adventures with, to share my life with.
My eyes bounce across the screen, over Breck’s face. In this one, Joss is slipping Wes’s ring on his finger. There’s so much tenderness in her eyes, but it also captured the look in Breck’s from where he stands just beyond them. I couldn’t place that look at the ceremony, but I can now—it’s longing. For the future he lost? For a love like Wes and Joss’s?
In the following picture, his handsome dimpled smile is back in place. It must be exhausting for him… trying to be “fine” all the time.
My phone vibrates on the coffee table and I reach for it, setting my computer aside. I have a perfectly nice desk in my guest room-slash-office, but I rarely use it—preferring the cozy couch with my legs under a soft blanket and a fire in the hearth.
Breck
Still coming over for dinner and a movie?
I glance at the clock and shoot off the couch. I was supposed to be there fifteen minutes ago.
Me
Yes, sorry, on my way. Got sucked into editing.
Breck
Bring your computer with you. I want to see.
Oh. An odd mix of emotions fills my chest—a little bit of pride but also wariness. The fear that I won’t measure up rearing its ugly head. I ignore that and slide my laptop into its sleeve before grabbing my backpack.
Five minutes later, I’m trudging through heavy snowfall toward Breck’s condo. The soft, picturesque flakes from earlier today have morphed into wet masses of white that coat everything I see. I clearly missed the turn of the storm while in my editing cocoon.
I knock on Breck’s door, tucking my gloved hands deep into my pockets. My head is down when the door pulls open and a hand reaches out, grabbing my upper arm and pulling me into the house. My down-covered body collides with a large, solid one. My cheeks instantly flame, Breck’s warmth permeating through all my layers. This is the closest we’ve been in four days.
He squeezes my bicep. “I’m sorry you had to walk here in that. I didn’t realize it was so bad until after I texted you. We could’ve rescheduled.” He cups my very cold cheek—I know it’s cold because his hand feels like fire against it. I lean into the touch and melt inside when he grazes his thumb across my cheekbone.
“I really like these freckles,” he says. Then he leans forward to dust the lightest kiss over them.
“Breck,” I breathe, my gaze scanning the space around us, on the lookout for little eyes.
“She’s in the bath.” He glances up the stairs toward the sound of running water. He pushes the hood off my head, sending melting snow falling around my feet. My hair cascades around my face and his fingers slip against a strand, pushing it behind my ear. “Let’s get you warmed up.”
“Okay,” I croak out, and a chuckle vibrates through him. He moves behind me to help me with my coat and my brain short-circuits with his proximity.
Once I’m bootless, coatless, and gloveless, I settle onto a barstool across from where he moves around the kitchen.
“So you cook too?”
