Page 74 of On the Slopes of Tahoe
“Are you?” Breck asks, and when I just stare at him dumbfounded, he continues. “Happy there?”
“I-I don’t know. Yes. No. Sometimes,” I ramble on. I used to think I was, but when I compare it to the way I feel about photography, I’m not so sure. When I compare it to the way I’ve felt this morning…
“Well, that might be something to think about going forward. You won’t be able to do both forever. You deserve to choose the things that make you happy, yeah?”
My mind is screaming at me that he deserves to be happy too. That we both deserve mornings like this all the time. But I can’t go down that road, so I change the subject.
“Yeah. So, Willow, you good to be my assistant again?”
She beams and nods, opening her full mouth to speak, but with an arched eyebrow from her dad, she swallows first, then gives him the biggest, cockiest little grin. “I can’t wait.”
“Me neither.” I love having her by my side. She’s a natural, and I hope she won’t forget how much she loves photography when she goes home. By the time they leave, we’ll have done four elopements together. It feels like this whole idea blossomed overnight, but now I can’t imagine ever going back.
We finish breakfast and move in our own directions to get ready for the day.
Dressed and ready for work, I walk into the kitchen again to find Willow set up for school at the table, her dark hair flowing down her back while Breck braids it. I finally made him sit and watch me do it after dinner last night, and he studied every movement with rapt attention. I don’t know how it wasany different than the multitude of YouTube videos I know he’s watched, but he’s nailing it—fingers moving deftly so when he wraps the elastic around the bottom it looks exactly like it should.
He reaches for the coffee on the table and turns to see me staring. He glances at Willow’s hair, then back to me, and his proud smile is all I need to carry me through my day. Though, a goodbye kiss would be even better, but I can’t have one of those. I offer him a smile in return, grab the travel mug of coffee he left sitting on the counter for me, and head for the door.
“Bye, see you guys this evening,” I call out, but before I fully close the door behind me, a hand shoots out to stop it. Breck steps outside, hissing when his bare feet hit the freezing concrete, and lifts a palm to my face. Then he pushes back the stubborn strand of hair that’s peeking out from under my beanie.
He brushes his lips against mine, smiles, and says, “Have a good day.”
My gloved fingers fumble over the keypad, the wind whipping my hair up like Medusa. The walk home was cold and miserable, and I just want to kick off my boots and sit by the fire with something warm. Mulled wine maybe? I hum at the idea.
“You’re home!” shouts Willow when the door swings open. She flings herself at me, wrapping me in a hug… in her sopping-wet swimsuit.
“I am.”
From the kitchen, Breck shouts, “Willow. Shower. Now.” It’s lighthearted but also firm, like he’s probably told her multiple times already.
“Better go, Bug.” I lean down and kiss her wet hair. She must be freezing.
“Okay, okay, I’m going,” she says loudly enough for Breck to hear her and then sprints up the stairs.
I peel off my layers and walk into the kitchen to find Breck opening a bottle of wine.
“Red?” he asks, one side of his mouth quirking up. “Or do you want something warmer?”
“I was thinking of making mulled wine… but if you have another idea for how to warm me up, I’m open to that too.”
Breck steps into me, his tilted smile morphing into something sinful. “I’m sure I can think of something.” His hands slide down my arms, to my ass, and he hoists me up.
“This feels familiar,” I mutter against his lips, and he chuckles.
“I believe this is the third time I’ve had you on a counter.”
My brows draw down. Third?
“The first,” he says, kissing my nose, “was on your counter when you cut your foot.”
I groan and attempt to bury my face in his shirt, the embarrassment of that moment flooding me. He continues with a kiss under my ear. “The second was on my kitchen counter, and you had bubbles in your hair.”
“That was your fault, you could’ve let me finish the dishes.”
“Ah, but I didn’t want to wait.” He finds my collarbone, shifting my sweater to the side so he can suck on the sensitive spot there. The one he knows makes me whimper.
“I wish we didn’t have to wait now either, but Willow will come down soon for dinner and…” He trails off. No matter the closeness we feel, bringing Willow into it—whateveritis—won’thelp anything. He slides my sweater back into place and presses a light kiss to my lips before stepping back. “Cook with me?”
