Page 73 of On the Slopes of Tahoe
“Always.” I pull one arm away from my chest and reach for it. He slips the door closed and walks with purpose to the bed. He doesn’t put the coffee into my hand, instead sliding it onto thenightstand. My outstretched hand fists into his T-shirt. He rakes a hand into my messy waves and our lips move in tandem like they were made to fuse together.
“I hoped I’d get back in here with your coffee before you woke up,” he murmurs against my mouth.
Backin here? So hewashere with me last night—at least physically. I shouldn’t want him to be here with me in the mess my emotions are quickly becoming, but part of me wonders if he is.
He moves his lips across my jaw to my ear. “I wanted to be the one to wake you up.”
The sound I make as my head falls back has his lips trembling with a laugh against my skin. My body is definitely awake. I tighten my hand in his shirt and pull him back to my mouth.
“Best wake-up call ever,” I say against him, and his dazzling blue eyes sparkle. “I’m talking about the coffee, of course,” I deadpan, and his head tips back in a hearty laugh before he covers it with a hand over his mouth and glances toward the door.
“I left Willow at the breakfast bar. I should probably get back out there before she comes looking. I just didn’t want you to wake up alone.”
My heart.
“I wake up alone all the time.”
“Yeah, I know. But you didn’t have to today.” He traces his thumb over my lip and then walks backward, watching me until the very last second when he slips out of my room. I bury my face in the pillow covered in his scent and quietly squeal into it.
I am never washing this pillow.
Ever.
I let myself imagine not having to walk out there and pretend we’re only friends. If I could have him how I’m realizing I want to. I could walk into the kitchen and wrap my arms around hismiddle, resting my cheek against his warm back. He would turn in my arms and kiss me, spatula in hand, eggs popping in the oil on the stove.
I slap both hands to the sheets on either side of me and hop out of bed, pulling on the closest pair of joggers and a hoodie, then spot my swimsuit hung neatly on the hamper. I’ll never be able to wear that bikini again without the memory of Breck’s hands on me, pulling the strings and taking it off me, playing in my mind. Then I wonder with a smile if Breck had to run upstairs naked this morning to get clothes.
There’s soft music emanating from the space when I start down the hall, Willow’s unmistakable giggle chiming as the kitchen comes into view.
Breck has a whisk in his hand and is lip-syncing to the music, dancing around the kitchen—hips swaying, head bobbing, shoulders shimmying. It’s a sight to behold and it makes my heart stop. He looks so… happy. I want what he’s having, so I take the last few strides at a run and slide on sock-covered feet into the kitchen. I collide with Breck who doesn’t see me coming because his head is tipped back, whisk-microphone held high.
He drops the whisk, eyes popping open and landing on me. Then he smiles, dimples cutting deep into his cheeks, and his eyes soften. I can’t catch my breath. I’m mesmerized, entranced, stuck in his orbit and unable to move away. Willow’s laugh breaks through and my heart stutters back to life when he grabs my hand and spins me around.
We’re dancing.
In the kitchen.
It’s even better than my daydream, and I let myself melt into the moment. My head tips back on a laugh, eyes closed when he pulls, spinning me into him. My free hand connects with his chest and my eyes find his. I can’t read what I see there, butit’s something new, something I’ve never seen in the eyes of any man before; at least not directed at me.
A tug on my sweatshirt draws my attention down to where Willow stands, smiling, hair a mess. “My turn to dance with Rory. Dad, you’re supposed to be making pancakes.”
Breck lets me go, hands sliding reluctantly away while he keeps me pinned with that look. He leans down and presses a kiss to her hair. There’s a moment, just a split second, where he moves closer, like he might do the same to me, but then he thinks better of it.
We groove to the music, Willow dancing with me and then by herself while Breck cooks, the smells of pancakes and bacon surrounding us. We dance our way through setting the table. I dance my way across to the coffee pot for a refill and brush my fingers along the small of Breck’s back when I pass. He gives me a wink that makes my cheeks heat.
I duck my head and sit down. This is the best morning I’ve had in a long time. Breck sits next to me, bringing with him a plate piled high with pancakes. Willow sits on the opposite side of the table and digs in, not even bothering to use a fork.
“How’d it go asking for time off with your boss yesterday?” Breck asks around a mouthful of pancakes.
“Manners, Dad,” Willow chides him, and I cover my laugh with a hand when his eyes bug out at her.
“Really? Really, Willow?” he says after he’s swallowed. “You’re one to talk.”
“Now now, children,” I say in my sweetest, motherly voice and they both gawk at me before we all fall into fits of giggles. I pull myself together, hiccupping over one last chortle. “As to your question. It was fine. I think Logan was surprised, but with how much vacation time I’ve accrued, he can’t really complain.”
“I would think not. So we’re good for next Thursday then?”
“We are. I wasn’t sure if I should tell him why I was asking for the days off or not. It feels a little like I’m cheating on my job there.” I shrug, feeling silly. “He’s been very supportive of my photography, but it’s never interfered with my work at the resort before. I don’t want him to think I’m not happy there.”
