He stamped off the jitters as best he could and gathered up more firewood for the holder inside, piece by piece. When he went back inside, he’d be facing his future…no matter what Mina chose.
Liam went back to the house, stomping through the snow and taking note of where his boots sank in the deepest. This was going to be quite the project, digging the cars out of the snow. If his brother didn’t help, they’d be trapped here for at least a week. A little firework of hope burst at the center of him. He shook his head at himself. Hoping to have to spend a week with Mina? That was beyond comprehension. Maybe he’d gotten cabin fever. But that wasn’t possible, was it? He’d been out for firewood, long enough to quell the need to move. Thank goodness he could still chop wood, even with a leg injury.
He let himself into the cabin, the warmth hitting him like a blast in the face. Lucky greeted him with the enthusiasm of a dog who hadn’t seen him for weeks, jumping up and down at his knees and pressing his nose into Liam’s pants. “Hey, Lucky.” Liam kicked off his boots on the mat by the door and went through the little house. Lucky followed close behind, his nails clicking on the floor with every step. He allowed himself to steal a glance at Mina as he went past.
She’d cleared the table and, by the looks of it, washed the dishes from breakfast. There was no sign that he’d cooked. Mina sat at the kitchen table in front of her laptop. Her fingers moved deftly over the keyboard, tapping out a relentless rhythm. She seemed largely immune to that rhythm, though, because she wore an enormous pair of noise-cancelling headphones. The signs could not be clearer—Mina did not want him to bother her.
So he padded through the living room and added the firewood to the top of the already-brimming miniature firewood rack in the corner. Liam fussed with the arrangement, making sure the pieces wouldn’t tumble down if someone jostled the top row, then took a seat on the couch.
The same thoughts had followed him inside. Mina. Baby. Fatherhood. Settling down. They spun above him like a mobile. He got up and stoked the fire, then sat back down and checked his phone. Still no bars. He’d been cavalier before about chopping the wood, but he had to admit he felt it now, in his hamstrings and biceps. His muscles ached from it. A dirty thought popped into his brain—the two of them in the shower, Mina soaping up his skin. Once they were both clean, she could give him a massage. Lucky circled on the rug in front of the couch and plopped himself down.
He shook his head like Lucky, trying to shake the thoughts loose. Liam jumped in the shower and changed, but they still dogged him. Lucky waited for him outside the bathroom door. The couch welcomed him back. Mina still typed in the kitchen, her rhythm totally unabated. Liam tipped his head back on the sofa.
A cold breeze curling against his cheek woke him up.
No—not exactly cold. Just colder than it had been when he’d fallen asleep without meaning to. The low fire in the grate explained it. Liam unfolded himself from the couch, added firewood to the fire, and checked his cell for bars.
So quiet, except for Mina’s typing. She’d slowed down a bit, as if she was thinking. He found himself desperate to know what was going on in her head. But desperation was never a good look, so he walked into the kitchen as if he didn’t have a care in the world. He checked the bars on his phone again. Still nothing. Nothing in either corner of the kitchen, but his heart beat hard at the closer proximity to Mina. He avoided looking at her as much as he could. She kept her eyes on the laptop. The tension was so thick it could snap, like an old rubber band.
No service. If the storm had taken out the tower like he thought, then they had to send guys out to fix it. It struck him as highly unlikely that they’d been able to climb the thing with snow still coming down. He put the phone facedown on the counter, where it wouldn’t taunt him with its lack of signal, and went to the cupboards. Dinner. Enough of the afternoon had passed that dinner was next on the agenda, and he needed something to do with his hands.
Spaghetti it was.
Liam had noodles in the cupboard, and the day before the storm hit, he’d bought a fresh package of ground beef. He’d make sauce and meatballs and Mina would love it. She’d loved the scrambled eggs, but those were nothing compared to his spaghetti.
Mina got up from the table as he cracked the spaghetti in two and dropped it into the boiling pot of water. Liam had everything ready for the meatballs, and the sauce simmered on the stove. She stayed silent—so silent—as she gathered up her things, putting them all carefully away. When the table was clear, she came to his side, facing away from him, and reached up into the cupboard for the plates.
Two plates. He caught her glancing at the stove, and then she tugged down two bowls. Her butt brushed the side of his hip when she came back again for silverware. Why had his brother chosen to put all the silverware and plates in the cupboards so close to the stove? Every time she got close, the air around him felt superheated. And when she brushed against him? Liam could hardly stand it.
But he gritted his teeth and managed.
Hot steam curled
