I can only offer a bemused expression. “Well, how about that.”
“Wanna go for a cruise on the sled later? It’s not a bad ride.”
“Maybe,” I utter while my brain processes the events from the last five minutes. Something’s not quite right. “What’re you doing here, farmer?”
He returns to the porch for his cooler and hefts it into the foyer. “I brought you dinner.”
From behind my sternum, an erratic drumming attempts to break free. Reality crashes in a beat later, and I crease my brow. “Shouldn’t you be with your family?”
“We ate brunch earlier, and I knew you were alone. That’s not how anyone should spend Thanksgiving.” He strides toward me, grazing my forehead with a kiss.
I melt into him without consent. Freaking kryptonite. “Oh,” is all I can wrench through the cinch around my windpipe. Anything more would be a warbled mess.
Reeve gives me another gentle brush of his lips. “Plus, I felt personally responsible for jinxing the weather.”
My heart does cartwheels, somersaults, backflips, handsprings—a whole freaking tumbling routine directly into his arms. I hand that love-struck organ to this man on a shiny, freshly polished platter. What else can I possibly do with it? This man takes swoon to a professional level, and I can’t compete. Hell, I’m not even in the junior division.
Before I can rein it in, pressure builds behind my eyes. My vision swims and blurs while I try to fight the onslaught. I choke on the failing effort as more moisture floods in. The cascade is too powerful for my off-duty guard. A stray trickle races down my cheek, followed by two more. I bat the pesky drops away with a sniff. Who is this man, and where did he come from? Why can’t he be mine? The injustice curdles in my belly.
Reeve widens his eyes at me. “Babe, why’re you crying?”
Inhaling around the vise clamping my chest is a chore. “I’m just really touched that you thought of me.”
“You’re rarely far from my mind, Audria.” Static heat spreads through me at the honesty in his rich timbre.
I want to nuzzle against that warm sensation. Instead, I wipe at my watery eyes. Damn emotions getting the best of me. “Should I make a beef trifle? It might taste like feet.”
Reeve stares at me. “Uh, sure? But I won’t lie. That sounds… disgusting.”
His blank expression is successful in lightening the mood, getting a laugh from me. “You don’t get the reference?”
He shrugs, looking more humble than shepherd’s pie. “I honestly have no clue what you’re talking about.”
My nose stings when I giggle. “It’s from a Thanksgiving episode of Friends. Where’s Gavin when we need him?”
“I’m all the man you need, babe.” It’s not my imagination when he puffs out his chest.
“Don’t I know it,” I purr in response.
“Is it all right that I stopped by unannounced?”
On the list of stupid questions, that one earns a top-tier spot, not that it requires an announcement. The fear of ruining this moment, and us in general, prickles along the back of my neck. “It is so much more than all right. You have no idea how much. And not just because I’m in a sappy mood.”
Reeve’s thumb traces along my chin. “Your smile tells me plenty. I would’ve trudged through miles of snow to see this.”
That only makes my grin lift and expand. Perhaps that’s his intention. “Thank you for giving me a reason, farmer.”
“How about I make you a plate of grub.” He pauses and raises a brow at me. “I should probably ask if you’re a fan of traditional Thanksgiving fare.”
I nod. “Yes, very much so.”
“Thank Christ because if not, my gesture would mean shit.”
I grip his shirt in my fist, yanking him closer with an unflinching gaze. “It means everything, farmer.”
“That’s all I needed to hear.” He cups my jaw, briefly sealing his mouth over mine for a chaste kiss that resonates far longer than short and sweet.
I exhale against his lips. “Want a repeat?”
“I want to feed you. Then we’ll do a marathon binge of your favorite show and cuddle on the couch.”
A hiccupping sigh sputters from me. Another surge of feels threatens to overtake my semblance of recovery. I choke on a ball of joy mixed with gratitude. “Why are you so perfect?”
And why can’t our situation be less complicated? That’s solely for me to ponder.
“Many would argue the opposite,” he rasps.
I find that challenging to even contemplate. “Well, those fools don’t know what they’re missing.”
He’s quiet for long enough that I’m convinced this topic got too intense for him. Then he strokes a thumb down my cheek, so soft and tender. “Your opinion is all that matters to me.”
And just like that, this ruined holiday is becoming one of the best. Because of this man, I have even more to be thankful for.
One benefit to the raging storm last week—aside from surprising Audria—is the staggering drop in temperature. Consequently, the ice is now thick enough to support weight. The first weekend of December is much later than I prefer setting up shop. I’ve been waiting too damn long to put my tackle to use. To be fair, spending more nights with her instead is no hardship. She almost makes me forget about fishing altogether, but I choose not to obsess over that.
A dull hum bounces off the walls as the generator kicks on. The trailer smells like guts and sewage, but at least we’re comfortable. A glance at Audria shows her throat bobbing with a thick swallow as a fresh wave of stink wafts over. That foul odor is another occupational hazard that fades with exposure. I barely notice anymore, but her reaction reminds me of the unpleasant desensitization process.
Instead of focusing on the stench, I study the interior and picture the layout through fresh eyes. What does she see? It has a rustic cabin vibe, or so the salesman spouted. He told me it would feel like I
