Total pages in book: 27
Estimated words: 25068 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 125(@200wpm)___ 100(@250wpm)___ 84(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 25068 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 125(@200wpm)___ 100(@250wpm)___ 84(@300wpm)
6
LAURA
“It’ll get warm in here soon,” Nash promises as the fire begins to crackle. I’m in his bedroom again, tucked on the bed under his blankets. I swear he searched the whole cabin until he brought me every blanket he owned.
My teeth chatter, and I glance down at Frankie and Beans who are on the bed next to me. As soon as I was piled high with blankets, he pulled out the sweaters. I helped dress Beans by copying what he was doing with Frankie.
Nash tells me that Frenchies are especially sensitive to the cold. I’d believe it too. They have a bigger wardrobe than Nash does. Dozens and dozens of sweaters plus booties in all different colors. He even has their wardrobe sorted by season. It’s pretty obvious that he adores his boys and loves to dote on them.
It makes me wonder what kind of father he’d be. Definitely the involved kind. He’d take his kids hiking and teach them to mimic the bird calls. He’d show his children how to start a fire and bring them camping. Most of all, he’d love them with that big heart of his.
The sounds of the drill whirring from another room interrupt my family daydreams. Trace and Roman got the back door fixed quickly and easily. It had far less splintering than the front door.
Since I realized that Trace is Nash’s friend and not a girlfriend, I’ve felt a lot more relaxed. There’s no longer that feeling that I can’t breathe when I take a deep breath. “It sounds like they’re making progress.”
“Yeah, well, they’re idiots,” Nash says as he stands and faces the bed. He’s been snorting around ever since he realized I was cold. But that couldn’t possibly be why he’s upset. No, I think it has more to do with the damage to his beautiful cabin.
“It’s nice that you have friends who came to bail you out,” I offer to distract him from thinking like that. Maybe they did something dumb, but I love that they were so determined to get to Nash that they’d risk their own lives in the middle of this winter storm. “I’ve never had that.”
“You have me now, and I have your back,” he declares. But I know what he’s not saying. We have each other for this snowstorm. Then the snow will melt, and I’ll have to disappear out of his life. The thought makes me ache.
My stomach growls, breaking the tension. It’s the middle of the afternoon and with everything that happened, food was the last thing on my mind. But clearly, my body remembers that I should eat.
Nash frowns. “I haven’t fed you. Do you like soup?”
“Tomato or bust,” I tell him. It’s true. All the other flavors are gross. It has to be tomato soup for me.
He disappears and I can hear the sounds of him rummaging in the kitchen, clanging pots and pans. I glance over at Frankie and Beans. “He likes to take care of us, huh?”
I can’t help but think about how nice it would be to stay here longer. For someone that’s supposed to be his prisoner, all he’s done is show me kindness.
“You’re not special. It’s just the kind of man he is,” I remind myself out loud. I know better than anybody that eventually I’ll get on his nerves. I’ll be too much. I’ll have too many needs, and then I’ll be out the door. Not that it matters. It’s not like I can stay even if he wants me to.
Minutes later, Nash returns. “And it’s finished. Doors are reattached. Friends have been chastised, and now, we have lunch.”
He sets up a small bed table before he places a bowl of tomato soup and a saucer with a grilled cheese sandwich on it. The sandwich has been cut in two little triangles. I stare down at the food on my lap for a moment, blinking back tears. I can’t remember any time someone cared if I ate, if I was happy, or if I was warm. Yet here’s Nash, meeting my needs even though I tried to steal from him.
I dip the sandwich in the food then beam up at him. Too late, I realize he can’t see me, so I say, “This tomato soup is amazing.”
He smiles as he joins me on the bed, having carefully moved Frankie and Beans to their beds where he covered them with blankets. The room is warmer now, and he explained they’d be closer to the warmth coming from the fireplace.
He fed them earlier, one of those premium dog food brands with the tiny pieces that are perfect for little jaws. “This soup is my favorite recipe.”
He reaches for his bowl and settles against the headboard. He spoons some of the soup into his mouth, not realizing that he’s dropped it in his beard. Without thinking, I dab it away with my napkin. The way he takes care of me makes me want to take care of him in return. What would it be like to spend our days caring for each other and our nights making love?