At this, he laughed. “I’d say you’re not quite there yet. I promise to get you out of here before that happens.”
When he left, leaving the door open, she realized that she trusted his promise more after only knowing him six minutes than she had Emmett’s after eight months. She’d lived every day wondering what would tip them over the edge of “not together.” After the first month, she’d felt off-balance with him. Like she’d needed to work to keep him. Like he was worth the work. Her parents always said their incredibly secure and happy foundation took effort, just like anything that was worth having.
In the back of her mind, she knew she’d let her absurd timeline and need to show she could balance a successful relationship and a career dictate her happiness. If she wanted to reach her work goals, marry, and have at least one child before thirty-five, it didn’t leave a ton of time to start over. She sighed.Foiled by my own determination.
Beckett reappeared in the doorway with Jilly, the woman who’d greeted them. His sibling? He’d said they were his family. Maybe his wife? Sister-in-law? Captain Grayson was part of all of this.
“Hi, Presley,” she said, her smile so genuine it felt like a hug. “I’m so sorry for the inconvenience. We’re going to get you set up in a cabin. I’m also going to refund the first couple nights of your stay.”
Presley’s brain was a bit fuzzy. It didn’t operate well in frigid temperatures. Jilly rubbed her arms as Presley remembered something. “I thought none of the cabins were available?”
“Oh, Beckett—”
Beckett stepped around her, cutting off her sentence. “—just realized there is one. It’s not the Ritz, but the air and heat work.”
She’d stayed at the Ritz in Chicago once. It was decadent. Jilly looked at Beckett but said nothing. He picked up Presley’s bag. Jilly came to Presley’s side. “Let’s get you settled.”
“I got her,” Beckett said. “Go finish checking on dinner.”
Jilly gave an encouraging smile. “There are snacks in the dining room. I can put something together for you and bring it down to the cabin. If you’re up for it, dinner will be at seven, but if you’d prefer a quiet night, I can also bring your meal to you.”
Nose scrunched, Presley searched her brain for a polite way to say she wasn’t up to that much socialization at the moment.
“Jilly, I got her. Go.”
Doing as her possibly-husband-or-brother-or-who-knew said, Jilly left.
Beckett picked up Presley’s purse off the bed, then froze. Presley watched his jaw tighten as he stared at the mattress with only its fitted sheet. Well… notonlythat. Cold brain cells made her slow. She followed his gaze to the purple and black lace underwear and push-up bra.Ahh.Thank goodness she could count on embarrassment to further thaw her out.
Risking the chill, her hand shot out, grabbed the items and pulled them inside her blanket fortress.
He cleared his throat, then gestured for her to lead the way out the door. They stopped in the main room, a wide-open area used to welcome guests. The lodge was a strange kind of opulence. Usually, when she thought of that word, she pictured gilded ceilings, oversized artwork in gold frames, and marble-tiled entryways. She hadn’t thought the term could be used for something that was also rugged and rustic. It was an amazing amalgamation of styles. The website photos didn’t do it justice.
The high cathedral ceiling had to be at least twenty feet above them. Staircases ran up both sides of the large room, their design again merging rustic with elegant. A huge chandelier hung down over the registration desk, and to either side were hallways that Presley suspected led to the kitchen and dining areas. She couldn’t recall all of the amenities, but she knew there was a hot tub. A bowl of fruit and a plate of assorted granola bars sat on the reception desk, easily accessible to guests. Presleywasn’t so far out of it that she couldn’t note and appreciate these little details. They mattered.
“You want to off-load those blankets? It’s pretty warm out here,” Beckett said. He stopped, setting her bag on one of two couches that faced the large stone fireplace. An oversized chair rested between them, and a coffee table in front displayed an array of magazines. Very inviting. They had something similar at the hotel.
“Presley?”
She looked at him. She liked the way her name sounded coming from Beckett. She’d always hated “Pres.” What a dumb nickname. She could maybe support “honey” or some other term of endearment, but “Pres”?Stupid Emmett.Too lazy to even say her whole name.
Beckett stepped right in front of her so she had to tip her head back. When his hands came to her… well, where her shoulders probably were under the layers, she sucked in a breath. She wanted to step into him for a hug.
“I promise, it’s not cold out here, okay?” His voice was gentle and firm at the same time.
She let the blankets slide off of her and found that he was right. When his thumb grazed her forearm, her synapses sparked, like an engine sizzling to life. In her head, she heard the crackle of flames. Judging by the look on his face, he didn’t feel it, because his lips turned into a very deep frown.
“You really are freezing. I’m so sorry.” His brows furrowed in concern.
“It’s okay,” she said, happy to feel the warmth emanating from his body.
“It’s not. Come on.”
They were quiet as she followed him back toward the dock. The scent in the air was different than she was used to. Fresh. Cleaner, with a hint of water and a variety of flower blooms. Before reaching it, they veered left to a little cottage set behind the one she’d seen when they arrived. It was tucked behind foliage, overgrown flower bushes, anda few trees. It was simple but charming; aging, weathered brick went halfway up the otherwise wood walls, stopping at the windows. Below the smaller window to the left of the porch, there was an empty planter box. It could use a coat of paint and some flowers, but it was cute all the same.
Lights were on inside, the glow of them shining through the bigger window to the right of the door. Beckett rushed up the stairs before her, opened the door, and then stepped back so she could go first.
It was… well, lived-in, for a place they hadn’t planned to rent. It smelled like… dryer sheets. Beckett set her bags down on a small couch. She turned in a circle as he shut the door. It was an open-living-area floor plan, with a few doors leading to what she expected were the bedroom, bathroom, and a closet.
