The sun slides lower over the tree line, casting the area around the cabin in a warm, afternoon glow.
The porch steps are still half-buried in snow, the only impressions left are from our footsteps an hour ago.
I stomp the slush from my boots and freeze when I get to the top of the steps and reach for the door.
I can hear something on the other side…music?
It’s a low and steady beat that bleeds through the front door.
Turning the knob and pushing it open, the smell of something rich and savory hits my senses.
My stomach growls instantly, but there is something else threading through the scent, a warm and home fragrance that I haven’t been around in years.
We step in through the door, welcoming the heat that wraps around us.
Liam kicks off his boots and lifts his eyes to catch mine.
Holly appears from the kitchen within moments.
Hair piled up in a messy knot on top of her head and a wooden spoon in her hand.
She’s still in her clothes from yesterday, but they look just as good on her as they did last night.
Her eyes light up when she sees us. “Hey! I’m making you the best damn dinner you’ve ever had. Or, well, that’s what I’m calling it.”
Reece lets out a laugh from behind me. “That’s quite the title.”
Her eyes sparkle as a wide smile stretches across her face. “Yeah, maybe. But I’m determined for my food to live up to the title.”
Right then, I know the hike hasn’t done enough to put distance between me and this problem I have.
If anything, it’s only made it worse.
Holly disappears back into the kitchen before I can say anything.
The clatter of pots and the low hum of her singing along with the music—something old-school, Fleetwood Mac maybe—drifts over to me.
Reece pushes past my frozen figure, dropping his pack by the couch and glancing toward the kitchen with a slow, amused shake of his head. “That’s cute that she’s making dinner again. I really thought she would be hiding out in her room by the time we got back. Maybe she’s warming up to us after all.”
“Guess so,” Liam says, grinning.
Or maybe she’s bored. Or lonely.
Or…any other excuse I’m trying to find to justify her not wanting to spend time with us outside of obligation.
I toe off my boots, every muscle in my body feels a little too tight as I step toward the kitchen doorway.
She’s at the stove, stirring something in a pot, hips swaying just slightly to the music.
I clear my throat. “Need any help?”
She glances over her shoulder, smiling like I’d just asked the dumbest question in the world. Maybe I have.
“I’ve got it. You three just sit and relax. It’s almost done.”
There’s no point arguing.
I back away before I do something stupid, like walk up behind her and—Jesus, I need to get my head on straight.
