Page 13 of Winter Beginnings

I hope I’m doing the right thing, I thought, stepping out into the crisp winter afternoon. Maybe I’d found someone worth trusting again. And for the first time in months, I realized the idea didn’t terrify me—it thrilled me.

Chapter Six

Cass

I stood under the hot spray of my shower, palms pressed against the slick tiles, steam swirling around my head. In the past few days, I’d hauled more broken wardrobes and crumbling dressers than I cared to count, but I still had energy to burn. Tonight, Rory was cooking me dinner—pasta, she’d said, her mother’s Italian recipe. And while I was determined not to read too much into it, I couldn’t ignore the way my heart thumped at the prospect of a home-cooked meal in her half-renovated Victorian. Focus, man, I told myself, forcing the tension from my shoulders. Go at her pace. Don’t push.

I reached for my razor. Normally, I sported a bit of scruff, but tonight I shaved it all off, figuring maybe she’d like me freshly shaven. It felt silly, worrying about something that small,but the memory of her near-kiss haunted me—those parted lips, how I’d wanted to close the gap. If I was going to see her in a less dusty, more intimate setting, I wanted to look my best. After rinsing away the last of the foam, I patted on an aftershave I rarely used, inhaling the woodsy, citrus undertone. Hope she likes the scent, I thought, toweling off. Also hope I don’t come off as too eager.

Pulling on a fresh pair of jeans and a dark sweater, I tried to keep my thoughts calm:She just wants to say thank you. She’s had a rough time, new to Montana, building the inn from scratch. She needs friends.But I couldn’t help the swirl of anticipation in my gut—like tonight might break open the tension that had pulsed between us ever since we rescued Bramble. Shaking my head at my reflection in the mirror, I muttered, “Stay cool, Cass. Go slow.”

A few minutes later, I hopped into my truck, steering toward Wintervale’s lone wine shop on Main Street. The bell chimed softly as I entered the cozy store, shelves lined with more bottles than I’d realized existed. Usually I picked up whatever was on sale at the chain grocery. A friendly older man with wire-rim glasses glanced up from behind the counter. I cleared my throat, scanning the labels. “Any recommendations for an Italian pasta night?” I asked, feeling clueless.

He beamed, adjusting his glasses. “Depends on the sauce. Tomato-based?”

“Um, I’m not sure,” I admitted.

He nodded sagely and handed me two bottles with Italian-sounding names. One boasted a sleek black label, the other a rustic vineyard design. “Here you go, son. You can’t go wrong with either of these. Trust me.”

I glanced at the prices, wincing at how high they were, but tonight felt special enough to splurge. “I’ll take both,” I said, ignoring the sting to my wallet. Better safe than sorry.

Bag of wine in hand, I returned to my truck, exhaling a slow breath. I was overthinking everything.But maybe that was okay. I wanted to do right by Rory. She deserved something special. Guilt flickered in my chest. If she knew the truth…but no, I thought, starting the engine. Focus on dinner. One step at a time.

By the time I drove up to the mansion, dusk had begun its lazy descent. The old Victorian silhouette rose against the winter sky, lights glowing in a few windows thanks to the generator. Warmth tugged at my chest, a sense of odd familiarity—like I belonged here, even though I’d told myself I never wanted to claim this property.

I parked in the gravel driveway, hopped out, and took the wine with me. The moment I opened the front door, the rich aroma of simmering tomato sauce hit me, making my stomach rumble.God, that smells amazing.

“Hello?” I called, stepping inside. No reply came, but I heard clattering pots from the kitchen. Before I could move further, a small black blur raced across the foyer—Bramble, sporting a chew toy in his mouth. Laughing, I bent to ruffle his scruffy ears. “Hey, buddy. Ready to charm your future guests, huh?” I swore the dog recognized me, tail swishing as he rubbed against my ankle. He’ll make the perfect inn mascot, I thought, heart warming. If anyone visited, they’d instantly fall in love with this friendly pup.

Treading carefully to avoid accidentally stepping on his tail, I made my way to the kitchen. Rory stood at the counter, finishing a light toss of pasta with sauce. She wore black leggings that hugged her curves, and a low-cut sweater showcasing aslight glimpse of cream-colored cleavage. A tingle ran through me at how breathtaking she looked—soft brown hair cascading down her back in gentle waves, a faint flush in her cheeks from the heat of the stove. Damn. My body reacted instantly, a wave of desire coiling in my gut. I recalled it’d been a long while since I’d been with a woman, and even longer since I’d felt this level of attraction. But Rory was more than just physically alluring—she made me feel seen, and I couldn’t help but want to be around her as much as possible, no matter what we were doing.Easy, man, keep it together.

“Hi,” I managed, hefting the wine bag. “I, uh…picked up two bottles. Wasn’t sure which would be better.”

Her mouth curved into a smile that made my pulse climb. “We can try both,” she teased, eyes flicking over me. Then her gaze landed on my clean-shaven face, lingering on my jaw. Heat flared in me when she exhaled a small, appreciative hum. She likes it, I realized, relief surging.

“That sauce smells incredible,” I said, stepping closer. The closeness let me catch a whiff of her own subtle perfume—fresh and floral.Focus, Cass.

“Thanks. We’re nearly ready.” She grabbed a salad bowl from the counter. “Mind helping with the veggies? I’ve got lettuce, tomatoes, cucumbers…just need them chopped.”

“Sure,” I said, rolling up my sleeves. “Let me see those knives.”

We worked side by side, that insane chemistry between us thrumming beneath the surface. She whisked a dressing—olive oil, lemon juice, various herbs I couldn’t name—and passed it for me to toss. The synergy felt almost domestic, as if we’d done this many times before. A pang of longing struck me. I never pictured myself wanting domestic closeness—but with her…

She turned off the burner under a pot of rolls, the kitchen filling with that yeasty, buttery smell. Then she drained the pasta into a serving bowl, swirling the sauce expertly. My stomach growled.

“Hungry?” Rory questioned laughingly.

“Starving,” I admitted with a faint laugh. “I might eat half of that by myself.”

She shot me a playful grin. “Don’t worry, I made plenty.”

We carried the food and wine to the large oak table in the dining room. A single overhead light provided a warm glow, highlighting only the mouthwatering meal—spaghetti tangled in thick red sauce sprinkled with flecks of basil, golden dinner rolls in a basket, and the bright green salad. My heart glowed at the effort Rory obviously put into making everything.

When I poured the first glass of wine, the aroma opened up with fruity, earthy notes. The first sip verified that the wine steward at the shop had known what he was doing.

“Wow,” I murmured after my inaugural bite of pasta. The tangy tomato sauce clung perfectly to the noodles, a lush swirl of garlic, basil, and onion bursting on my tongue. “This might be the best Italian I’ve had in forever.”

Rory’s cheeks pinked with pride. “Glad you like it. My mother used to say the secret’s in the simmer—never rush the sauce.”