Where We Meet Again, стр. 72
“Can’t watch the sunrise without breakfast.”
“Oh, what’d you bring me?” I clap my hands together beneath the blanket.
He hands me the thermos and flips open the top to the box. “I hope you still like cinnamon rolls.”
My eyes grow wide. “You didn’t! The ones with the super thick cream cheese frosting on top?”
There are three kinds of cinnamon rolls. Those with the barely-there glaze that chips off into sticky bits and tastes like watered down powdered sugar. Then there’s the kind with the thick frosting that looks like it’s going to be the best kind, but is merely an over sweetened imposter. The best, and only kind in my opinion, are the ones that have thick cream cheese frosting. Sweet, but not overpowering, so I can eat the entire thing without scraping off the excess. That’s the only way to eat a cinnamon roll in my world.
He suppresses a laugh. “Of course. What other kind is there?”
“Amen.”
Instead of handing one to me, he holds it out in front of my mouth. “Open.” The huskiness in his voice flows through me.
Letting him feed me feels a little strange. Less than twenty-four hours ago we were fighting in my bedroom, but I can’t resist the sweet temptation. That first bite puts a new smile on my face.
I groan. “It’s so good.”
Law grabs my wrist, extends my hand, and balances the rest of the cinnamon roll on my open palm. I’m weirdly bummed he isn’t going to feed me another bite. But then his other hand grabs me by the back of the head and draws me into him. I experience a special kind of sweetness.
He sucks my bottom lip first, trailing the tip of his tongue over it before doing the same with the top. Then he assaults my mouth, the warmth of his tongue startling against the frigid air from outside. He tastes rich and warm, like that first sip of coffee in the morning, and it’s the perfect complement to my yummy breakfast.
Either the sun rises fast, or we make out a long time. The next time I register something other than the feel of Law kissing me, is when dawn filters through my eyelids.
We break apart, and he tucks me into his side. The sun isn’t up yet, but it quickly rises. I make out the area beyond the snowy field, and I shift the cinnamon roll and coffee aside to sit up. At the winter wonderland before me, my breath catches.
Untouched snow glitters in the fresh morning light, covering rocks and pine trees at the bank of a river. It isn’t the river that captures my breath, though it’s elegant and a feature all on its own. The pools of icy water above and below two frozen waterfalls hold my attention. I can’t stop gawking at the beauty of the scenery.
Law nudges the hair away from my ear with his nose. “What do you think?”
The span of three breaths pass. “It’s one of the most incredible sights I’ve seen in my life.”
“Glad to hear, darlin’, because it’s yours.”
My head whips away from the scene where the climbing sun continues to expose unfamiliar shadows. Law digs something out from the box of the truck. A long cylinder clutched in his fist, he uncaps it, empties a roll of paper, and sets the tube aside. Over the down quilt on our laps, he spreads it out.
Neatly drawn plans stare back at me in the distinct diagram of a house.
“What is happening,” I whisper, suddenly terrified.
“I thought right here would be the perfect place for a wraparound deck in the back facing the river. Elevated, with a second story walkout. And a pergola with fairy lights.” His finger drifts across the plans in front of me.
“Law,” I gasp.
He traces an area on the other side of the house. “Right here would be an indoor-outdoor pool. In the winter, we could fill it with snow.”
I clutch his hand. He stops moving through the plans, but he brings his eyes to mine and resumes speaking. “Floor to ceiling library, with a sliding ladder and a spiral staircase that leads to a private reading nook filled with pillows. A window seat-bed, big enough for both of us to lay together at night and look at the stars. And an outdoor fire pit designed to feel like the beach.”
The stickiness in my throat inhibits speech. Or that could be the tears I hold back. “Y-you forgot the–ˮ
But Law has forgotten nothing. “Built in bunk beds. I didn’t forget. Just didn’t know if you’d still have the desire to fill them.”
Oh, God. “But I have a house.”
“We’ll sell it.”
“You have a new custom-built house.”
“Sorry to say, because we had some excellent memories there, but that isn’t my house.”
My stomach twists. “What are you talking about?”
His hand snakes under the blanket to clutch my waist. “I build houses, babe. Long story short, a friend of mine contacted me to build his woman her dream home, I made that drive daily to oversee the project. One day I ran into you in a coffee shop, and suddenly, making that drive home every day wasn’t something I wanted to do. He found his woman bent over her desk at work getting fucked by her boss. You can imagine he no longer felt like building her that dream home. He let me live there to help us both out. Got the job done faster so he can sell the place and get rid of her, and gave me a place to live in town.”
I twist my fingers together. “Was this, um, the same friend you helped with the