It takes a little bit for the events of last night to start bleeding back into my thoughts. Lying in bed, I can start to remember laughter and drinks and slow dancing with big, warm hands at my waist—but I can also remember a very embarrassing failed attempt at a kiss, unfortunately. I definitely don’t think I misread things, given that Hunter had been so obviously flirting with me—because he was flirting with me, wasn’t he?—so that means I have no idea as to why he would so blatantly turn me down when I attempted to move things along.

There’s a very clichéd warm and fuzzy feeling inside me when I remember him tucking me into bed after bringing me back to my room and even a vague phantom sensation of him touching my cheek that suggests perhaps I wasn’t off base at all about the flirting.

So what gives?

My window rattles slightly as a howling wind slams against it, breaking me out of my early morning musings, and I sit up in bed and frown when I notice the way the snow is coming down outside. I vaguely remember Hunter saying something about a storm rolling in this weekend, but at the time I thought he’d just been making excuses to get us out of the bar and get his mouth far away from mine. Judging by the size of the snowflakes outside though, I’d say it turns out that part was true.

Which probably explains why it’s a little colder in my room than usual. I shiver when I pull the covers away, hopping out of bed and moving to the closet in search of a hoodie and some thick sweats. It’s then I notice the lone glass of water and tiny tablets that look to be ibuprofen, and I have to bite back a grin, knowing it was most likely Hunter who left them there.

I don’t know what to make of it, the way he takes such care of me, doing so more and more often. In fact, it seems like all he does lately is take care of me, and what’s more, he might even enjoy doing it. So why did he turn me down last night after everything we’ve already done?

I settle for grilling him later (maybe, if I can work up the courage), then take the pills and swallow them quickly before resuming my task of finding some sweatpants that don’t leave goose bumps on my legs. I’m shoving my feet through the ankle holes when my phone begins to ring, so I stomp across the room while still trying to pull my sweats up and snatch my phone from the bedside table.

“Hello?”

“Hello, Ms. Covington. This is Alisha with Mr. Cole’s office. Do you have time for me to put you through for a call?”

Nate, I think excitedly.

“Sure,” I tell her quickly. “I have time.”

I hear the line go quiet for only a brief moment before: “Hey, Tess. Did I catch you at a good time?”

“I’m staying in a town with barely ten thousand people in it,” I say dryly. “Literally all the time is a good time.”

I hear Nate laugh on the other end. “Well, maybe this will liven up your day a little. My editor gave me the green light to fly out and do a scoop for the lodge you’re staying at.”

“Shut up.”

“I know. She loved the pictures. Said it reminded her of her favorite Monet painting.”

“Which one?”

“I have no idea, but at least she loves them.”

“Right.” I squeal a little as the realization sets in that some things can still go my way. “This is amazing. When are you flying here?”

“Hmm. What is today…Saturday? I’m showing a winter storm scheduled through the weekend that’s not supposed to break until Tuesday—so let’s say I fly out Wednesday just to be safe? I can probably be there around lunchtime. Do you think you can clean up enough of the main space to get it done?”

We’re nearly finished with the great room, but I’m already compiling a mental note of tiny projects that would make a world of difference.

“We can do it,” I assure him.

“I’ll want to interview the owner…What’s his name?”

“Barrett,” I tell him. “Hunter Barrett.”

“Great. It won’t be too extensive. Just a little history on the lodge and the area and maybe some info on the best times to visit. The standard stuff.”

“That sounds great. This is all so great. I really appreciate you doing this, Nate.”

“Of course. It’s not like I don’t owe you a dozen times over.”

“I’m happy to be able to finally cash in,” I laugh.

“Well, be careful out there. Forecast is showing this storm is gonna be a doozy. Don’t freeze before I get there.”

“No promises,” I chuckle. “I’ll see you next week.”

“See you then.”

I think I’m actually beaming when I hang up the phone, doing some strange little dance number in place. I already can’t wait to see the look on Hunter’s face when I tell him.

Thinking of him gets me excited all over again, and I rush out of my room, still pulling on a fresh pair of socks, to bound down the stairs. I don’t see him in the main entrance at his desk when I step off the landing, so I start to wander through the rooms at a quick pace, shouting his name excitedly as I move throughout the lodge.

It takes a few minutes for him to appear from the back door that leads out to the deck where the hot tub is. He’s rushing inside with a concerned expression when he finds me running around and shouting his name. I’m only a little distracted by the sight of him in black coveralls and a thick buffalo plaid coat that makes his dark hair seem darker and his big body seem bigger—but seeing him look distressed brings me out of it.

“Tess? What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

I grin even wider, rushing up to him and grabbing his hands. “Nate called me back!”

“Nate?” Hunter glances down between us where I am still gripping his hands, raising an eyebrow before finding my eyes again. “Who is Nate?”

“Sorry, sorry.” I shake my head to clear away my excited energy. “My friend. The one from the magazine. He wants to interview you! They’re going to fly him out next Wednesday, after the storm passes so he can get pictures of the place.”

Hunter’s mouth parts in surprise. “Wednesday?”

“Okay, I know that’s sort of short notice, but we can totally spruce things up around here with very little effort. We just need to clear out the paint cans and stuff…fix some of those railings outside, polish the wood surfaces a little—oh, and we definitely have to give this place a major dust-over. I’m talking top to bottom. And those Santa hats should probably come down from the elk head until he leaves, at least. Also, I think we should—”

I finally notice the way Hunter is looking at me—sort of a mixture of shock and confusion as his eyes move from my face to our joined hands and back again—and it’s then I realize that in my excitement I marched down here and rushed him with this wild news, the memory of the kiss he rejected only last night momentarily forgotten.

But I’m remembering it now.

I release his hands quickly and let mine hang limply at my side, unsure for a moment what I should do in this situation.

“I’m sorry,” I offer, feeling shy now. “I didn’t mean to bombard you first thing in the morning.”

Hunter shakes his head slowly. “No, it’s fine. I thought you might be hurt or something.”

“I just got so excited when he called…I didn’t think. You might not even want all this. God, I’m such an idiot. I didn’t even confirm that you wanted all this to happen before I just set up a damn interview for you.”

“No, I appreciate it. I…” He still looks a little stunned. “He really wants to come out here?”

I nod emphatically. “His editor loved the pictures I sent. Said this place reminded her of some old painting or something or other. I don’t know. The point is, yes, they want to come if you want them to.”

Hunter’s brow furrows as he looks down at his feet, thinking. His hands come to rest on his hips as his jaw works subtly, and now I notice the bits of snow clinging to his hair. I reach unconsciously to brush them away, but his head snaps back up right as my fingers slide against the dark curls near his temple.