For the second time that afternoon, Kat found herself awestruck as they approached Jack’s home. Poised on the edge of a picturesque lake with towering snowcapped mountains in the distance, the cozy cabin looked like a wintry paradise.
“You live here?” she asked, still dumbfounded. Although it was covered in several inches of snow, she recognized the outline of a boat secured to a short dock and a ring of Adirondack chairs by the water’s edge.
“Yep. It’s not much, but it’s home.” He parked in a rudimentary garage that appeared sturdy but austere. Stacks of firewood lined two of the three walls. The third housed a bicycle with all-terrain tires, fishing poles and tackle, and a couple of kayaks.
Kat followed close behind Jack as he carried the dog toward the house. Although it took less than a minute to span the short distance to the porch, snowflakes caked her hair and clothing.
He nodded toward the front door, which he apparently kept unlocked, and Kat nudged it open, closing it behind them to block out the storm.
As she stood in the entrance, the intimacy of invading Jack’s personal space struck her all at once, leaving her nervous and uncertain.
“Can you grab a blanket and lay it in front of the fireplace?”
She followed his gaze toward a well-worn steamer trunk and popped it open. A stack of thick blankets—mostly plaid—greeted her, and she chose the fluffiest one, laying it on the hardwood floor in front of a rotund potbelly stove. Although chilly inside the cabin, warmth radiated from the black iron chamber. She suspected hot embers lingered inside from a previous fire.
Jack gently laid the pup on the makeshift bed before stoking the fire with a fresh log. It crackled and sparked as he prodded the coals, igniting a hearty blaze. “You can hang your coat by the front door. The cabin will be warm in a few minutes. The perks of living in a small space.” He smiled, calling her attention to the cabin’s modest size.
The kitchen, dinette, and living area could easily fit inside the formal sitting room at Hope Hideaway, but it was cozy.
Her heart raced as she draped her coat over a rustic hook before removing her damp shoes. They’d be trapped inside for hours, maybe even all night. Suddenly, her temperature rose and it had nothing to do with the roaring fire. She cleared her throat. “We should see if we can get him to eat something. Do you have broth?”
“There’s a mason jar in the fridge.” Jack rose and removed his coat and boots. “Are you hungry? If you want to warm the broth, I can whip up something for us.”
“That would be wonderful. Thanks.”
They silently worked side by side in the confined kitchen, listening to the sound of falling snow. Kat never realized it even made a sound, but she’d describe it as a faint whooshing or a soft whisper of wind. Either way, it was heavenly.
Within minutes, the mouthwatering aroma of rosemary and thyme filled the cabin as Jack threw together some chicken soup.
Kat set a bowl of broth on the floor for the pup, ecstatic when he lapped up every last drop before curling into a ball and drifting off to sleep.
“I think he’s going to be just fine, thanks to you.” The admiration in Jack’s voice warmed her from the inside out, and she wanted to bask in the glow.
“And you,” she added, her voice a bit breathy. Although she’d been attracted to Jack since the moment they met, something about rescuing the dog together drew her to him even more than before—dangerously close.
“Make yourself comfortable on the couch,” he told her, ladling the soup into two enormous stoneware mugs.
She nestled into the far corner, snuggling beneath a plush blanket.
Jack handed her the steaming mug and a spoon before sitting beside her.
The couch more accurately resembled a loveseat, forcing them a little closer than Kat’s comfort level. Painfully aware of his nearness, she tried to focus on the soup, savoring the creamy broth and cornucopia of pleasant spices.
“I’ll ask around in the morning and see if anyone knows who the dog belongs to.” Jack propped his feet on the coffee table, and Kat hid a smile, noticing the hole in his wool sock. She almost offered to darn it for him, but stopped herself in time. Darning the man’s sock would definitely cross a line she needed to avoid at all costs.
Falling for Jack Gardener wasn’t an option.
A fact she needed to remember now more than ever.
Normally, Jack would find the falling snow and gentle crackling of the fire soothing. But sitting this close to Kat set all of his nerves on edge. She smelled like cinnamon and a hint of something sweet, and he found the combination way too alluring for his own good.
To distract himself, he proposed putting together a puzzle to pass the time. Otherwise, all he could think about was what it would be like to kiss her. And those thoughts were off-limits. Especially since Grant had texted that he, Eliza, and Ben had gotten snowed in at his parents’ house, which meant Jack would be alone with Kat all night.
But in hindsight, the puzzle was a terrible idea. For some reason, all the pieces he needed were located on the other side of the coffee table, forcing him to repeatedly reach across Kat from his position on the floor, and inhale her scent.
He stared at the last piece needed to complete his corner, hoping to move it by telepathy. Finally, when it didn’t budge, he gave in to the old-fashioned method.
As he reached past her, a soft curl grazed his cheek, sending his pulse into overdrive. Could she hear his sharp intake of breath? Snatching the puzzle piece, he rocked back on his heels, praying the loud thundering of his heartbeat wasn’t audible.
“I’m not usually a puzzle person,” Kat admitted, snapping two pieces in place with a satisfied smile. “But in the last few days, I’m becoming an expert.”
“What do you mean?”
“Remember how I told you I came to Poppy Creek hoping to find something at Thistle & Thorn?”
“Yeah….”
“I was looking for a brooch that belonged to my mother. And oddly enough, Penny’s dad used it as the end reward for an elaborate treasure hunt, complete with clues.”
“What kind of clues?”
“Riddles. Pretty hard ones, actually. I was able to solve the first one, but now I’m stumped.”
“I love riddles. Maybe I can help?”
“The more eyes on it, the better.” Kat untangled her legs from her crisscross position and stood, grazing his back with her leg as she brushed past him to grab her phone from her coat pocket.
Jack had never minded the shortage of space inside his cabin before, but now he regretted not living in a palace, if only to keep from torturing himself with their close proximity.
When she returned, they bumped knees as she sat cross-legged again.
Jack bit back a groan. At this rate, he seriously doubted he’d survive the night.
“Ready?” she asked, and Jack had to remind himself that she was talking about the riddle.
“Ready.”
“‘From death comes life, often felt but never seen. Getting too close may cause strife, but you can still enjoy the gleam.’” She glanced up from her phone. “Any idea what it means?”
Jack pondered it a moment. “I think it’s talking about a fire, maybe a fireplace.”
Her brow furrowed in thought, and Jack explained his logic. “From death comes life—a tree has to die to provide firewood. And fire provides lifesaving warmth. You can see a flame, but you can’t actually see the warmth, you just feel it. If you touch the flame, you’ll get burned, but you can still enjoy the light it produces.”
“Jack, I’m impressed. You just solved it in two seconds flat.”
Flustered by her praise, he shrugged. “I don’t have central heating, so I spend a lot of time building fires.”
“Smart and humble.” She flashed him a teasing smile that made his heart melt and hurt at the same time. “I owe you big-time. What do you want as a reward for solving it?”
His gaze fell to her lips and his lungs suddenly forgot how to function.
Thankfully, she didn’t seem to notice. “Why don’t I make you some of Fern’s famous hot chocolate? It’s a special family recipe.”
“That sounds great,” he rasped, cringing at how embarrassingly husky his voice sounded. He really needed to get ahold of himself. “Who’s Fern?”
She paused halfway to the kitchen, a strange expression stealing over her, but she quickly dismissed it, saying casually, “She’s the woman who raised me.” Before Jack could press further, she added, “I’ll need a bar of dark chocolate, whole milk, vanilla bean or extract, agave nectar or sugar, ancho powder or cayenne pepper. Oh, and cinnamon. And I don’t suppose you have a molinillo?”
“A what?”
Kat grinned. “It’s a wooden tool used to froth the milk, and it helps the chocolate dissolve. But a hand blender will do in a pinch.”
As Jack assembled the ingredients—grateful he kept his own kitchen nearly as well stocked as the diner—he waited for an opportunity to ask more about Kat’s childhood.
Truthfully, he wanted to learn everything he could about this woman who had undeniably captured his interest.
And maybe a little bit of his heart, too.