Page 41 of Snowed In with Benefits

The door opens and I look over my shoulder, startled to be found out. It’s Hunter, wearing dark sweats that suit him beautifully. He looks surprised to see me too, but not angry at all. I relax, smiling at him.

“Hey, you,” he says quietly, closing the door behind him. “Can’t sleep?”

I shake my head. “No. I had a weird dream that I can’t remember now, but it woke me all the way up. You can’t either?”

He settles on the arm of my chair, close to me. I want to lean against him, but I resist the urge. It’s just sleepiness and comfort, that’s all. At least that’s what I tell myself. He nudges me with his arm and nods at my screen.

“Editing?”

“Yeah. Editing always calms my brain down. I don’t have to think, I can just get lost in it. It’s restful.”

“Work that’s restful.”

“Yeah,” I say, feeling a little defensive. “It is.”

He smiles at me and shrugs. “No, I get it. That’s what Emmett says about woodworking. It’s how Beau feels about taking care of things. Not just animals, but the house and everything else. It’s how I feel about cooking.”

“Is that what you got up to do? Cook?”

He chuckles softly. “I was going to organize the pantry. It’s what I do when I can’t sleep. But then I realized that I might make some noise, and I didn’t want to disturb Beau.”

I nod. “That’s why I came in here instead of the kitchen.”

“You didn’t want to work in the bedroom? Seems like it might be cozier.”

I look around the little office and inhale deeply through my nose. I can smell all three of them in here, plus another scent that seems to live in the wood of the house itself. I shake my head, smiling.

“I can’t think of a cozier place to be than right here.”

He leans closer against the back of the chair and looks over my shoulder at my screen.

“That’s really good,” he says.

I look to see what he’s talking about. It’s a stunning little photo of a stunning little cupcake.

“The baker did all the hard work on this picture,” I say warmly. “I just showed up to capture it.”

“But look at the way the light falls. This isn’t just a picture of a cupcake, it’s like it’s alive. Like it’s breathing. You’re really good, you know.”

I laugh at that. “You’re sweet, but I’m honestly not that good. I love photography, but my skills still have a long way to go.”

“What makes you think that? From where I sit, you’re nothing but skills.”

He’s laying it on a little thick, and it’s starting to make me squirm. I feel like I need to explain myself.

“It’s not professional artistry,” I protest. “That’s why Preston would never hang any of it on his walls, he said it was amateur and would clash with the expensive works he had hanging up.”

Hunter frowns. “Hold on a second. First of all, your pictures are objectively good. Not good, great. I’m not just blowing smoke up your ass, I’m being one hundred percent honest with you.”

I want to believe it, I really do, but I just can’t. These are just little throwaway pieces, they’re nothing special. Some part of me is desperate to believe Hunter. Another part of me is desperate for him to let it go, to let me stay small.

“Second,” he continues, “Preston should have been your biggest fan. He should have been supporting you, even if your photos were garbage, which they are not. He should have been encouraging you to follow your passions, not telling you that you weren’t good enough to get into his pretentious gallery.”

I blink as his words wash over me. Biggest fan? Supporter? It’s what I ached to get from Preston, about anything in my life. It’s what was always missing between us. I was there to be his cheerleader, not the other way around.

“Didn’t that hurt you?” Hunter asks gently. “When he snubbed you like that?”

I shift in my seat, making myself cozier against the very un-cozy feelings that are pressing against my ribcage right now.