Page 72 of A Violet Obsession

For one beat my stomach drops, before I remind myself he hasn’t gone anywhere, though I would have liked some more secret cuddle time.

The main room of the cabin is washed in pale snow-light. Finn stands at the windows, already dressed, hair still rumpled from sleep, and Hera is crunching happily at a bowl of food he must have put down for her. He turns his head at the sound of me. His gaze moves over me in one quick sweep, pausing on the hoodie for a fraction of a second before he looks back at the glass.

He doesn’t say anything.

Is that good or bad? Is he going to pretend it didn’t happen? My heart rate picks up as I imagine every possible reaction that will hurt.

But then every thought of him and my apparent total loss of dignity dissolves when I see what’s waiting outside the window.

Snow.

Not a dusting. Not the melt-by-lunch snowfall that can sometimes make Atlantans lose their collective mind. This is thick and untouched, piled high over the porch railing, mounded over the steps until the whole world looks different. The driveway is gone, and the trees bow under the weight of snow and ice, branches glittering where the morning light catches them.

“Oh,” I breathe.

Finn glances at me. “More than forecasted.”

“That is the least magical way you could have said that.”

He grunts.

“It’s snow, Finn.” I press closer to the glass, then yank my hand back because it’s freezing. “I’ve never seen it like this.”

“You live in Atlanta.”

“It’s snowed a few times, but it never looked like this.” I lean in again, smiling before I can stop myself. “This is my first real snow.”

“You say it like it’s a normal verb.”

“Hush. Don’t ruin my moment.”

I bump his hip with mine, and he gives me a brief smile before he looks back at the view. After a minute, I feel his attention shift, settling on the side of my face, enough that the back of my neck warms under the hoodie.

“Have you ever seen snow like this?” I ask, wondering if this is the moment he tells me, “Thanks but no thanks for the sex lessons request.”

“A few times.”

“Where?”

His eyes stay on the tree line. “Norway. Northern Italy. Once in the Hindu Kush.”

My brows climb. “Vacations or...”

“They weren’t vacations.”

“Why were you there?”

“Working.”

I angle toward him. “Ooh. Is this a classified thing? If-you-tell-me-you’ll-have-to-kill-me kind of thing?”

His lips twitch. Hera meows at him, as if she wants an answer, too.

I point down at her. “See? Even she thinks you’re being mysterious.”

“I think she wants more food. There’s a strong possibility your cat has an eating disorder.”

“She’s a growing girl.”