6. Sawyer

SAWYER

H er lips are addictive. Sweet and warm and perfect against mine as I pull her closer, needing to feel every soft curve pressed against me. She tastes like holiday spices and promise, her mouth moving against mine with an eagerness that makes my head spin as my fingers thread through her hair, reveling in its silken texture.

Her hands slide up my chest, and I groan at the contact, even through the ridiculous sweater she convinced me to wear. The sound seems to encourage her, her fingers curling into the fabric as she presses closer, fitting against me like she was made for my arms. Everything about her drives me crazy—the little whimpers she makes when I deepen the kiss, the way she melts into me like she belongs there, how perfectly the curves of her body align with mine.

The scent of her surrounds me, and I want to drown in it, in her. My hand slides down her back, drawing her even closer as my tongue traces the seam of her lips, seeking more of her addictive taste. She opens for me with a soft sigh that I feel in my very bones, and I know in this moment that I'm already in too deep.

Then the lights flicker and die, leaving us with only the battery operated Christmas lights and the fire for illumination.

“Damn it.”

Noelle pulls back with a soft laugh. “Let me guess. Back to the greenhouse?”

“Close.” I rest my forehead against hers, reluctant to let go. “Generator room. It's outside.”

“Of course it is.” She shivers slightly as I step away. “Good thing I brought snow boots.”

I grab flashlights from a drawer, handing her one before shrugging into my coat, then helping her with hers. “Stay close. The path gets tricky in the dark.”

“Don't worry.” She takes my hand, twining our fingers together. “I'm not going anywhere you aren’t.”

When I open the front door, a blast of frigid air bursts in. The snow is almost up to my waist, and I have to slide out on my stomach to get free. When I turn back to Noelle, she’s already shivering.

“Maybe you should just stay inside.”

She laughs and shakes her head, snowflakes already catching in her eyelashes. “And miss out on you seeing me try to wriggle my way out like I'm a seal on a snowbank? Where's the fun in that?”

I laugh as I offer her my hand and help her over the piled-up snow. Her fingers are already cold against mine, making me want to pull her close and warm her up. The storm itself has calmed somewhat, but snow still falls heavily around us, creating a curtain of white that makes the world feel smaller, more intimate.

“This way,” I say once we're on our feet. The path is hidden under fresh powder, and when Noelle's foot slides on an icy patch, I catch her against my chest. She fits perfectly there, her back pressed to my front, and for a moment we both freeze, aware of every point of contact between us.

“Sorry,” she whispers, but makes no move to pull away. Her breath forms little clouds in the frigid air.

“Don't be.” Reluctantly, I help her find her footing, but keep her close, one arm around her waist as we continue forward.

Noelle's flashlight beam bounces ahead as she hooks her arm through mine and we trudge ahead together. The wind whips around us, driving us closer together with each step. Snow clings to her hair, making her look like some kind of winter fairy.

“So this is what you do up here full time?” she asks as I dig out enough space so I can unlock the generator shed. “Chase after temperamental machinery in snowstorms?”

“Among other things.” When the door swings open, the smell of oil and metal greets us. The small space feels even smaller with her presence, her vanilla-cinnamon scent mixing with the industrial aromas. I immediately move to check the circuits, my hands working automatically through the startup sequence, though my awareness is entirely focused on her movements behind me.

“Other things... Like, cultivating rare orchids and pretending to be a grump?” Her teasing tone makes my lips twitch. She moves closer, peering over my shoulder at what I'm doing. The warmth of her body radiates against my back, and I have to concentrate to keep my hands steady.

“Can you look inside that tool box and pass me the screwdriver with the red handle?” I ask, focusing on the generator's flickering lights rather than how her body brushes against mine as she moves around the tight space.

“Sure.” She rummages through the toolbox, her flashlight beam dancing around the dark corners until she finds what she's after. When she hands it to me, her fingers wrap around mine. “You're not very good at it, you know.”

“Not good at what?” I ask, getting back to work.

“The grumpy part—your orchids are amazing.”

I glance up at her. “What makes you say that?”

“Well, for one thing, you kiss like a man who definitely doesn't hate company.”

My hands still. “Noelle...”

She somehow moves closer.

“You know what I think?”

“What's that?” I try to keep working on the generator, but it's nearly impossible with my hands aching to reach out and touch her, to pull her back into my arms and kiss her until there isn’t an ounce of chill within either of our bones.

“I think you're actually pretty amazing.” Her fingers trail down my arm, and now my dick wants to join in with the touching, too. “The way you care for those plants, how passionate you get when you talk about them. The gentle way you handle them, even when you're worried...”

Her words hit something deep inside me, something I've kept carefully walled off. I turn to face her fully, finding her much closer than expected.

“You don't know me,” I say roughly, but I can't seem to step away.

“I'd like to.” She tilts her head, studying me with those perceptive eyes. “Why does that seem to scare you so much?”

I swallow hard, my throat suddenly dry. “Because…” The word hangs in the air, laden with unspoken fears. “Because I’m not the kind of person you think I am.”

“Then tell me who you are,” she urges, stepping closer still, a daring glint in her warm brown eyes.

“Do you really want to know?” My hands grip the screwdriver too tightly, knuckles white against the handle as I struggle with words I haven't spoken aloud in years. I'm not sure if I'm ready to lay myself bare in this moment, but something in her gaze compels me.

“Yes,” she whispers, and the gentleness in her voice makes my chest ache. “Why do you really stay up here alone, Sawyer? What are you hiding from?”

I stay silent for a long moment, focusing on adjusting wires that don't need adjusting. My shoulders are tight with tension, and I can't bring myself to meet her eyes, afraid of what she might see.

“People leave,” I finally say, the words feeling raw in my throat. Each syllable costs me something, breaks down another brick in the wall I've built around myself. “Plants don't. They need you, depend on you. They don't just... disappear one day and never come back.” My voice catches on the last word, and I have to clear my throat.

“Is that what happened? Someone disappeared?”

The generator hums to life before I have to answer, but Noelle doesn't let me retreat into silence. She takes my hand again, her warm fingers threading through my cold ones, tugging until I have no choice but to face her. The understanding in her eyes is almost too much to bear.

“Well, I'm right here. I won’t disappear,” she says simply, those brown eyes searching mine in the dim light. Her free hand comes up to rest against my chest, right over my thundering heart. “What are you going to do to convince me to stay?”

The challenge in her voice makes my pulse spike, but it's the vulnerability beneath her brave words that undoes me. She's offering herself—not just physically, but emotionally—knowing I might push her away. Knowing I probably should.

I cover her hand with mine, pressing it harder against my chest so she can feel how fast my heart is beating. Her breath catches, and I watch the pulse flutter in her throat. The small space seems to shrink around us, charged with possibility.

“Noelle.” Her name comes out like a warning, or maybe a prayer. “You don't know what you're asking for.”

“I'm asking for you.” She steps closer, tilting her face up to mine. “The real you. Not the grumpy mountain man act, not the careful gardener—just you, Sawyer. Whatever that means.”

My free hand moves to cup her face, fingers brushing along her jaw. She shivers. “I'm not good at letting people in.”

“I noticed.” A small smile plays at her lips. “But you're not pushing me away either.”

She's right. Despite every instinct screaming at me to retreat, to protect myself, my body betrays me by drawing her closer. The warmth of her seeps through my clothes, and the scent of her making my head spin.

“Noelle,” I murmur, leaning down until our foreheads touch. “I'm tired of being alone.”