9. Bella

9

BELLA

I didn't quite account for the way my nervous system would react every time I laid eyes on River. Sure, I thought I'd run into him sooner or later—but being stuck with him in a small cabin for God knows how long? Fate has a funny way of messing around with me. I sigh as I wake up in bed, my body weary after a fitful night's sleep. It isn't the bed's fault. The pillows are fluffy, the sheets are soft, and the heater works just fine. It's simply the damning knowledge that the man I hate and love with equal force is in the same place as I am, snoring away peacefully while I burn.

My brows crease as I push away the covers and throw my legs over the edge of the bed, letting them cozy into a pair of cute bunny slippers. Seriously, I'd expected it to be calm enough here for me to write my book, read stuff, sip cocoa, and also find closure. Clearly, I can't do most of these things right now when my brain is this fried, but I can get that cocoa. With a low sigh, I pad across the wooden floor in my fuzzy slippers.

The cabin is pretty, unimaginably so. It could be from a Hallmark card. I go down the stairs and through the living room into the kitchen. In there, my eyes fall on the marshmallows sitting on the counter. Perfect. Hopefully, this place also has cocoa.

It does, I realize with relief once I open one of the kitchen cabinets and find various tins and boxes loaded with spices and powders. One of them is filled to the brim with a rich brown powder that smells of chocolate with undertones of coffee. I pry open the lid and inhale the scent appreciatively. After setting it down on the counter, I hunt around until I find a perfect pan to boil milk.

A quick raid of the fridge later, I've discovered a jug of cream—just what I need right now. Humming a tune to myself, I set the pan down and pour adequate milk into it before I begin heating it over a low flame. A stick of cinnamon goes in for added flavor, and then a bit of cardamom essence.

A small smile tugs at my lips as I stir the milk, a scene from my childhood flashing through my mind. It was a snowy winter day, the kind where the world is blanketed in white, and everything seems quiet and still. I was about seven years old, bundled up in a puffy snowsuit that made me look like a marshmallow, sledding down a hill with my best friend, Lily.

We had spent hours trudging up the slope, our sleds bumping along behind us. Each time we reached the top, breathless and giggling, we would plop down on our sleds and hurtle down the icy slope, the wind whipping through our hair. On one particularly daring run, we decided to link our sleds together, hoping to double the speed and fun.

But our plan had backfired. Instead of a smooth ride, we ended up spinning out of control, our sleds tangled together as we tumbled through the snow. I remembered the muffled laughter as we untangled ourselves, snow dusting our faces and clinging to our eyelashes. We were freezing, soaked, and exhausted, but we couldn't stop giggling. It was a disaster, but it was our disaster, and in that moment, nothing else mattered.

A smile plays at the corner of my lips as I concentrate on the gentle warmth emanating from the milk. As I'm stirring the pan, a deep voice from behind makes me almost jump out of my skin.

"Well, well, what are we up to here?"

I spin around, my heart skipping a beat as I see Marcus leaning against the doorframe, a twinkle in his eyes. Goddammit, it's so unfair that the men I'm stuck with here are this handsome—and somehow, I have a sudden craving that has nothing to do with the hot chocolate.

Okay, stay calm here, Bella.

"Just a little something to warm me up," I deadpan with what I hope is perfect nonchalance, holding up the bag of marshmallows.

"Hot cocoa?" he asks, a wicked grin spreading across his face. "My specialty."

"Oh, really?" I challenge, raising an eyebrow. "I happen to be quite the cocoa connoisseur myself, but if you think you can do better…"

His lower lip twitches in an almost smile. "I believe I may impress you."

I nod and step back. "Have at it, then."

"Is that so?" He steps into the kitchen, his presence filling the space. "Perhaps we should have a little competition, then."

I step back and let Marcus take over. He strides into the kitchen with the confidence of a seasoned chef, rolling up his sleeves. I cross my arms, trying to maintain my composure, but the way his muscles flex as he reaches for the cocoa makes it nearly impossible.

He inspects the milk I've already warmed, nodding appreciatively. "Good start," he says, glancing at me. "But let's take it up a notch."

Marcus adds a few more slabs of dark chocolate to the pan, stirring until they melt into the milk, turning it a rich, velvety brown. The smell is intoxicating, a blend of chocolate, cinnamon, and cardamom that fills the kitchen.

He grabs the cinnamon stick, giving it a playful twirl before dropping it into the pan. "This is where the magic happens," he says, adding a pinch of salt and a touch of vanilla extract. "It's all about the layers of flavor."

I bite my lip, trying to focus on the cocoa instead of the way his shirt clings to his back. "You really know your way around a kitchen," I murmur.

He turns to me, his eyes darkening. "I know my way around a few things," he says, his voice low and husky.

Heat pools in my stomach, and I struggle to find something to say. "What's next, chef?"

He smirks, reaching for a whisk. "We whisk," he says simply, his biceps flexing as he beats the mixture into a frothy delight. "And then we taste."

He dips a spoon into the cocoa, blowing on it gently before offering it to me. "Here, try this."

I lean in, my lips brushing against the spoon as I taste the rich, creamy cocoa. It's like a warm hug in a cup, the flavors perfectly balanced. "Wow," I breathe. "That's incredible."

Marcus watches me, his gaze intense. "Glad you like it."

He gives a half-smile, the kind that makes my stomach do a little flip. "Turns out, being alone can surprise you," he says, his voice low and a little rough around the edges. "It wasn't easy at first, I'll admit."

I sneak a look at him, my heart beating a little faster. "Did you…?"

He's got this quiet strength about him, like he's been through a lot but come out the other side. He doesn't shy away from my question. "Lost my wife a while back," he says, his eyes holding a mix of sadness and warmth. "The whole 'single guy' thing? Not really my scene. She was…it, you know?" A small smile tugs at his lips. "But she'd tell me to live my life, not get stuck in the past."

Damn, my eyes are welling up. "Marcus, I…"

He raises a hand, stopping me. "Don't even start with the apologies, Bella. Heard it all before." His gruff voice softens a bit. "I'm okay now. Enough to want the things my wife wanted for me. Someone to share life with, see the world…all that jazz. But the quiet's been good, too. Didn't want to mess with it…until now."

Until now . Heat floods my cheeks, and I swear I've got goosebumps. Is this really happening?

I clear my throat, feeling the air crackle. "Okay, my turn," I say, taking the whisk from him. "I want to try."

He steps back, but his eyes never leave me. I focus on the cocoa, trying to replicate his technique. I add a bit more chocolate, a touch more cinnamon, and whisk it until it's frothy. But I can't shake the feeling of his eyes on me, and my hands start to tremble.

Marcus moves closer, his body brushing against mine. "Need a hand?" he murmurs, his breath warm against my ear.

I shiver, my heart racing. "I think I've got it," I say, but my voice betrays me, shaking as much as my hands.

He places his hands over mine, steadying them. "Just like this," he whispers, guiding me through the motions. His touch is electric, sending sparks through my veins.

We stand there, bodies pressed together, the cocoa forgotten as the heat between us builds. I can feel his breath on my neck, his chest rising and falling against my back. "Marcus," I breathe, barely able to speak.

"Yes?" His whisper is now on my throat, sending a fiery trail of goosebumps up my skin. And then, before I can say anything, I feel him stiffen. It's like one moment, he's craving me as much as I do him—and then, nothing. He clears his throat and takes one step back. "I apologize," he murmurs in a husky voice. "That was incredibly out of line."

I turn back to look at him, regret in my eyes. "You…" It’s for the best, though. For one thing, River is here, and I have no idea if I can handle all those emotions right now. I offer a dry smile to Marcus. "No, don't apologize. It wasn’t the moment, right?"

He returns it with a small smile of his own. "Yes. Let's say that. The moment."

I clear my throat and wheel around, feeling much more comfortable now that I'm not looking at him. "Do we have any news on the storm?"

The torrential flow of snow has somewhat lessened, although it's still pouring down outside. In all my life, I've never seen a snowstorm like this. Marcus' feet move backward and he retreats to a window. When I turn, cup of cocoa in hand, relishing the warmth seeping into my fingers, he's looking outside, his face glum. "It's the snowstorm of the decade," he intones quietly. "Even if it does dissipate soon, we won't get anything done for a few days, maybe a week."

"Yeah." I take a sip of the cocoa, allowing the heat and the bittersweet richness to coat my tongue. "I kind of figured."

Not sure about what to do next, I begin moving toward the living room once again, intending to run upstairs with my cup. Marcus chuckles, his eyes still fixed out the window. "Finish your drink, Isabella. I'll leave you to it."

I watch him go, my body parched for more than cocoa. His footsteps fade down the hallway, and I'm left with the lingering warmth of his touch. Taking a deep breath, I lift the mug to my lips and savor the rich, creamy chocolate. It's delicious, but it doesn't quite satisfy the craving simmering within me.

Breakfast is a quick affair—just some toast and fruit—before I head back upstairs to my room. I sit at the desk, opening my laptop to work on my novel. The cabin is quiet, save for the occasional crackle of the fire downstairs and the soft patter of snow against the windows. It should be the perfect environment for writing, but my mind keeps drifting back to Marcus.

Pushing the thoughts aside, I dive into my story, the words flowing as I lose myself in the fictional world. Hours pass in a blur, the only interruptions being my occasional stretch and sip of water. The afternoon light begins to fade, casting a soft glow over the room. My eyes start to feel heavy, and I decide to take a nap.

I settle onto the bed, pulling the cozy quilt over me. The cabin's warmth and the steady fall of the snow outside lull me into a deep sleep.

Suddenly, I'm dreaming. In my dream, the cabin feels warmer, more intimate. I'm in the living room, the fire roaring, casting flickering shadows on the walls. Marcus and River are there, their gazes locked on me with an intensity that makes my heart race. They move closer, their bodies brushing against mine, and I can feel the heat radiating off them.

Marcus' hands slide up my arms, pulling me against him. "Bella," he murmurs, his voice husky. The sound of my name on his lips sends a shiver down my spine.

River steps behind me, his hands resting on my hips. "You're so beautiful," he whispers, his breath hot against my ear. "I've missed you."