Snowed Under (Aspen Peaks #2)

22. Madeline

I t pained me to admit that my mother was right about anything.

And believe me, it was a rare occurrence. The time she said my obsession with spicy food was causing me to have IBS in high school? Embarrassing but very true. When she told me that her favorite drugstore mascara, an ugly brown tube with green swirly designs, was just as good as the forty-dollar one at Sephora? Painful to admit that one. When she told me again and again that I was stunting Piper’s speech? Still not over that. And last, when she swore up and down that I needed a better security system for the house.

She was right.

It wasn’t something I considered a necessity when I moved in. It required some adjusting, going from a sketchy apartment with a blind neighbor named Lewis who liked to tell me about the sounds of mice he heard in the walls and the orange oozing drip coming from my walls every time I took a lukewarm shower—since it could never get full hot—to a house in a neighborhood with an HOA. It felt a bit like being thrown onto Mars and your pilot shouting good luck as you barrel rolled into a crater.

It was Will and Savannah’s house. They’d bought it when they found out they were pregnant with baby Charlie—pre-marriage, which caused my parents to flail about the living room when they found out—and turned the cheap foreclosure into a dream house.

White-tiled showers with black grout, a sage-green front door with a golden knocker in the shape of a hummingbird, dark wooden kitchen cabinets, and white marble countertops. They took it one room at a time, finishing every space except the master bedroom. They never had the chance to finish that one. They also never put in a more updated security system than the one they’d installed almost ten years ago.

There was…some way to access it. I just didn’t know how. The only thing you could access was the driveway camera, which was black and white and so entirely grainy it looked like a sad teenager’s Pinterest mood board after their first breakup. But even trying to access that was a pain in the butt. You had to reboot this dinosaur of a desktop in Will’s old office and re-download the software and do a whole bunch of other security clearance crap that honestly seemed like more of a pain than just calling 911 the second you heard footsteps on your front porch.

Or, in this case, the rustling of plastic bags on the front porch. Prior to being a parent, I was a relatively go-with-the-flow girl. Mostly because I had been engaged to an artist who claimed that life was a never-ending movement, and you had to board the train before it left you. I didn’t understand it at the time—I still don’t—but I certainly was not a go-with-the-flow woman now. I was a baseball-bat-by-my-bed, pepper-spray-in-my-purse, self-defense-class-taking woman because my biggest fear was being caught in a position like this with my kids in the house.

I was currently perched on my knees over the couch, peeking through the blinds covering the living room window at what seemed to be a tall man in all black, hood raised, and…were those Target bags?

I shook my head. It didn’t matter. My fingers gripped the bottom of my light-blue baseball bat, which was probably made for prepubescent boys and was more than likely taken from Charlie’s donation pile. It didn’t matter.

The threat was still there when I crept to the front door and said, “I have a weapon and I will use it,” just loud enough for him to hear but not so loud I’d wake either of the kids. They didn’t know my weapon was made of hard plastic.

“Good to know.” A smooth, rich, warmed-honey voice poured through the cracks of my green front door, and my shoulders fell.

Cooper.

I cracked the door and hissed, fighting my smile but also attempting to keep myself upset, because who just drops by someone’s house without a text or even a knock? “What are you doing?”

Cooper stood there in black jeans, snow boots, and a dark gray hoodie with an Aspen Peaks logo in white font pulled up over his hair.

“Playing Santa, and you’re ruining it,” he hissed right back.

“Playing Santa for who? Also, it’s November.” I didn’t know why we were whispering, but neither of us stopped.

“You and your kids. Go back inside and pretend this didn’t happen.”

Wha—my kids? “Why?” My whisper was turning raspy quick.

“Because Half-Pint had a crappy day, and Mini Coop is my friend, and you’re—” He paused, still holding a white and red plastic bag. “You.”

“I’m me?”

“Yes!” His hushed voice was strained. “So go inside.”

“No!” I whisper shouted right back.

If this was some poor Madeline, the single aunt and broke nursing student, then I was not letting this happen. I could accept help when Piper was sick. I could accept Charlie’s private lessons for the competition next month. I could not accept Cooper Graves bringing by random gifts like some hot elf with a shopping addiction.

I opened the door a little farther and slipped out, tugging at the sleeves of my sweatshirt and ignoring the cold concrete under my fuzzy-socked feet. “Take it back.”

Cooper looked from the bags to me. His eyes met something at the top of my head—probably the bird’s nest in my hair—and he smirked ever so slightly. “I will not. You can’t make me.”

“Yes I can.” I fought back, squatting down and picking up the bags. “I do not take handouts.”

He shrugged one shoulder, and that smirk pulled further, the organ pumping in my chest pulling with it. “What makes you think this is a handout?”

“You’re…handing things out…” I said each word slowly.

“No, no, no. I’m here on official fake boyfriend business.”

I crossed my arms over my chest, now remembering that I wasn’t wearing a bra, and narrowed my eyes. “You are?”

“Yes. You see, if I were your boyfriend, it would be a regular occurrence.”

“It would?”

“Mm-hmm.” Cooper dipped his chin and let his eyes do this slow, smooth drag over my body, making me feel entirely exposed in my oversized sweatsuit. “And since your parents are entirely aware that I am your boyfriend—”

“Fake boyfriend,” I supplied. The smile in my voice was so evident that I couldn’t hide my amusement anymore.

He waved a hand. “Technicalities. Since they believe that, I feel it’s best to take on the role in all areas. In case they start looking deeper. You know, how like Jared Leto practiced for the role of the Joker.”

“So you’re the Jared Leto of fake boyfriends?”

“Precisely, Madeline. No wonder you’re a nursing student.” He reached one hand out and pressed his thumb into the dip of my chin, a perfect fit. “Smart as a tack.”

“Do you mean sharp as a tack?” I smiled.

“Ah, see what I mean? My girl’s got the brains.”

A tiny pig-like snort came out of me at that. I looked down at the bags still in Cooper’s hands before glancing to his face. That lopsided grin that I knew caused all kinds of trouble sat there while he shrugged his shoulders, lifting the bags. “I can bring them in if you want.”

A dangerous invitation, considering the kids were in bed and out like rocks, so it would be essentially Cooper and me in a house alone. Cooper, who’d kissed me better than anyone else ever had. Cooper whose hands had roamed my hips to my ass and made me feel wanted.

No, my mind reasoned. No, no, no. You will not get out of this alive. It was fake. He’d said so himself. Friends or not, attraction or not, gorgeous, full lips or not, this part of our deal was fake.

“Sure,” I answered, going against my mind. Because what did logic matter, really? “Not as a fake boyfriend, though.”

He nodded in agreement. “Fake Cooper will leave as soon as I set foot inside.”

I nodded right back. “Good.”

My hand gripped the doorknob, and I opened it, not too worried about the mess because he’d seen far worse last night, and apparently just about all of my shame had gone out the window.

Cooper followed behind me and shook his shoulders off when he got inside, like he was transforming from a frog into a prince. “Friend Cooper is here now, with some stuff that a random guy left on your porch. You know, you probably should’ve kicked him out.”

I chuckled. “I should’ve, but you know, he was just so nice, and I do love Target.”

He shrugged and lifted the bags up. “Fair.” He set them down on the old wooden bench against the wall beside him.

“You really didn’t need to do that, you know.”

“I told you: I didn’t.” He lowered his brow, and I swore if I took that face and bottled it up into some kind of pheromone booster, then women would be walking around in a trance all day long. “Go talk to that guy about it. I had nothing to do with these.”

I hummed. “Well, I’ll have to call him and say thank you.”

“You could. Sounds like a creep to me, though.”

I guffawed with my head tilted back. “Maybe he is.”

Cooper smiled at me, that real one. Not flirty, not sneaky, just an authentic smile with those straight white teeth and the most genuine green eyes. I liked that one. Friend Cooper, I thought.

We settled on the couch with a smorgasbord of food on the coffee table in front of us. Half-eaten bags of trail mix with the chocolate pieces all gone, slices of leftover cheese from sandwiches, salami and crackers, a cluster of grapes, a couple of strawberries, and a chunk of brie with local honey. The ugliest charcuterie board to ever exist.

Cooper propped his feet up on the ottoman in front of him, a plate full of our buffet on his lap, and his cheeks poking out like a squirrel preparing for winter.

“Ready?” he asked, mouth full.

After I’d asked Cooper if he was hungry, and his stomach had growled in response, I didn’t exactly have energy to cook. Not that I had the groceries to do it anyway. So pathetic charcuterie was the best we could do. As soon as we got settled on the couch, with his long legs stretched out in front of him, and his back pressed against my couch cushions, he asked if I wanted to keep up our game. It had become a ritual of sorts for us the last few times we’d seen each other—other than last night. The more we played, the more pieces of Cooper I got for myself. I liked that.

I nodded and tossed a cashew into my mouth. “You first.”

“I don’t like dark restaurants where you have to use a flashlight to read the menu.”

“Those exist?”

“Mm-hmm.” He bit into a thick slice of salami. “My mom likes stuff like that. She didn’t do it much growing up, so now she’s into all of that. Champagne, lobster, desserts with blow torches involved. You know, dark restaurants.”

I pulled my legs up onto the couch, tucking my feet under my butt. “I…” I hummed a little, trying to think. “I don’t like going on vacation, really. It kind of stresses me out.”

“Where have you been?”

“Only a few places when I was little. We did a road trip to Vegas when I was ten, but a ten-year-old can only enjoy Vegas so much.”

“You didn’t enjoy gambling with an escort?”

“You know, surprisingly, I think I just felt too mature for that. The Grand Canyon was nice, though. We stopped on the way home, mostly for pictures.”

Cooper nodded and threw a salty blue M you know? She’s all I knew, so it was impossible not to be close to her.”

I sucked in a breath. “Right.”

It was too late for me to attempt any kind of rekindling, I supposed. Our house was impossibly quiet growing up. The only sounds were Will and me playing in the backyard. If the TV was on, it was playing the news, volume low, and if music was turned on, then it was either a commercial or it was accidental. I guess it was why, when Will turned sixteen, he took me everywhere. Even when he worked, shoveling snow out of driveways, barely making anything, he would take me to Taco Bell and buy me ninety-nine-cent cinnamon twists when it was all we could afford. He would blast Taylor Swift in the car for me and drive me around as long as I begged him to.

What Lora was to Cooper, Will was to me. And I hated that I had no chance of ever having that again.

“But that’s not the norm, you know?” he added on, clearly for my benefit.

“Think about Finn and Olive. Neither of them is super close with their family. I think Ma and I are the minority here.”

“Do you think Charlie and Piper will…” How was I supposed to finish that? Stay close with me? Come see me after they have their first kiss? Not throw me into a nursing home when my time came?

“Yes.” He didn’t hesitate. “I don’t know how to explain it, but yes.”

My chin shot up, my eyes meeting his face. “Really?”

“Yeah, I just know it.”

“How so?”

“When we’re at practice, Charlie brings you up all the time.”

I scooted closer in, gasping. “Really?”

“Yes,” he laughed while he scooted closer to me too. “He talks about your favorite Clif Bars or how hard you work or how your favorite view is the sitting room at the lodge. It’s not that you’re all he talks about, but any chance he has to bring you up, trust me, he does.”

My heart grew to three times its size at that. Imagining my sweet, funny Charlie still not being too cool for me, even when I was gone.

“Ugh. I love that kid so much.” I was going to make him a leaning tower of chocolate chip pancakes for breakfast tomorrow and spend the entire time squishing his face.

“He is a really great kid.”

“Is that why you call him Mini Coop?”

“Obviously.”

“And Half-Pint?” I asked with a smile in my voice.

“Half-Pint ’cause she’s so tiny. You know, half-pint.”

“You do that a lot.”

“What?”

“The nickname thing. You have one for everyone. Mini Coop, Half-Pint, Olive Branch, Finland. Even the waitress at the café. Adele. Blonde from Tulsa.” I saw that one in his phone the other day and teased him relentlessly about an obvious booty call. A joke he didn’t find funny, apparently, because he deleted and blocked the poor girl’s number right in front of me. “Everyone except me.”

“Huh.” He bit his bottom lip and looked off to the far right, into my kitchen. “Guess I didn’t think to give you one.”

Cooper leaned closer to me, lifted one hand to my face, and closed two fingers and a thumb around my chin as he tilted my face from side to side in assessment. He squinted playfully, smirking at me, as if he was running some AI-style research to find me the perfect nickname.

He tsked and shook his head, letting the wispy ends of his hair fly around. “Can’t find one. You’re Madeline.”

I gasped. “What? I don’t get a nickname at all?”

“Nope.” He leaned in close enough for me to breathe him in. Clove. Pine. Clean laundry. Cooper. I took a deep breath in through my nose, wondering how long I could keep that scent to myself.

And just when I felt like enough of a lost cause, he looked down at my swollen lips and spoke directly to them. “I like the way Madeline tastes in my mouth.”

I snickered. “That sounds dirty.”

“It does, doesn’t it?”

It was getting so hot in this house. Heat pulsed in my palms, up my arms, puddling in my chest. Still, I leaned a little closer. He did too.

“I mean it, though.” He picked right back up, as if our proximity wasn’t causing his body to light on fire. “Madeline rolls right off my tongue.”

“That sounds even dirtier.” I didn’t know why I’d whispered it like that, but not all of my senses were with me anyway. Not when his lips were only inches from mine and he was looking at me like I was his favorite dessert.

It had been almost two weeks since that first kiss at the drive-in. And instead of the memory happily fading away into the distant part of my mind that held on to things, like algebra formulas or my high school’s alma mater, that kiss was all I could think about when he was around. The way we tasted together, how perfectly I rested against him, how his large hands gripped me. It was like I had been towing this line for days now, trying to avoid dipping over the edge and picturing him kissing me all over again. And now I was right on the line, wondering if I could somehow pull this off one more time.

So when his hand reach for me, resting on my knee pushing against his, I gave up any resolve that logical Madeline was holding on to.

“It does…doesn’t it?” He repeated the phrase, and maybe it wasn’t meant as an innuendo, but it sure felt like one.

We kept our eyes locked on each other when my hand trailed down to his, fingernails grazing over the back of his hand and up to his forearm to trace the veins exposed below his sleeve.

“I think it’s just because we kissed before.”

Cooper laughed, deep and throaty, in this way that felt erotic and entirely wrong. “Oh, is that what we’re blaming it on?” His free hand lifted to the side of my face and tucked a tendril of hair that curled around my cheekbone behind my ear. “’Cause I’ve wanted this since way before I first kissed you.”

The knowledge of that alone had me squeezing my knees together and the room temperature rising another five degrees.

Our lips met, careful and slow, in the softest kiss. Softer than the drive-in, softer than I dreamed of at night. Blissful, that’s what this was. And, unfortunately for us both, as soon as things began to turn heavy, a cry came from Piper’s room.