Private North by Tess Oliver

grew acutely aware of the fact that we were completely alone.
    He paused and stared at me for a long moment before speaking. “So, what horrible family event did you escape in agreeing to come here and hide between boxes of old stuff?”
    “My parents decided to spend the holiday in the south of France, and I didn’t want to go.”
    He smiled. “Your parents must be monsters.”
    “You wouldn’t understand.” I swallowed back the bitter disappointment that still crept up when I thought about it.
    “Try me.” He adjusted his long legs and his walking stick fell to the floor.
    I jumped up to retrieve it. I picked it up and his fingers intentionally wrapped around mine as I handed it back to him. Static charges raced up my arm as I released my grasp on the stick. He patted the window seat next to him.
    I sat down hesitantly. It was rare for me to be unsettled by any guy but this one could do it just by walking into the room. “I wanted to spend the holiday at home, with just my family.” Once I’d said it the rest of my plight just spilled out. “I wanted to bake with my mom. I can count the number of times we’ve baked cookies together on one finger and that was only because it was a project for her woman’s club. I wanted to cook Christmas dinner with her and hang out in the kitchen all day and set the table with everyday plates and paper napkins and enjoy the day like—” I stopped, not knowing how to finish without sounding like a snob.
    But it was too late. “Like us regular folk?”
    I shook my head. “Told you you wouldn’t understand.” I got up but he grabbed my wrist before I could walk away.
    “You’re right. I don’t understand Christmas in the south of France.” He looked up at me. I tried desperately to find a flaw in his face, something that I could find unappealing, but there was nothing. “But I do understand how cool it is to spend a day in the kitchen making a mess, burning food and tasting so much frosting you’re ready to puke your guts up by the time dinner comes.” He peered up at me and the mixture of physical and emotional pain that seemed to be a permanent part of his expression sharpened.  “I’m sorry you didn’t get your Christmas wish.” He unwrapped his fingers from around my wrist.
    “I’m going to walk out now because just hearing my complaints out loud makes me wish I hadn’t said them. I’m sure as I leave the room, you’ll be thinking about what an annoying, spoiled rich girl I am.”
    He made a point of looking at me from head to toe and back again and then he rested his head back against the window pane and gazed from beneath long, black lashes. “I assure you, that’s the last thing I’ll be thinking about when I watch you walk out of this room.”

Chapter 8
    I bundled from head to toe and pulled the hood of my parka up over my head. The sun was shining brightly, but the chill in the air felt like tiny blades hitting my cheeks as I followed Ethan out to the shed. Keeping my face down did little to soften the impact of the harsh temperatures. Ethan’s large feet left deep, defined impressions in the snow, and I stretched my legs to follow them. It was a survival tactic I’d developed after moving to a snowy climate and landing too often in deep holes of icy quicksand. As I kept my focus on Ethan’s footprints, I noticed a trail of odd footprints next to us, one clear print paralleled by a small trench and a deep hole. Dalton must have gone out ahead of us. I looked at Ethan’s strong, unhindered tracks and then stared at the uneven footprints and a sadness that was colder than the surrounding air sent a chill through me.
    “Is it my imagination or is it far more freezing up here than down on campus?”
    Ethan glanced back over his shoulder. “Not your imagination. We’re at a much higher elevation, and when the sky is clear up here, the wind can cut you like a sharp knife.” He looked back again. “You’ll warm up once we start