CHAPTER THREE
1200 Words
The next morning felt like waking up inside a snow globe someone kept shaking.
Amara blinked her eyes open, momentarily disoriented by the rustic cabin walls and the faint crackle of the fireplace. Then it hit her the storm, the man, the attitude. Ethan Hale.
Her host, her accidental roommate, and apparently, her own personal Grinch.
The clock by the bedside table read 7:13 a.m. She stretched, groaning softly as her body adjusted to the chill that crept through even the thickest blankets. Her phone buzzed under the pillow dead. No signal, no messages, no Wi-Fi.
Perfect. Stranded, snowed-in, and social media invisible.
She stumbled into the living room wearing one of Ethan’s oversized flannel shirts she’d found neatly folded in a drawer it had been too cold to sleep in her silk pyjamas. She had just reached for the kettle when his voice broke the silence like a crack of thunder.
“That’s mine.”
Amara froze. Ethan stood at the far end of the room, half-dressed in a grey thermal shirt and sweatpants, holding a steaming mug of coffee. His hair was tousled unfairly perfect and his expression, as usual, unreadable.
She arched a brow. “I wasn’t going to steal it. Just making tea. Or is that against your house rules too?”
“You already broke half of them,” he replied flatly, walking past her to set his mug down.
Amara turned fully to face him, hands on hips. “You’re unbelievable. You act like letting me stay here is some massive inconvenience when you literally offered it.”
“Offered,” he repeated. “Not invited. There’s a difference.”
The nerve.
Her jaw dropped. “You’re welcome for saving your daughter from being bored out of her mind, by the way.”
Ethan paused mid-motion. His eyes flicked toward her, icy blue but edged with heat. “Lily doesn’t need saving.”
“Right. Because watching you brood all day sounds like a party,” she muttered, pouring water into the kettle.
He exhaled slowly, as though holding back a dozen unspoken words. “I don’t do parties.”
“No surprise there,” she said under her breath but not quietly enough.
He turned, jaw tightening. “You’re loud in the morning.”
She smiled sweetly. “And you’re rude before coffee. So we’re even.”
Lily padded into the room then, her curls messy and her stuffed reindeer clutched tight.
“Good morning,” she said sleepily, smiling up at Amara. “You smell like cinnamon rolls.”
Amara laughed, heart softening for the little girl. “That’s just my perfume, sweetheart.”
Ethan’s eyes flicked toward her a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face before he looked away.
“Lily, go get dressed. We’ll make breakfast in a minute.”
“But I want to help Miss Amara”
“Lily.” His tone was gentle but firm. The kind that ended arguments.
The little girl sighed dramatically and stomped off toward her room.
As soon as she was gone, Amara rounded on him again. “You don’t have to shut her down like that.”
He met her gaze without flinching. “You don’t have to interfere in how I raise my child.”
The air went thick tense and silent except for the popping of wood in the fireplace.
Amara swallowed hard, unwilling to let him win this one. “I wasn’t interfering. I was trying to be kind. You should try it sometime.”
Ethan took a step closer just enough to make her pulse trip. “And you should remember whose house you’re in.”
Her heart pounded, but she lifted her chin. “Gladly. Hard to forget when the owner reminds me every five minutes.”
He stared at her for a long beat before turning away. “Stay out of my way, Amara.”
“Oh, don’t worry. I’d rather be snowed in with a polar bear.”
He didn’t answer but the corner of his mouth twitched, the faintest hint of amusement breaking through the storm between them.
The day dragged on in silence.
Ethan retreated into his office at the back of the cabin, while Amara roamed the house like a restless ghost.
She tried to work editing a video she’d planned to post about her “magical mountain retreat” but the irony was unbearable. There was nothing magical about being trapped with a man who barely looked her way.
By afternoon, she gave up pretending to be productive and wandered toward the back porch. The snow was still falling thick, blanketing the world in white. She wrapped herself in a plaid blanket and stepped outside, inhaling the sharp, clean air.
It was peaceful until the crunch of footsteps behind her shattered it.
“You shouldn’t stand out here too long. It’s freezing.”
Ethan. Again. Always calm, always in control, always right.
“I’m fine,” she said without turning. “You can stop acting like I’m fragile.”
“You’re not fragile,” he said quietly. “You’re reckless.”
She spun around. “Excuse me?”
He stepped closer, his breath misting in the air between them. “You booked a trip halfway across the world without checking weather reports, insulted a stranger online, and now you’re standing barefoot in the snow with a cold coming on.”
She glanced down okay, maybe the no shoes thing wasn’t her best moment. “It’s called living a little, Mr. Hale. You should try it sometime.”
“Some of us don’t have the luxury of ‘living a little,’ Miss Cole.”
Something in his tone cut deeper than she expected.
Amara blinked, unsure how to respond. “Meaning?”
“Meaning I have responsibilities. A child. A company. A life that doesn’t stop for snowstorms or”
He hesitated, his eyes darkening. “or strangers who think everything is content.”
That hit her square in the chest.
She wanted to fire back to defend herself, her career, her choices but for the first time, she saw something raw in his expression. Tiredness. Grief, maybe.
Still, she wasn’t ready to surrender.
“Maybe strangers are the only ones brave enough to tell you when you’ve built walls too high,” she said softly.
Ethan’s gaze met hers sharp, conflicted.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The air between them hummed with something neither wanted to name.
Then he turned and walked back inside without another word.
That night, the storm howled louder. Power flickered.
Amara sat by the fire with her laptop, trying to type, but every word blurred into thoughts of him his calm voice, his infuriating restraint, the way his eyes lingered when he thought she wasn’t looking.
In the next room, she could hear him reading softly to Lily.
The warmth in his tone the tenderness he tried so hard to hide sent a pang straight through her chest.
When silence finally fell, Amara whispered into the dim room,
“You’re impossible, Ethan Hale. And I can’t decide if I hate you or if you’re the reason my heart won’t stay still.”
- Writer
