Page 47 of Breaking the Ice
“Yes.” I wait a beat before adding, “I feel sorry for the guy who comes after you, because there’s no way he’s ever going to be able to make me feel the things you do.”
Zach’s eyes narrow slightly. “Let’s not talk about who comes next. I agree that I’m only in Maple Falls for a few weeks, but neither of us knows what will happen after that.”
“Zach,” I tell him. “I don’t live my life just for me. I have a mother to take care of. I have to stay here to do that.”
“I know what your obligations are. I’m simply suggesting that we take things one day at a time and don’t overthink the outcome. Can you do that?”
“Theoretically, yes,” I tell him.
“Theoretically?”
“I don’t want to get hurt, Zach, but you kiss like a man who has the power to hurt me.”
“If I have the power to hurt you, you have an equal ability to do the same to me.”
“I didn’t think of it like that.” It’s an intense thought to realize that Zach doesn’t hold himself above me. That in the land of love, we’re on equal footing.
“So, we’ll take things one step at a time and see what happens?”
I nod my head slowly. “Okay.”
And just like that, I wonder what I’ve agreed to. A few days ago, I hated the ground Zachary Hart walked on and now I’m giving him the ability to mess with my emotions. What in the world is happening here, and more importantly, why would I ever want it to stop?
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Zach
Ellie Butler is a conundrum. She’s fiery, self-assured, and determined, but at the same time she’s sweet, vulnerable, and fragile. She’s unlike any other woman I’ve been with before. In fact, she’s unlike any other woman at all.
Most of the ladies I’ve dated have been driven to get what they want, whether that be the fame that comes with a connection to me or the kind of financial trappings they expect me to provide in a relationship. Even though Ellie has agreed to take my money, she’s only doing so to help her mother. She’s not looking to aid her own lifestyle. It makes me want to open my wallet and hand her the contents. Yet, I know she wouldn’t take more than we’ve already agreed upon.
I understand her worry over what will happen between us when I leave, but there’s no way of knowing. All we can do is live life in the moment. If something long-term is meant to be, it will be. And if not, I will be left with the sweetest memories of my lifetime.
“Our baked potatoes are probably done,” I tell her. “Should we head back up to my cabin?”
She tries to gracefully stand up, but the nature of the hammock makes such a maneuver impossible. Wrapping my arm around her waist, I say, “Let’s swing back and forth and on the count of three we’ll stand up together.”
While the plan seemed sound, it takes us four tries before we’re finally free of the tree swing’s gravitational pull. Ellie laughs loudly. “It’s only a hammock for one so it’s a miracle we got up at all.”
While walking up the path hand in hand to my cabin, I can tell Ellie is still uncertain about our agreement to take things as they come. But I’m not going to let that bother me. I’m simply going to keep letting her know what a remarkable woman I think she is and how much I like her. Eventually, she’ll have to believe me.
Opening the door, I let Ellie go in ahead of me. “It smells good in here,” she says.
“Just wait until I get the steaks going. I’m going to broil them, if that’s okay with you.”
“I love steak no matter how it’s cooked,” she says before asking, “Do you have ingredients for a salad? I’m happy to put one together.”
I point to the fridge. “I have enough fixings for an army.”
We spend the next several minutes working alongside each other in the tiny kitchen. It feels intimate and domestic. Both of my kitchens, in Beverly Hills and Malibu, are big enough for entire hockey teams to easily work without getting in each other’s way. But I like when my arm brushes against Ellie’s. I like having her so close I can lean over and give her a peck on the lips whenever inspiration hits.
After pulling the steaks out of the oven, she asks, “Do you cook a lot at home?”
“Hardly ever,” I tell her. “I eat out a lot and order take out. I find that I don’t like to cook for one.”
She gives me the briefest side eye. “Don’t you ever cook for anyone else?” Her meaning is clear. She wants to know if I cook for other women.
“I occasionally cook for Belle, but only when she stays late.”