Mr. February: an older man, curvy younger woman short instalove romance (The Firefighters Calendar Book 2) by Kate Tilney

Author:Kate Tilney [Tilney, Kate]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2021-01-28T16:00:00+00:00

Four

CARIS

I wake with a gasp. Pressing a hand to my chest, I take deep breaths of air, willing my heart to slow down. Pushing myself up in bed, I pull my knees close as I focus on my breathing.

I had the dream again.

It always starts the same. Something happens. I set the oven on fire—again. I stumble in the garage. I can’t find the remote control. The set-up is always different, but it always leads to the same place. I call Dawson for help. He appears. And I show him my gratitude in ways that make me blush to remember.

The dull ache is back between my thighs. I consider taking care of it—again. But it’s no use. No matter what I do, I’ll still be left unsatisfied.

I’m beginning to realize I’ll never know the true release unless I give in to the urge and jump Dawson. Just to get it out of my system.

Sighing, I throw back the covers and pad to the kitchen to get a drink of water. As I fill a glass, I glance out the window. My breath catches.

“It snowed.”

Again.

Three years in Florida, and I forgot how much snowfall we really get up here in the great north.

It doesn’t look like it was too bad of a storm. Just an inch or two of fresh dust. The perfect kind for making snow angels. I grin at that. How long has it been since I played in the snow? I’m pretty sure my high school friends and I went sledding on a snow day our senior year. But we were more interested in snapping photos for our social media than really giving into the nostalgia.

What’s holding me back from doing it now?

I’m out the door a few moments later. Still dressed in my pajamas, I’ve pulled on my coat, hat, gloves, and winter boots. My breath comes out in clouds of fog as I stomp through the untouched snow behind the duplex.

Where should I make my angel? There are so many choices.

Gosh, I’m really overthinking this. I’m not about to perform rocket surgery. I’m just going to make a snow angel. And if this one doesn’t turn out exactly the way I’d like, I’ll just make another. And another. Heck, I could make an army of angels out here.

Taking a deep breath, I close my eyes and fall back into the snow. Cold wraps around me, seeping into my bones. But after a second, it isn’t so bad.

Laughing, I swish my arms and legs, making the robes and wings. After I’ve flailed about at least ten times, I push myself up and take a look at my work.

“Not bad,” I muse to myself.

“What on Earth are you doing?”

My spine straightens at the voice. But it isn’t out of fear. No, I know who belongs to that deep voice that seems to rumble in my bones. Slowly, I turn around and come face to face with Dawson.

Like me, he’s still in his pajamas—or at least a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt.

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