Chapter 21: Pancakes

I woke at the lodge with a bite on my neck and a man's arm across my waist.

Two feelings sat in my chest that weren't mine.

One was a warm contentment.

The other was a flash of panic, and it came from the kitchen.

I put on his shirt and followed it.

Dalton stood in the middle of the room in his jeans with a skillet in one hand and a cookbook in the other.

"You're up," he said.

"You're panicking."

"I am not."

"There's smoke."

He looked at the skillet.

"Imogen is bringing the twins in half an hour," he said, "and I don't know what six-year-olds eat."

I took the skillet out of his hand.

"Pancakes," I said. "Milo wants a dinosaur, and Polly wants hers plain."

I turned down the heat.

"Neither of them will admit the other one's is better."

"How do you know that?"

"I raised them."

He bent and kissed the bite mark on my neck, very gently, and I felt him feel it.

It was so strange.

I felt his pride, and underneath it a nervousness I'd have bet money he'd never admit.

"Stop that," I said. "I can hear you worrying."

"You can hear me?"

"All the way down my spine."

He grinned.

It lit his whole face.

I felt his happiness, bright and sudden, and I turned back to the stove so he wouldn't see mine.

They arrived at nine.

Imogen got out of her borrowed car first, with her hands wrapped around her elbows.

She looked at the lodge and didn't move.

The twins shot past her and up the steps.

"Mama!" Polly shouted.

"Is that a real fireplace?" Milo yelled. "Are there bears?"

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