With Cole’s help, they made short work of completing their snow friend, accessorizing with a battered ball cap and frayed scarf donated by Lori. They created facial features with decorative river rocks filched from the flower beds. It had started to snow again, to the children’s delight. Another half inch was predicted on top of the six inches that had collected during the night. Stevie figured the snowman would survive a day or two before the warmer temperatures forecast for later in the week melted him away.
After being summoned for lunch by their mother, the siblings politely thanked Stevie and Cole for their assistance in building “the best snowman ever!” They tramped reluctantly inside their house when their mother called out again. Stevie grimaced sympathetically as she imagined the wet mess of clothing and puddles Lori would deal with, but maybe the busy mom would consider it a fair trade-off for the hour of volunteer babysitting. From the open doorway, with Everly on her hip, she called out an offer of hot chocolate, but they declined cordially.
“Though, actually, hot chocolate sounds like a good idea,” Stevie confided to Cole as they tramped across the street. She wiped snowflakes from her eyelashes with the back of one damp glove. “I’m freezing.”
“Your jeans are wet from rolling around in the snow with Charlotte. You should get into dry clothes.”
She noted he’d stayed much drier, maybe because he’d been a little less enthusiastic about getting down in the snow, she admitted with a grin.
“Come in, if you have time,” she said, motioning toward her house. “I make a mean mug of cocoa.”
“That sounds really—”
His right foot slipped on a slick spot on her driveway. Flailing comically, he went down flat on his back in the snow. Stevie almost burst into laughter at the funny expression he made as he lay there, but she managed to contain her amusement to a grin.
“Are you hurt?” she asked, though she could tell at a glance that he’d damaged only his pride.
Very deliberately, he spread his arms and legs into Vs, then climbed to his feet, surveying the resulting snow angel with a nod of satisfaction. “I meant to do that.”
Delighted by his quick wit, she laughed and tucked a hand companionably beneath his arm. “Let’s go get warm.”
“Sounds good to me,” he said, covering her hand with his own. And though they both wore gloves, she could still feel the warmth of his touch spreading through her.
* * *
Having shed their wet boots on the porch, Cole insisted that Stevie change into dry clothes before she played hostess. She left him to wash up in the guest bath while she ducked into her bedroom to change into a loose sweater and leggings. Fluffing her curls with her hands, she gave herself a quick once-over in the full-length, silver-framed, art deco mirror that coordinated with her sage, silver and cream French deco bedroom furnishings. Her cheeks and nose were still pink from the cold but she resisted an impulse to touch up her minimal makeup for her guest’s benefit. After all, it was just Cole, right?
Her country French kitchen was her favorite room in the house. The walls were warm sage, the cabinets knotty pecan with leaded glass inserts, the counters brown-and-tan granite with antique bronze hardware. Cole joined her there, looking casually at ease in his sweater, jeans and wool socks. His dark hair was disheveled from the hat he’d removed, and her fingers itched with a sudden urge to play in those thick, unruly waves. She opened the refrigerator instead. “How about a sandwich before we drink our cocoa? Playing in the snow always gives me an appetite.”
“Sounds good, if it’s not too much trouble. What can I do to help?”
When they sat down to lunch, to her relief, he didn’t bring up her pregnancy. He merely ate his grilled cheddar-and-tomato sandwiches and munched salt-and-vinegar chips while she babbled nervously about everything and anything—except her predicament.
After the dishes were cleared away, they moved to the living room with steaming cups of cocoa topped with marshmallows. She’d indulged her love of eclectic European and American deco design in here, too. Flames crackled among the gas logs in the fireplace framed in white-painted carved wood, spreading warmth through the room. With her feet curled comfortably beneath her, she sat on the dove-gray couch that faced the fireplace. Cole had settled in a tapestry armchair near her end of the couch. She couldn’t help admiring the way the firelight brought out the highlights in his hair.
“I’ve always liked this room,” he commented, stretching his legs in front of him toward the fire. “It always impresses me that it can look so classy yet still be so comfortable. Not fussy and formal like some people’s decorated places.”
Pleased by the comments, she beamed. “That’s exactly what I aim for in my decorating. Stylish, but welcoming. Home design is meant to be enjoyed. Lived in, not just admired or photographed.”
He nodded in approval. “That’s as it should be. I’ve always said it was a waste to have furniture you can’t sit on or carpet you feel guilty walking on. Tasha—”
He stopped talking and took a sip of his cocoa.
She swirled her beverage gently in her mug to better distribute the melting marshmallows. “Natasha agreed with your design aesthetic?” she prodded gently. She was curious to hear more about the woman he’d married, but she didn’t want to cause him pain talking about her.
He shrugged, his expression wry. “She wasn’t really into decorating. As long as she had a comfortable chair for reading, she was happy.”
“She liked to read?”
“Almost obsessively, especially as her health declined and there was little else she could do.”
“Was she sick for a long time?”
“Yes,” he replied quietly.
And Cole had taken care of her during that time. She had no doubt that Natasha had received the best of care from him. Unlike most of the men in her own past, Cole wasn’t the type to walk away from his responsibilities and commitments, even when those challenges were daunting. Any woman who captured his heart would be very fortunate, indeed, she thought a bit wistfully.
“Do you have plans for the day?” he asked, and it couldn’t be more obvious that he wanted to change the subject.