Confetti Hearts (Confetti Hitched, #1)(66)

Looking back at me, he exclaims, “Come here.”

“I’m trying,” I huff. “It’s just that your legs are a lot longer than mine.”

He takes my hand in his, and even with my gloves, the old tingle emerges. Holding hands seems to steady us both, and we begin to move more quickly.

“Who’s got Humphrey while you’re away?” he asks.

“Raff. He sent me a message earlier on asking if cats ate human flesh.”

He starts to laugh. “Why?”

Snow goes down my neck, and I edge closer to his big frame. “Apparently, he woke up to Humphrey staring at him.” I roll my eyes. “The poor cat has probably never seen such a drunken mess.”

“Surely that can’t be true. He’s lived with you all these years.” I glare and he chuckles. “I miss Humphrey,” he admits.

“That’s because you’re the only person he tolerates.”

We finally reach the wood store—a covered area nestled against the back of the hotel—and I stamp my feet and bang my hands together as Lachlan inspects it with the concentration of a drill sergeant.

“W-will you be long?” I say through chattering teeth, my breath emerging in white gusts. “I’ve just realised that I much prefer looking at snow through a window with a hot toddy in my hand.”

He grins affectionately at me. “You prefer doing everything with a hot toddy.”

“Well, it can’t be d-denied that they make things much nicer. And w-warmer.” He steps away and dusts his hands off. “What’s the verdict?”

“I’ll have to cut some more wood.”

“You?”

“Yes, me. Who else? Frances?”

“She could slice the logs with her tongue.”

He laughs. “There’s a fair bit already cut, but it won’t be enough if the power goes off and we’re stuck here.”

“Are we definitely trapped here?”

“Rather dramatic, darling. The hotel got five rosettes last year.”

“Anywhere with this family is a trap of unrepressed hostility,” I say gloomily, ignoring the endearment with difficulty.

He sets off back round the hotel, and I tramp along after him placing my feet in his tracks again. “Where are we going?” I ask. “Is it back inside to sit by the fire?”

He pauses with his hands on his hips, looking assessingly at the drive. “I’m going to have a quick look at the lane and see how deep the snow is.”

“What? Really?”

He nods. “You go in, Joe. I can do this on my own.”

I fold my arms over my chest. “No way. I’ll stay out here in case you need me.” I pause. “Try not to need me unless you’re actually dying though, Lachie. I detest being wet.” I stop talking and stare at him. He looks as if I just struck him over the head. “You okay? What’s the matter? Have you got snow somewhere unmentionable? You’re very talented with your unmentionables, so maybe don’t get them frostbitten.”

“You called me Lachie.”

I blink. “No, I didn’t.”

He nods. “Yes, you did. You haven’t done that since we were together.”

He’s right. I started calling him it a few days into being married because I love nicknames. If I care about you, I will always shorten your name in some way.

“I’m sorry. I know you don’t like it,” I say.

He stares at me. “What the fuck makes you say that?”

I shrug. “You never displayed any fondness for nicknames. You didn’t use one for me.”

“Your name is Joe. There isn’t much shortening of that.”

“True.” I groan. “Don’t make a big deal out of it,” I warn him.

“No, of course not,” he says solemnly, his eyes dancing.

“It’s just because we’re here, and it feels like we’re friends now.”

“We are.” He steps closer and tugs a lock of hair that’s escaped my hat. “Don’t stop,” he orders. “I like it.”

“Well, you know how I do live to please you.”

“Really? And yet despite your best efforts not to, you still manage it every day. Okay.” He steps back. “I may be some time.”

“That’s rather too much like Titus Oates for me to be comfortable.”

“There are other men who’ve said it far more than him in history.”

“Who?”

“Any man who’s had to wait for you to get ready.”

“You’re so funny,” I say sourly, my lips twitching at his husky laughter.

Finally, he gets himself under control. “I’m just going to see how far I can get down the lane.”

“Okay, but be careful,” I say anxiously and then try to backtrack. “Of course, I’d say that to anyone.”

“How about Jeffery Dahmer?”

“Well, he’d probably be an easier guest. At least you wouldn’t have to cook for him. Be careful,” I shout after him as he strides out into the snow. I shield my eyes from the wind and snowflakes, watching him as he makes his way down the drive. “Maybe you should tie yourself to something so you can find your way back.”