Snowed In with Her Ex

I heard his truck before I saw it, the familiar low growl as it crunched over fresh snow. I opened the door before he could knock.

“You’re cutting it close,” I said.

“Forecast said light flurries,” he shrugged, stomping snow from his boots. “Didn’t expect a blizzard.”

Eli stepped inside like he belonged, like it hadn’t been months since I last saw him.

He looked the same and entirely different. The same messy hair, same warm whiskey eyes. But he carried something heavier now; a tiredness, a quiet weight I hadn’t seen before.

It was just going to be a quick pickup. His camping gear. A few records. The hoodie I still wore sometimes when no one was around.

He still smelled like cedar.

We were supposed to be good now. Friendly. He even asked about Nate, and I told him, honestly, that things were going well.

Nate is kind. Funny. Stable. I’m learning to fall in love with him. I can imagine a future with him. A home. Children. A garden with thyme and wild tomatoes, and a dog that follows us around from room to room.

I can’t imagine worrying about him bleeding out in some nameless place three time zones away. Not like I did with Eli.

“Looks like the road’s closing up fast,” he said, standing by the window, watching the snow start to thicken.

“You’re not driving back down in that.”

He turned toward me, one eyebrow raised. “You inviting me to stay?”

I sighed. “Well you’re not sleeping in the truck.”

So we poured a drink. Sat on opposite ends of the couch. Watched the fire catch and crackle. Talked like old friends who’d been more.

I watched him when he wasn’t looking. The way his fingers tapped against the glass. The slight scar above his left brow I used to kiss without thinking.

“I miss this place,” he said softly.

“Not me?” I meant it to come out teasing. It didn’t.

He looked at me then. Really looked. Like he used to. Like he knew exactly what I was trying not to feel.

“I never wanted to leave,” he said. “You know that.”

I did. And it didn’t make it easier.

He set his glass down. “You happy with him?”

I nodded slowly. “He’s good to me.”

He didn’t push. That was the thing about Eli, he never pushed. He could just look at you long enough for the truth to find its own way out.

He stood to tend the fire without being asked, slipping right back into the rhythm of this place. Like no time had passed at all. When the flames caught, he stepped into the kitchen and wordlessly refilled our drinks, then sat back down on the couch. Closer this time. Not intentionally, I think.

“Work still good?” I asked, trying to keep things safe.

He nodded, turning the glass in his hand. “Mostly. Been questioning things, though.”

I glanced over. “Since when do you question things?”

He didn’t answer. His jaw tightened, gaze fixed on the glass.

He didn’t have to say it. I already knew.

I had loved him with everything I had, but I couldn’t handle never knowing if he was going to walk back through the door. The silence between texts. The vague details. The danger that clung to him like the smell of fire and adrenaline.

I was the one to break things off, but he hadn’t made it easy. Not with how he looked at me. Not with the way he touched me like I was the only thing real in this world.

The space between us shrank in the stillness.

He turned toward me. Not close enough to touch, but closer than before. I felt it before I looked up. That pull, that slow return of gravity.

His voice broke. “Nate’s a good guy. You should hold onto that.”

I blinked, heart tightening. “I know. I’m trying.”

He nodded, eyes on the fire. “He’s everything you used to say you needed.”

I nodded, too. That was the truth. I clung to it.

Still, my eyes drifted. To his lips. His hands. I remembered what those hands used to do to my body. What his mouth could coax from me with just a breath.

I looked away quickly.

He didn’t mention it. Instead, he asked about work. My family. What I had planned for the holidays.

Eli always noticed everything. My shifting posture, the way I tucked my foot under me, the way my voice caught when I talked about my mom.

He was still funny. Sharp. Warm. He still made me feel like the most interesting person in the room.

But under all of it was the heat. A quiet thrum I couldn’t shake.

I blinked too long after one of his jokes and realized I was watching his mouth again.

He noticed, of course.

“I should probably head to bed,” he said. “Give you space. This is starting to feel… loaded.”

My chest tightened. I reached for him without thinking, hand landing on his thigh.

The words spilled out of me. “Don’t go,” I whispered. “Please. I miss you. I miss this. I miss your scent, your laugh, the way you just… see me.”

His breath shuddered.

“Eva…”

“I know. I know this is wrong.”

He shook his head. “I can’t let you wreck something good. He’s good. You said so.”

“But he’s not you.”

He looked at me, pained. “I never stopped loving you. I tried. I really did.”

We were already leaning. Already close.

“We have to stop,” he murmured.

“I know.”

But our mouths met in a kiss that tasted like belonging. Like home. We said stop again, between gasps, lips trembling.

“This is a mistake,” I whispered.

“So why does it feel like coming home?” he said, and kissed me again.

We undressed each other like we might shatter. Each layer peeled away with hunger held too long. His fingers brushed my bare skin like he was rediscovering a lost language.

I kissed down his chest, remembering the way he used to shudder when I lingered just below his ribs. I traced him with my mouth, slowly, deliberately, savoring the sound of his breath hitching.

I couldn’t think straight any longer, the thought of Nate still present in my mind was starting to feel like a distant reality. The wrong one.

While the feeling of Eli’s skin against mine, his tongue in my mouth gently possessing me again was inebriating my senses, memories flooding and reviving what wasn’t far beneath the surface. His touch never left me. I’d always be his.

Our bodies were carrying out a melody we’d played together a thousand times, remembering every note, every pause

When I took him into my mouth, he cursed softly, his hands gripping my hair, just to hold on.

He was beautiful like that. Head tipped back, eyes squeezed shut, every breath a groan. I took my time, licking, sucking, bringing him close and then slowing, savoring the way he fell apart. His hips jerked and he whispered my name like it hurt.

“Jesus, Eva….”

I looked up, mouth still on him, and his eyes met mine. Wild, desperate.

And in that look, I felt everything I had locked away crashing to the surface. All the moments I tried to forget. The nights I reached for someone else and came up cold. The ache of losing not just him, but the part of myself that believed in love with no safety net.

I let him fall back against the couch, kissed up his chest, his neck, until I was in his lap again, both of us panting.

He worshipped me. Kissed every inch of me. My shoulders, my neck, my thighs, with the kind of need that said he hadn’t forgotten a single detail. My breath hitched when his lips brushed my hipbone, my chest arching into him on instinct.

And I unraveled. Emotionally. Physically. I was laid bare in every way, not just to his mouth, but to his knowing. He saw me. Saw how hollow I’d felt, how tightly I’d been holding myself together for so long.

He murmured my name like it was sacred, letting it fall between kisses. His hands mapped me all over again. Slow, focused, like he was reading a map only he knew how to follow.

When his mouth found me between my thighs, it wasn’t rushed. He held my legs open like something precious, tongue moving in slow, teasing strokes until I was trembling, my hands tangled in his hair, crying out with every wave of pleasure.

Each orgasm pulled something loose from inside me. Anger, grief, memory.

He didn’t stop. Not even after I came the first time. He kissed his way back up, breath heavy, hands warm on my hips.

He slid inside me slowly, carefully, like a return. We gasped into each other’s mouths, clinging, grinding, crying out. Deep and raw, every movement a tether pulling us back together.

We said it again and again, “we shouldn’t,” “this is wrong,” “we have to stop”—but our bodies had their own law.

He whispered into my skin, “I love you.”

And when we came together, it was with gasps and tears and relief that felt like grief.

We stayed there for a long time. Wrapped up. Quiet. Breathing together.

But then…

My phone buzzed from the kitchen counter.

He pulled away just enough to look at me. I stared back deep into his eyes, heart racing.

He didn’t have to ask.

I already knew it was Nate.