Love Burned, She Rose Unscathed novel Chapter 813

He glanced down at her phone, sighing softly, a hint of resignation in his voice. “Let’s just cancel the order. I’ll drive you home.”

Drive you home…

Roseanne’s heart fluttered at those words, and she couldn’t help but smile. “Okay.”

…

Warm air filled the car, driving out the winter chill almost instantly.

Owen Reynolds glanced sideways at her flushed fingers. He didn’t even have to ask—

“Been out playing in the snow?”

Roseanne stayed silent, caught off guard.

What is this, Sherlock Holmes?

Owen didn’t press her for an answer; he simply said, “There’s some orange cinnamon tea in the thermos, and there are disposable cups in the glove compartment. Help yourself, it’ll warm you up.”

The thermos was nestled in the cup holder by the handbrake. As Roseanne unscrewed the lid, steam curled up, carrying the bright scent of orange. But if you lingered for a moment, the aroma of cinnamon crept in behind the sweetness.

Roseanne knew how to make orange cinnamon tea; she’d brewed it plenty of times for Murray, though she herself never cared much for the taste of cinnamon.

“…It’s a bit awkward to drink in the car. I’ll wait until I get home.”

She spoke as she quietly screwed the lid back on.

Owen chuckled. “I added sugar. It’s not as bad as you think.”

“It’s not that—I didn’t say it was bad! I just… want to wait until later, that’s all!”

“If you hadn’t insisted on that last part, I might’ve believed you.”

Roseanne shot him a look.

“Why are you acting like a kid?”

“I am not.”

Owen’s eyes sparkled with laughter. “So you don’t like cinnamon, huh?”

“Nope.”

“I put in less cinnamon and more sugar. You’ll be fine.”

She eyed him skeptically. “Really?”

“Try it and see.”

“Fine.” Giving in, Roseanne grabbed a paper cup and poured herself a small serving, being extra careful not to take too much.

Owen couldn’t help smiling as he watched her, as if she were afraid the cup would overflow with something poisonous.

Roseanne took a tentative sip. Sweet, yes, but the cinnamon was still there, impossible to ignore.

Fooled again.

Even thinking about it was pointless.

…

The next morning, the snow had piled up just as she’d expected.

When Roseanne came downstairs, she couldn’t resist heading to a clean patch of ground…

…and started rolling snowballs.

She hadn’t brought any tools with her, hoping it would keep her from lingering outside too long. But, well, so much for that plan.

If she’d known she’d give in to temptation this easily, she would’ve brought them. Now, going back upstairs felt like too much hassle.

Luckily, you don’t need much to make snowballs—just your hands.

Her first try got the ball to about the size of a basketball before it split in two, cracking right down the middle.

Unwilling to give up, Roseanne tried again.

This time, it didn’t even reach basketball size before it crumbled to pieces.

“Ugh… I refuse to give up…”

She muttered under her breath.

Just then, a low chuckle sounded behind her…