“So, what’s this mean? I’ll have to stay in town ’til it’s fixed? This’ll totally derail the cabin challenge.”
“Use mine instead.” I look at the toes of my boots.
“Yours? But I can’t impose like that.”
My head darts up, eyes meeting hers. “You?—”
“Already have,” she chuckles. “I know.”
“Good food, warm digs, decent company.”
She arches an eyebrow, skeptical.
“Talking about Bear.” The big fluffy pooch roams the treeline, chasing his shadow—never gets into much trouble, but sure keeps me entertained.
“But you don’t even like people,” she says, putting her hands on her hips.
“Like you,” I admit. Instant vulnerability. Not a fan.
Her smile is sunshine peeking through clouds. Need more of it. “That means a lot coming from a man like you.”
A weighted statement. Could ask her a million questions about it, only I know what she’s getting at. “It does.”
“But—”
“But you’ll freeze out here without my help, my cabin.”
Her face is conflicted.
“And you’ll have to postpone the challenge. At my place, you can have at it. Just keep me off camera.”
She nods.
“Besides, you’ve got guts. Not much sense. But plenty of guts. Like that about you. Don’t want to see it change.”
“So, you want me to stay, then?”
I look away, heating to my neck. Fuck being a redhead. Never can hide my emotions. I clear my throat, open my mouth, strain to drag out the words buried deep. “Yep, want you to stay.”
Chapter
Six
DAHLIA
Cocooned in warmth, I don’t want to move, let alone rise. But Bear’s friendly face hovers over mine, licking me with his thick, pink tongue.
“Are you serious?” I grumble, doing my best Denver impression. Don’t even come close. Never had enough stick-to-itiveness to walk around with a dark storm cloud over my head or a grudge in my heart. But I like the grinchiness in Denver. Like it counterbalances something inside of me.
The floorboards squeak. Denver enters softly, wearing a green and blue flannel and jeans that hug his thick thighs. I notice the slight limp again—for a fleeting moment—in his otherwise steady, smooth gait.
“Coffee, sleepyhead?”
“Sleepyhead?” I chuckle, stretching and sitting up. I grab the mug from him, fingertips brushing his hand. The air thickens, as if it has its own pulse. Denver’s eyes burn, echoing my own simmer. “Thought you don’t use nicknames.”
He scrunches his face.
“You know, like Dolly.”
