He glares. “Keep that away from me.”
Instead, I flip the camera, take a series of selfies before turning it on Bear. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch the big mountain man watching me. He turns away quickly, and the corners of my mouth tilt up.
For a second, I forget the camera, the challenge, the followers. It’s just him, the fire, and me.
For the first time since Seattle, I feelwarm.
The fire burns lower, shadows stretching long.
My eyelids droop, comfort sinking into my bones. Had no idea how tired I was.
Denver glances over from the hearth, that furrow deep between his brows.
“You’ll freeze if you sleep sitting up,” he mutters.
“I’m fine,” I whisper, though my teeth chatter in protest.
He huffs. “Take the bed.”
“What about you?”
“Couch,” he says too quickly.
I hesitate. There’s only one bed. We both know it.
He doesn’t meet my eyes when he adds, “We’ll figure it out.”
Silence settles between us. But it doesn’t feel heavy or awkward. More like understanding. Rain pelts harder, wind slamming the windows. I shiver, imagining the alternative, a cold, weather-beaten car in the shadow of the dilapidated Wheeler house.
I measure the man’s height with my eyes. Make up my mind. “You’ll never fit on this couch. I’ll take it.”
“Nope, not comfortable.”
Frustration pricks at his stubborn tone. Like no one can change his mind. “Bed’s big enough for two.”
Heat flickers behind his eyes. He tugs at the collar of his flannel.
Another great gust slams the side of the cabin, and I jump, squeeze my eyes shut.Am I really going to admit this?
“Storms scare me. Don’t want to sleep alone.”
He grimaces, runs a hand over his face. Then, nods. “Alright, then.”
Rising, he takes my empty mug and heads back into the kitchen.
What the hell am I doing?
Bam!Another gust of wind, and I’m ready to run.
Denver eyes me curiously.
“What?”
“Nothing—wondering how you planned on managing storms alone?”
I twist my hands together, cheeks warming. “I know. I’m being childish.”
“Nope.” His face is free of judgment.
