“So what now?” she asks.
“Now we get Duchess and the kittens back in their box and rustle up some breakfast.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
From his cage, Peanut squawks loudly: “Kiss! Kiss!”
We both laugh, and the tension breaks. She stands, pressing a quick kiss to my cheek as she passes.
“All right then, Sunshine,” I say, then remember that word shouldn’t have slipped out. It should be off-limits.
The endearment catches her mid-step. Her smile falters—just for a heartbeat—and something complicated flickers across her face. Not the sharp flinch from before, but a shadow of old pain that makes her pause and look at me with careful eyes.
“You keep calling me that,” she says quietly.
There’s no anger in her voice, just… something unfinished. A question she’s not quite ready to ask.
“I do,” I say simply, giving her space to say more if she wants.
She nods slowly, as if she’s making a decision. “Okay.” Then, softer: “It’s… it’s fine.”
It’s not quite acceptance, not quite comfort—but it’s not rejection either. Small steps.
Something’s shifted since last night. The kittens, working together until the middle of the night… the kiss—whatever it is, she’s not pulling away anymore.
Outside, the world is buried in snow and ice, isolating us from everything familiar. But inside, in the warm glow of morninglight and new possibilities, it feels like we’re exactly where we’re supposed to be.
And for the first time in a long time, the idea of being trapped somewhere doesn’t feel like a problem at all.
Which terrifies me.
Chapter Ten
Laney
“You sure you want me to teach you how to handle Jasper?”
Ryder leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, looking maddeningly relaxed. “Yep. Just like at the station—I should be cross-trained for everything.”
Standing in front of Jasper’s terrarium in my bedroom, I’m wondering if offering to teach someone snake handling was my brightest idea. Not because Jasper’s dangerous—he’s basically a gentle giant. But because teaching someone to handle a boa constrictor requires the kind of physical closeness that will destroy what’s left of my professional distance.
Who am I kidding? That distance died the moment his lips touched mine. This lesson is just me admitting it.
Ryder’s been my rock through everything—the storm, the kitten birth, the endless parade of animal drama. He’s proved he can handle just about anything; this should be no different. Hell, he needs to learn this if he’s going to be real backup.
At least I’m confident about Jasper. Mr. Dexter’s summer crash course in reptile handling means I actually know what I’m doing here. It’s the being-alone-in-my-bedroom-with-Ryder part that has my pulse racing.
“The first thing you need to understand about Jasper,” I say, settling cross-legged on the floor beside the terrarium, “is that he’s basically a scaly golden retriever. Gentle, predictable, and way more interested in napping than in causing drama.”
Ryder settles beside me, close enough that I can smell his soap—it smells better on him than it does on me. It’s clean and woodsy and makes me want to lean closer just to breathe him in. His amber eyes are fixed on Jasper with the same careful assessment he probably uses when sizing up a burning building.
“An’Wa had no snakes—at least, not the kind that were mindless and slithered,” he admits quietly. “I’ve known plenty of naga, but they’re people, not animals. My brain knows I’m irrational. Jasper’s not dangerous. I’m so much bigger than he is, but everything in my DNA is screaming that animals who crawl on their bellies and hiss are predators.”
“Totally normal. Half the people in my pre-vet classes had the same reaction, and they didn’t have evolutionary excuses.” I reach slowly into the terrarium, letting Jasper register my presence before making contact. “The key is reading his bodylanguage. See how relaxed his coils are? Head down, not defensive? He’s basically in screensaver mode.”
Ryder leans closer, genuine appreciation softening his features. “He really is beautiful.”
“He is, isn’t he?” I run my palm slowly along Jasper’s body, starting behind his head and moving toward his midsection. “Okay, here’s what we’re going to do. Touch my hand first. Get used to the idea of contact while I’m handling him, so your brain can start separating ‘snake’ from ‘immediate danger.’”
