“So you agreed,” I say softly.
“I agreed,” he echoes. “For the land. Not for…” His gaze flickers to my mouth, then away. “Not for this.”
Heat curls low in my stomach.
“This,” I repeat quietly.
He doesn’t look at me. “… didn’t factor into my calculations.”
I swallow, fingers tightening around my napkin. “Do you regret factoring it in now?”
His head snaps to me, eyes sharp, surprised. “No.”
The answer comes fast. Too fast to be anything but honest. He blinks, as if realizing how quickly he said it, then adds, quieter, “No. I don’t.”
My heart does a stupid, hopeful little somersault. We sit there for a moment, just looking at each other, the fire throwing soft light over his face, his eyes, his guarded mouth that I now know tastes like sweet surrender.
“You know,” I say, trying to catch my breath and failing, “for a guy who claims to hate people, you sure spent a lot of time today making sure I didn’t get knocked over, frozen, or mobbed for gossip.”
“Someone had to keep you upright,” he replies.
“Someone?” I tease. “Just anyone?”
He huffs. “No.”
“Who then?”
“Me,” he says simply.
Something in my chest cracks open a little more. We finish our food in silence, but it seems like there are a hundred things we’re not saying yet. Finally, the server brings the check. Ethan reaches for it without hesitation.
I arch a brow. “I thought you were extremely opposed to unnecessary spending.”
“This isn’t unnecessary,” he says.
“Is that your way of saying you had a nice time?” I ask softly.
“It’s my way of saying I can buy you dinner without having a panic attack.”
I laugh, and his lips curve in that almost-smile I’m starting to live for.
“Thank you,” I say after a moment.
“For what?”
“For telling me about the land. For … letting me in.” I hesitate. “You didn’t have to.”
His hand moves, fingertip brushing the back of my knuckles before his fingers curl around mine.
“You didn’t have to care,” he says quietly. “But you do.”
We walk the rest of the way like that, hands joined, neither of us mentioning it, but both of us very aware. At the door to our suite, my heart is beating so fast I’m almost dizzy.
If this were just a fake holiday week, this would be the part where I remind myself it’s all pretend. That in a few days, the lights will come down, the auction will be forgotten, and we’ll go our separate ways.
But as Ethan unlocks the door and glances back at me, something unguarded in his eyes, that belief feels thinner than the mountain air. The Grinch on the mountain isn’t just a story anymore.
He has a heart. And I’m terrified he’s letting me hold part of it.
