My heart feels like it's being squeezed in a fist.
“Oh, Red,” I say.
He flicks his gaze to mine and finds me not flinching, not plastering a smile over it.
“Thanks for telling me. And for the eggs review. Very helpful for my growth.”
He huffs, almost a laugh. “You’re ridiculous.”
“True.”
We spend the late morning moving around each other. He splits wood; I sweep flour ghosts off the floor and package the rest of the cookies. He checks the generator; I make more coffee and find a jar of honey in his pantry.
Bear follows me to the couch with a giant dog sigh. I comply because I’m a sucker for brown eyes and drool. Red fiddles with the radio—static, static, a burst of a country song, then more static. He gives up and tosses a blanket toward the couch.
“To stave off the cold.”
“Thank you.” I fling it over my lap.
The fire’s lazy now, burning low, and the couch dips under his weight when he drops beside me. He’s not too close, but my body notices the distance.
We don’t talk at first. I stroke Bear’s ears, while Red stares at the flames. The quiet pulls a different kind of truth out of me.
“I hate that outfit. The Santa dress.”
Sorry, Beth.
He looks over, his brows raised. “But you wore it anyway.”
“I said yes because Beth asked.” I wrinkle my nose. “It was stupid."
He says nothing for a few seconds, then, “You came up here in a storm to check on a stranger. That’s not stupid.”
I purse my lips, fighting a smile. “You’re going to ruin your reputation if you keep saying nice things.”
“Don’t tell anyone.”
“I’ll keep it between me and Bear.”
My knee shifts, brushing his thigh, but he doesn’t move away. The blanket slides, and I feel air against bare skin where the sweater rides up. I shiver.
Red notices. His hand moves slowly, resting on top of the blanket at my knee.
I stare at it, wondering what it means. He’s not being possessive or anything; he’s probably trying to keep me warm.
I can think of better ways.
I look at his hand, all big and calloused, studying the veins and the tiny scar across a knuckle.
His thumb strokes one line, back and forth, and every part of me pays rapt attention. My breathing goes from normal to not.
“Red.”
“Mm?”
“Am I scaring you?”
“You’re fine.”
