I do. God help me, I do.
She bites her lip, and I can see her thinking, weighing it all up.
“What about after?” Her voice goes small again. “When I do leave. When you’re back up here alone and I’m down in town and we’re—what? What are we?”
“I don’t know.” The honesty feels bitter on my tongue. “But I know I want to find out.”
She searches my face. Whatever she sees there makes her nod.
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Okay.”
We get up. She steals another shirt—this one even bigger—and pads to the couch while I start the fire. Bear stretches and yawns, tail wagging when she scratches his ears.
“Traitor,” I mutter.
“He’s got taste.” She grins at me over her shoulder, and the sight of her on my couch, barefoot and happy, does something to me that I don’t have words for.
I make coffee, then find some eggs and cheese.
I like making breakfast for her. Knowing she’s eating well because of me.
When we sit down to eat, she reaches across the table and takes my hand.
“Thank you,” she says.
“For what?”
“For letting me in.”
We eat breakfast and drink coffee and don’t talk about tomorrow.
Not yet.
For now, this is enough.
Chapter Eleven
COOKIE
DAY 8 ~ DECEMBER 31
The following morning, the sun is blinding.
I stand at the window in Red’s shirt and watch snow drip from the eaves. Everything outside glitters—it’s so bright and clean, like the storm erased itself. Something about this new day feels different, too. Almost like I didn’t spend the last two days learning the taste of a man’s skin, the sound he makes when he comes, the way his hands shake when he touches me like I’m something he can’t lose.
My car sits half-buried in a drift, but the roads are clear.
"I can see the roads from here—they're clear enough. The sun's doing its work, melting everything. I think… I think it's safe to go home." I hate saying it, but as much as I want to, I can’t stay here forever.
Bear is sprawled by the fire, watching me with those knowing brown eyes. Even the dog can tell I’m stalling.
“Are you leaving today?”
Red’s voice comes from behind me, low and wary. I don’t turn around, because if I look at him now, I’ll lose whatever fragile willpower I’ve built.
