But his hand brushes mine beneath the blanket, just once, the barest touch of warm skin against skin, steady and protective. The kind of touch that feels like a promise and a warning all at once.
I drift off with snow still whispering against the window, the faint scent of pine and smoke in the air, and the sense that something has shifted. Something careful, slow, and very real. I fall asleep feeling safe, even with a loud, crazy storm going on outside.
CHAPTER 3
The snow outside hasn't stopped falling. It drifts past the lodge windows in thick, lazy flakes. I'm at the kitchenette counter, perched on a stool, swinging my legs and humming under my breath as I sort through a pile of discarded ornaments, I found in a box labeled for donation. The tune is off-key, cheerful, and entirely me. Every few seconds I glance toward the hallway, half expecting the tall, dark silhouette of my temporary roommate to appear.
It's been a couple of hours since I’ve seen Justin.
He's been in the small office attached to the lodge all morning, muttering into a phone and pacing in slow, measured strides that somehow make even irritation look efficient. Every time I catch sight of him through the frosted glass door, I feel that tug again, the one that sits somewhere between curiosity and something much less innocent.
When the door finally opens, he steps into the room and stops, taking in the sight of me surrounded by ribbons and glitter.
"It looks like Santa’s Workshop exploded," he says dryly.
"Don't you love it?" I hold up a bauble shaped like a penguin. "He's missing an eye, but I think it gives him character. Igave him an eye patch. Look, now he’s Pirate Penguin. Captain Beakbeard at your service."
Justin's mouth twitches into almost a smile, almost. "You've been busy."
"Productive," I correct. "I’m trying to make things look... happier around here."
"Things or people?"
I blink. "What?"
He leans a shoulder against the doorframe, crossing his arms. "You fill every silence, every empty space. I'm not sure if you're decorating or deflecting."
It's not unkind, just perceptive. Too perceptive. The comment lands low in my chest, stirring something raw. "Maybe both," I admit quietly.
He studies me for a moment, then nods once as if that's enough honesty for now. "There's a storm update. The plows won't reach us until at least Monday. I tried but the pass is completely blocked. An avalanche."
"So… we're still snowed in."
"Yes. Which means we need to establish a few rules if we're going to coexist without driving each other insane."
"Rules," I echo, half amused. "You sound like the HR manual."
"I wrote the HR manual."
Of course he did.
“Who gave you the authority to make rules?”
“I did. I am still the boss around here.”
“Oh? Am I on the clock?”
“No, but you are staying in my lodge. My lodge, my rules.” He narrows his eyes just slightly. “You could use some structure in your life. Are you going to push back on this?”
I think for a second. He is going all Daddy on me and I kind of like it. I shake my head no.
He moves closer, just a step, but it changes the air between us. "Rule one— absolutely no wandering outside alone. Rule two—if you go out in the snow you will be completely dressed for the elements, that means gloves. Rule three?—"
"Don't play with glitter?" I offer sweetly, holding up one of the containers of red and green glitter I’d found in the closet.
"Rule three," he continues evenly, "is listen when I'm talking and follow my directions."
The tone is quiet, firm enough to still the air between us. I can feel his tone. Its authority wrapped in something else… something, tempting. There's nothing overt about it, yet every nerve in my body reacts.
