He sips his coffee. “Knowing the weather up here takes time. You’re new.” It’s not a question.
“Three months.” I wrap both hands around the mug. “I work at the business association office. I’m also coordinating Lush Hollow’s holiday volunteer stuff. Cookies, caroling, and gift baskets. That kind of thing.”
He says nothing.
“I know it’s silly.” The words spill out before I can stop them. “But people seem to like it. And helping makes me useful, so…” I cut myself off, and my face heats. “I’m rambling.”
He watches me with an unreadable expression.
Then he sets down his mug and moves to the woodstove, adding a log with the ease that comes from repetition. Flames lick around the fresh wood.
“Bedroom’s yours.” His back is still to me. “Sheets are clean. Door locks. I’ll be out here.”
“You don’t have to give up your room?—”
“I’m not.” He faces me. “That’s the guest room. I sleep in the loft.”
Oh.
He gestures toward a wooden ladder with each rung worn smooth in the corner. How did I miss that?
“I’ll check the generator before I turn in. If the power flickers, don’t panic,” he says. “Backup kicks in fast.”
“Okay.” But as I say the word, that’s the last thing I feel.
“You need water, aspirin, anything… ask. Don’t go rummaging.”
“I won’t.”
His intense gaze leaves no room for argument. “I have rules. Stay inside. Don’t go near the generator shed. Don’t try to fix your car. If you need something, you ask. Clear?”
I nod.
“Say it.”
My pulse skips. “Clear.”
“Good.”
Maybe for him. The wind howls, and the cabin shudders. The flames in the stove dip, and shadows leap wild across the walls, stretching and shrinking.
He looks at me with a steady, unyielding gaze. My stomach flutters in a way I’m not expecting.
“You’re not going anywhere tonight,” he says.
As I nod again, the words settle into my chest, heavy and certain and strangely safe.
I’m stuck. Here. With him, a man who looks at me like I’m a complication he’ll manage, not dismiss.
And I don’t know if this is the worst thing that’s ever happened to me or the first interesting thing in a long time. Maybe ever.
two
. . .
Cole
I leaveHolly inside and check the generator. Running clean. Fuel topped off, exhaust clear. Someone’s life depends on it now.
