I hesitate.
“I need help,” I admit, voice quiet. “My purse and phone were in the Prius. I don’t have money, ID, or a way to call for a ride when the roads open.”
There’s a beat of silence. Then another.
“I’ll go as soon as it’s safe,” I add quickly, filling the space. “I just need a phone. Or a ride. Or a miracle.”
Sam doesn’t move at first.
Then he steps forward and lifts the blanket from his shoulder.
“Come to the living room,” he says gently. “We’ll figure it out.”
I want to argue. Say I don’t need anything, especially not from him.
But I nod. And when he gestures for me to walk beside him, I do.
The fire glows in the hearth, casting flickers of gold and orange across the walls. It’s the only light in the room, but it feels like enough. I step toward it, holding out my hands, letting the warmth soak into my fingers, my wrists, the space beneath my ribs that’s been cold for too long.
Sam joins me, standing close enough that I can feel the heat of him, too. His eyes are on me. I can feel it.
“Why are you being so nice to me?” I ask, the words coming out before I can filter them.
“Why wouldn’t I?” he says, like it’s the simplest thing in the world.
“I’m basically a prevaricator at this point,” I mutter, hating how small my voice sounds.
He shifts slightly, his body angling toward mine. “I don’t know what that means.”
I turn to face him. “It means I’m a liar. Prone to lying.”
He studies me for a moment. The light from the fire dances in his eyes, softening everything.
“Are you lying right now?”
“What? No.” My breath catches a little.
“Then I don’t think that’s what you are.”
His words hit harder than they should.
Simple. Direct. No judgment. No conditions.
I swallow. “You don’t even know me.”
“Maybe,” he says. “But I know what it looks like when someone’s trying not to fall apart.”
The room feels suddenly smaller. Quieter. The kind of quiet that holds weight.
And I don’t know whether to cry or lean closer.
So instead, I just whisper, “Thanks for saving me.”
He gives me that easy smile again. One that sneaks up on you and stays.
“You’re very welcome, darlin’.”
We stay by the fire until the heat becomes too much, pressing against our skin like a quiet demand to move. Without speaking, we drift to the couch. Him at one end, me at the other. A polite distance, but still close enough that the silence between us doesn’t feel empty.
