She shivers again, and I hear the edge in her breath. The fire is warm, but it'll take time for her to thaw. I head to the kitchen alcove. "Do you want coffee, tea, or cocoa?"
"Cocoa," she says immediately.
Of course, she does.
I heat the milk in a small copper pot, watching it steam, then mix in cocoa powder and a touch of vanilla. The scent fills the cabin, rich and sweet. When I hand her the mug, she takes it with both hands and lets the steam warm her face. Something loosens in my chest when she whispers her thanks.
I sit across from her, arms folded, pretending not to pay attention even though I'm studying every movement she makes.
"So you really won't do an interview?" she asks.
"No."
"A short one?"
"No."
"Just a paragraph?"
"No."
She laughs softly, the sound unexpected and warm. "You're not very cooperative."
I raise an eyebrow. “To reporters? No."
She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. "Why does everyone in town protect your identity?"
"Maybe they’re on my payroll." I lean back. "Or maybe they also don’t like strangers showing up uninvited."
She winces. "Okay, fair enough. But I'm not here for nefarious reasons. I’m not going to out your location or anything. I'm just here for the truth."
"No, you aren't," I say quietly.
Her brows pull together. "What does that mean?"
“The truth doesn’t make for a good story. I live here because the quiet makes sense to me. That's it."
"I don't think that's all of it."
The furnace hums steadily in the background, a low rumble that vibrates through the walls. Snow pelts the roof in soft, insistent waves. She watches me like she wants to fit the pieces together.
I should never have let her inside.
Another blast of wind hits the cabin, and the windows shudder in their frames. She glances toward the noise, anxiety flickering across her face.
"The road's already covered," I say. "You'll have to stay here tonight."
She nods, looking relieved and grateful.
I grunt and tend the fire, adding another log, pretending this is an inconvenience and not something that has already begun to settle under my skin.
Because the truth is the moment I saw her standing outside, something in me shifted. There’s something about her… I feelconnectedto her somehow, like an invisible thread is tying me to her.
But she’s a stranger—a reporter, no less—and I can’t trust her.
I need to remember that.
Chapter 3
