"Nonsense. You’ll be more comfortable in the bed.”
She runs her thumb along the rim of her bowl. "You let me stay in your home. You made sure I was warm. You kept me from burning my fingers off in the workshop. I can handle a couch."
"You're my guest," I insist.
She sets her bowl aside and meets my eyes. "Are you sure?"
"Yes," I say, firmly.
Because the truth is, the couch won't be the problem.
The problem is it’ll kill me to have her so close… but so far.
The problem is that I'll hear her shifting in the bed all night.
The problem is the part of me that doesn't want distance from her at all.
I stand and take our dishes to the sink, needing something to focus on. When I turn back, she's still watching me with that soft, knowing expression that makes it hard to look away.
"You don't have to keep your guard up all the time, you know," she says.
"I'm not."
"You are," she replies gently. "It's all right. I just… I want you to know you don't have to."
My pulse stirs again. I'm not used to someone seeing straight through me. It's unsettling. It'sdangerous.
And yet I don't want her to stop.
Outside, the wind finally dies down. Inside, the air thickens with something warm and intimate. She stands, moves closer to the firelight, and the glow from the hearth softens the edges of her features, catches the gold in her hair.
For several seconds, neither of us speaks.
The quiet feels heavier now. Charged.
Not empty at all.
I take a slow breath, steady and deep, then force myself to step back.
"We should rest," I say. "It'll be a long day tomorrow."
She nods, though her eyes hold a question she doesn't voice.
I tell myself the couch will be fine.
I tell myself distance is smart.
I tell myself she's leaving when the road clears.
But none of those things feel as certain as they did before.
For the first time in a long time, the cabin doesn't feel like mine alone.
And I'm no longer sure I want it to.
Chapter 5
Emory
