“I just, I don’t want to be a burden. You’re on vacation after all.”
His voice drops low, firm without being harsh. “You could never be a burden.”
I swallow, emotion thickening my throat. I nod, barely.
“Okay,” I whisper. “Just for a little while.”
After dinner, he hands me a towel and points me toward the bathroom.
“You’ll feel better if you warm up properly,” he says. “Shower’s yours.”
The idea of hot water hitting my freezing skin is too tempting to refuse. I step inside, steam already fogging the small bathroom. When the water cascades over me, I let out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding.
For the first time in days, maybe weeks, I’m warm all the way through.
When I step out, wrapped in one of the oversized guest towels, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror—cheeks flushed from heat, hair damp, eyes softer than they were this morning. I get a fresh set of sweats from my drawers.
I feel refreshed and look alive.
When I reenter the living room, Stud is on the couch, sleeves pushed up, forearms flexing as he tosses another log onto the fire. His eyes sweep over me, darkening just enough to send heat straight to my lungs.
“You look better,” he remarks.
I laugh a little. “I feel better.”
But I’m still tired. Bone-deep tired.
He notices immediately. “Feet hurt?”
“My whole body hurts,” I admit.
He pats the couch beside him. “Come here.”
I hesitate, not because I don’t want to—but because I want to too much.
He softens his tone. “Let me help, Holley.”
I cross the room. When I sit, he gently lifts one of my feet into his lap. I should protest. I should say he doesn’t need to do this.
Instead, my breath shudders out as his thumbs press into my arch.
“Oh… god,” I whisper.
He chuckles low, like he enjoys the sound. “That good?”
“Better than good.”
His hands are strong, sure, the kind of touch that knows how to take care, not take advantage. He works each knot, each tense line of muscle, with slow, deliberate pressure that sends warmth spiraling up my legs.
I sink deeper into the cushions, eyelids fluttering.
“You’re falling asleep,” he murmurs.
“No,” I try to argue, though it sounds like a dream talking. “I’m— I’m awake.”
He moves to the other foot, and that’s the last thing I remember.
I wake to the sound of my alarm. My alarm. I’m groggy.
