Soren’s eyes found hers, dark and intent. “Careful, Doc,” she said, voice low. “You keep doing that, I might think you actually like me.”
Nia’s pulse tripped. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Not my strong suit,” Soren murmured, turning her hand palm-up beneath Nia’s.
It would’ve been easy to pull back, to let the moment dissolve. But Nia’s fingers stayed where they were, resting lightly against Soren’s skin. The warmth of that small contact spread through her, quick and treacherous.
For a long breath, they didn’t speak. The air between them hummed like a held note.
Then Nia eased her hand away, composure returning in fragments. “We should probably stop before someone sees.”
Soren didn’t argue, but her grin was soft and certain. “Whatever you say, Doc.”
Nia lifted her cup to hide her smile, eyes on the falling snow. “You’re infuriating.”
“Yeah,” Soren said quietly. “But you don’t seem to mind.”
And Nia couldn’t think of a single honest argument to the contrary.
6
SOREN
The snow hadn’t let up once all day. By nightfall it had stacked in drifts that reached the windowsills, and the wind had found its voice again—long, low, and mean.
Soren wiped her sleeve across her forehead and crouched by the open access panel behind the lodge’s laundry room. The boiler was older than she’d thought, an iron monster that hissed and sputtered every time she coaxed it back to life. What was supposed to have been a quick patch job had turned into a full replacement of valves and half the wiring.
“Guess I’m camping here for a while,” she muttered, tightening a bolt.
Mr. Ellis had agreed. “No sense driving back to your cabin in this mess,” he’d said. “You’ll have to stay a night or two—maybe three if this storm keeps up. I’ll give you one of the guest rooms on the ground floor.”
So she’d moved her truck tools inside, stacked her gloves and thermos on the workbench, and told herself it was fine. The lodge was warm again, the lights steady. And if the thought of Nia South sleeping somewhere upstairs kept flickering throughher mind like a restless flame—well, that was just leftover adrenaline.
The wrench slipped, scraping her knuckle. “Ow. Damn it.”
She shook her hand, blew on the sting, and went back to work. Metal clanked, water hissed. Time slid by unnoticed, marked only by the slow cooling of her coffee and the way the wind rattled the shutters every few minutes.
Around ten, she heard footsteps in the hall. Soft, measured, not the heavy stride of Mr. Ellis or the scuff of the young desk clerk. She smiled to herself before she even looked up.
When Nia appeared in the doorway, Soren had to fight not to grin outright.
The doctor looked unfairly composed for someone trapped by a storm—dark hair pinned neatly again, a cream sweater that was loose over her breasts but made them look amazing, posture straight enough to shame a ruler. Her cheeks were flushed from the cold, though, and her eyes found Soren immediately.
“Working late,” Nia said, voice smooth but quieter than usual.
“Boiler’s stubborn,” Soren replied, standing and brushing her hands on her jeans. “You, on the other hand, don’t strike me as the midnight maintenance type.”
“I couldn’t sleep.” Nia stepped farther into the room, gaze flicking over the exposed pipes and wires. “The heat came back, but the radiators still knock. I thought I’d check.”
Soren leaned against the wall, crossing her arms. “You could’ve called the front desk. Instead you came down here yourself.”
“That’s because I’m a very thorough person,” Nia said evenly.
Soren arched a brow. “Or maybe because you knew I’d still be here.”
A faint blush touched Nia’s throat, quickly hidden by the turn of her head. “That’s an assumption.”
“Sure is.” Soren’s grin softened. “But I’m pretty good at reading people, remember?”
