A faint line appeared between Nia’s brows. “You don’t even know me.”
Soren smiled. “True. But I’m good at reading people.”
“Carpenter or psychic?”
“Bit of both.” Soren’s gaze dipped to Nia’s mouth, just for a heartbeat. “You’ve got the look of someone who’s done something impossible and doesn’t know what to do with herself after.”
Nia’s fingers tightened on the glass. “You sound very sure of your instincts.”
“I usually am.”
Soren’s tone came out lower than she meant, roughened by interest. When Nia didn’t look away, it sent a jolt straight through her. For a second the hum of conversation and music dropped away, and it was just the two of them—her warmth, Nia’s chill, drawn together like magnet and steel.
“You always talk like that?” Nia asked. Her voice was calm but her throat moved when she swallowed.
“Only when the conversation’s worth it.”
That earned her a slow exhale, somewhere between a sigh and a laugh. Nia pushed her hair back, revealing a slender neck, pale and smooth. The tiny motion made Soren’s pulse trip.
Maggie dropped off another whiskey without asking. “On the house again, Doc. Holiday spirit.”
“Thank you,” Nia said, tone polite but distant. She took a sip, eyes closing briefly as the burn slid down. When she opened them again, they were softer.
“You’re very sure of yourself,” she said.
Soren shrugged. “Confidence makes the nails go in straight.”
“Is everything a building metaphor with you?”
“Only the good ones.” Soren tilted her head, smile edging into something darker. “You look like you could use a little rebuilding.”
That landed. Nia’s eyes flashed—a spark of offense or maybe something that wanted to be. “You have no idea what I could use.”
Soren kept her tone gentle. “You’re right. But I could guess.”
For a heartbeat, Nia didn’t move. Then she reached for her coat, controlled as ever, sliding one arm into the sleeve like she was putting armor back on. “I think I’ve had enough of your guessing for one night.”
Soren stood, holding up both hands in mock surrender. “Didn’t mean to overstep, Doc. Just conversation.”
Nia’s chin lifted, elegant, imperious, but her breathing had changed—just a little too quick. “You’re very… forward.”
Soren’s mouth curved. “And you’re not used to anyone calling you on it.”
“Calling me on what?”
“Wanting something,” Soren said simply. “And hating that you do.”
Nia’s lips parted, shock and anger tangled with something else entirely. Heat climbed her neck. She looked down at her coat buttons, fingers fumbling for a second before she found the top one.
“I’m getting a cab,” she said finally. “Back to my hotel.”
Maggie wiped a glass behind the bar, sympathy and amusement in her eyes. “Honey, no cabs tonight. Storm’s shut the roads down. Airport’s already closed.”
Nia froze. “There must be something running.”
“Not unless you count sled dogs,” Maggie said. “You’ll be lucky if the plows get out before morning.”
Soren leaned on the bar, voice low. “My truck’s outside. Four-wheel drive. I can get you there.”
