“Sure about that?”
Nia hesitated. The warmth of the cab, the snow’s hush, the hum of the tires—it all blurred the edges of her defenses. “I’m not used to… storms,” she said finally.
Soren’s mouth curved. “Weather or otherwise?”
Nia felt that one in her spine. She should have ignored it. Should have made some dismissive, polite response that put the space back where it belonged. Instead she turned to look at her—really look—and the sight of Soren’s profile in the passing lights knocked the breath right out of her.
Strong jaw, a strand of blond hair falling into her eyes, the beautiful curve of her lips and those intense blue eyes that looked right through her defenses. Confident. Unbothered. Beautiful in a way Nia didn’t have a category for.
The ache low in her stomach deepened.
She pressed her knees together, fingers tightening on her purse. Her heart felt like it was knocking against the walls of her rib cage, searching for a way out.
Soren glanced over, smile tugging gently at her lips. “Almost there,” she said. “You’ll be warm soon.”
Nia wasn’t cold anymore. That was the problem.
She turned back to the window again, watching the headlights cut through the snow, and forced herself to breathe evenly. If she kept her spine straight and her mind focused, maybe she could get through the next ten minutes without doing anything foolish.
Except every time Soren shifted gears, her thigh brushed Nia’s—just enough to spark heat that no amount of willpower could extinguish.
Nia closed her eyes for a second, gripping the strap of her purse.You don’t do this,she told herself.You don’t even think like this.
But the truth whispered back, low and dangerous:You want to.
When the truck turned onto the ridge road, headlights glancing off snowdrifts and pine trees heavy with ice, she caught Soren’s reflection in the glass—dark blue eyes, easy smile—and something inside her gave a quiet, reckless shiver.
She was behaving out of character. And she couldn’t bring herself to care.
Snow still fell thick as silk when Soren pulled the truck in front of the Hawthorne Lodge. The old timber building crouched against the wind, its roofline strung with half-buried lights that blinked through the storm. Soren killed the engine, and the quiet that followed made the world feel too close, too small.
“I’ll get your door,” Soren said.
Before Nia could protest, she was already outside, boots crunching through the snow. A moment later the passenger door opened, and cold air swept in, sharp as glass. Soren’s hand extended toward her—steady, waiting.
Nia hesitated. Her fingers hovered in the space between them, her breath catching in the white cloud of her own exhale. Then she placed her hand in Soren’s.
Heat met cold. Rough calluses against smooth skin. It shouldn’t have felt like anything, but it did.
Soren’s grip was sure as she helped her down. Their bodies brushed—Nia’s coat against Soren’s chest, her heel slipping in the slush—and suddenly Soren’s arm was around her waist, holding her upright.
The touch jolted through Nia like an electric current. The scent of pine and smoke clung to Soren’s jacket, to the air between them.
“You okay?” Soren asked, voice low, barely carrying above the wind.
Nia nodded, though her pulse said otherwise. “Yes.”
Soren didn’t move away. Her eyes caught the light from the lodge—dark and intense. Snowflakes landed in her golden hair, melting against her skin.
“Doc,” she said softly. “You keep looking at me like you’re trying not to.”
Nia’s breath stuttered. “I shouldn’t.”
“Then tell me to stop.”
Soren took a half-step closer, until Nia’s back met the cold metal of the truck. The contrast—the heat of Soren’s body, the icy steel behind her—made her dizzy.
Nia’s mind screamed all the right things:You don’t know her. This isn’t you. Get back inside.
