A tremor moves through me—want tangled with fear, desire tangled with disbelief.
A knock detonates the moment.
Fear spikes in my ribs, automatic and sharp.
Wyatt is instantly moving—calm, silent, controlled—military instincts switching on like they never left. He gestures for me to stay behind him.
A breath later, tension drains from his shoulders.
“It’s okay,” he says, voice gentled. “It’s Shay.”
Relief hits so fast my knees weaken.
By the time he opens the door to reveal Shay—curvy, flame-haired, freckles glowing in the cold—I’m already moving toward her.
She doesn’t speak. Just opens her arms.
And I walk into them.
Shay holds me tightly. No questions. No expectations. Just the kind of hug that recognizes fear, grief, and survival. We hold on. Quietly.
I don’t sob. Neither does she. But tears happen anyway—soft rather than loud and broken.
When she finally pulls back, she tucks my hair behind my ear. “Welcome to Havenridge. I’m so glad you’re here.”
Havenridge.
For the first time, it feels like more than a name.
Maisie hobbles forward, tail swishing low, and Shay immediately crouches to greet her. “Oh, you sweet girl,” she murmurs, scratching gently behind Maisie’s ears. “You had a rough night, huh?”
Maisie leans into her touch, but when Shay reaches out further, she shifts subtly to position herself between us. Not aggressive. Protective.
Shay glances up at me, something understanding flickering in her gaze. “She’s attached to you already.” She rises slowly. “How’s she doing?”
Wyatt closes the door and stands behind me—close enough to steady, far enough not to corner. Someone at my back, notbecause they want control, but because they’re guarding the space.
I’ve never had that.
“Vet’s coming out later to check her over,” Wyatt replies. “No sign of infection so far. She’s a little stiff, but holding up.”
Shay nods, still watching the dog with a thoughtful look. “Well, she seems to know exactly where she belongs.”
Her gaze slides to me. “You know… Maisie could stay with you. At least while she heals. That kind of bond is rare.”
Something tightens in my chest. Gratitude and something gentler I’m almost afraid to name. “I’d like that.” I turn to look at Wyatt. “If it’s okay with you.”
He nods. “Whatever you need.”
“That’s settled then.” Shay shrugs out of her coat and sets a bag on the table. “I brought soup. Henry made extra. We figured you two might be holed up with the weather.”
I look at the windows, where snow whispers down the glass, thick and soft.
“You figured right,” Wyatt mutters as he heads for the kitchen. “Hope Henry didn’t go crazy with the spice again.”
Shay smiles, but her eyes are on me. “You okay?”
Two words. And somehow, they hit harder than the kiss.
