I hover close, fingers flexing.
“She’s lucky,”he murmurs as he checks her leg.“Whoever wrapped this did a damn good job.”
My chest lifts a little.“That was me.”
Dr. Blake glances up, eyebrows raised.“Yeah? You got experience?”
“Vet school,”I admit, a little shyly.“Had to stop… but I was in my third year.”
He smiles, genuine and thoughtful.“Well, if you ever decide to pick it back up, let me know. I could use the help around here.”
That softens something in me. Maybe this place doesn’t just want me safe. Maybe it wants me useful too.
Dr. Blake preps the injection, speaking gently to Maisie as he administers the shot. She flinches, but doesn’t panic—her gaze stays locked on mine.
“Good girl,”I whisper, rubbing her ear.
Maisie gives a quiet woof and licks my hand before flopping back down with a dramatic sigh, like she’s survived the worst of it.
Dr. Blake chuckles.“Looks like she’s picked her person.”
The weight of those words settles around me.
Chosen. Trusted.
“You’ve got this,”he adds, rising and brushing snow from his knees.“Call me if anything changes.”
After he’s gone, Wyatt closes the door behind him with a soft click, but he doesn’t move farther into the room. He watches me, like he’s checking if I’m still okay. Not smothering, just... aware.
I meet his gaze, straighter now. Taller, somehow. “Thanks for waiting to ask.”
“I said we’d do this your way,” he says quietly, holding my gaze.
“I’ll leave you two to… whatever this is,” Shay says, her mouth twitching with a knowing smile as she waves a hand between us.
My face flames hotter than the fire. “Shay?—”
She grins. “What? I’m just saying. Whatever it is, it’s mutual.”
Wyatt coughs once into his fist, but the corner of his mouth twitches upward like he wants to smile and won’t let himself.
Shay hugs me again before shrugging back into her coat. “You know where to find me,” she says softly. “Anytime. For anything.”
I nod. “Thank you.”
She gives Wyatt a wink as she walks past. “Don’t screw it up, Saint.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he mutters.
When she leaves, the cabin settles into a quieter kind of warmth. The fire crackles. The generator hums. Maisie shifts in her sleep.
Wyatt shrugs out of his coat and steps closer, slow and careful, like he’s approaching something fragile.
Quiet stretches between us, but it’s not awkward. It feels like a bridge being built plank by plank.
He gestures to the couch. “Sit with me?”
I do.
