Patrick gets the door open and ushers me inside, the warmth hitting my wet body instantly, sharp against my chilled skin. Water drips from our clothes onto the wood floor, little puddles forming at our feet.
He doesn’t hesitate.
“Why don’t you shower first,” he says, already shrugging out of his shirt. “I’ll get the fire going.”
I open my mouth to respond, but he’s already moving, crouching in front of the fireplace without waiting for an answer.
It’s not a typical brick hearth. It’s one of the older kinds, set right in the center of the space, dividing the living area and the bed. Two-sided. Practical. The kind of fireplace meant to be used from anywhere in the cabin.
Patrick moves with easy familiarity, like he’s done this a hundred times. His naked back flexes as he starts stacking logs with quiet focus. For a second, I stand there mesmerized.
Feeling a sneeze come on, I leave him to it and step into the bathroom.
It’s small. Cozy. It was clearly built for necessity, not luxury. The tub and shower are one unit, separated only by a thin curtain. A tiny window near the ceiling lets in a sliver of gray light from the storm outside.
I peel off my soaked clothes slowly, the chill lingering on my skin even as steam begins to rise when I turn the water on.
My clothes land in a puddle beside the tub.
Mud streaks my calves and thighs, somehow even tangled into my hair. The water feels like heaven as I step under it, rinsing away the dirt and cold.
I lean one hand against the tile and close my eyes.
I wonder what Patrick is thinking right now.
There’s no way he didn’t notice the hesitation. The way I pulled back when things started to get heated.
God, leave it to me to make a romantic weekend getaway awkward.
Patrick
I’m drying my hair, as I walk out of the bathroom waring dry clothes. Casually, I ask. “What do you wanna do for dinner?” And stop dead.
Lore’s kneeling on the floor, spreading out blankets near the fire.
I stare at her, my chest tightening before I can stop it. “Jesus, Lore. I’m not going to attack you if we share a bed,” I say, sharper than I mean to.
She looks up at me, confused. “What?”
“You don’t have to-” I gesture vaguely at the floor. “You don’t have to do that.”
She blinks, then her expression softens. “Patrick.” She pats the blankets. “I’m doing this for us. I just thought it’d be nice to sleep by the fire.”
“Oh.” I turn away, draping my towel over a chair, embarrassment crawling up my spine. “Sorry.”
Before I can take another step, she grabs my hand and tugs me down beside her.
The floor is hard. The carpet barely cushions anything. But I’d sleep on broken glass if it was what she wanted.
“I’m sorry,” she says quietly. “For earlier. I know I hurt your feelings, and…”
She trails off.
I wait. Then, because I’m apparently incapable of leaving well enough alone, I say, “I know what you said before… but I didn’t think you were serious.”
She frowns. “What did I say?”
I stare into the fire, the flames shifting just enough to give me something else to look at.
