“Oh.” My face warms instantly. “Right. That. It was fine. Good. Helpful.”
He doesn’t laugh. He keeps his eyes on the road, tone steady but low. “I wasn’t trying to make you uncomfortable.”
“You didn’t.”
Another beat passes.
“I noticed you were nervous,” he adds quietly. “Didn’t want to make that worse.”
“You didn’t,” I repeat, softer this time. “Honestly, you made it better.”
His jaw flexes.
“Natalie,” he says, “I’m trying to be careful.”
I inhale sharply, unsure how to answer, unsure what exactly he’s being carefulabout, even though I think I know.
I turn toward him.
“You don’t always have to be.”
He blows out a slow breath, eyes fixed on the snowy road. “I do right now.”
The meaning sinks through me warm and aching.
I nod slowly. “Okay.”
He shifts his grip on the wheel like my answer did something to him.
We ride in silence for a while that doesn’t feel empty.
Then I brighten. “So. Lumberjack tutorial?”
He visibly relaxes. “If we find the right tree.”
“Oh, we will,” I promise. “I have a sixth sense for these things.”
“We’re not choosing a tree by… vibes.”
“We absolutely are.”
He snorts. “Trees don’t have vibes.”
“You’re wrong and I’ll prove it.”
He gives the most exasperated sigh I’ve ever heard from a human. “Please don’t try to spiritually commune with a pine tree.”
“Too late.” I grin into my scarf.
Something between us is shifting, and we’re both pretending not to notice—but only because noticing it might make it real too soon.
And for now, it’s enough.
EIGHT
CALDER
Town is usually quiet the morning after a storm. Sometimes, it feels like everyone is holding their breath to wait and see what Mother Nature will throw at them next.
