She nodded, then smiled faintly.“Guess it’s a good thing books don’t mind the weather.”
I snorted.“Books don’t mind much of anything.”
“Unlike people,” she said, tilting her head at me.I gave her a look, sharp enough to warn her off, but she only grinned, unbothered.“You’re a grouch, you know that?”
“Better a grouch than a fool,” I shot back, dry as ash.
Her laugh bubbled up, warm in the cold room.“Oh, come on.You try so hard to be intimidating, but I’m not scared.Not even a little.”
“Maybe you should be.”
She leaned forward, eyes dancing in the firelight.“Maybe you should smile once in a while.I bet you’d scare fewer people.”
I huffed through my nose, more air than amusement, but it was the closest I’d come to a laugh in years.“Smiling’s overrated.Waste of energy.”
“Not true,” she countered easily.“Smiles make people feel safe.They make people feel seen.”
I shook my head, staring into the flames, but I couldn’t shake the way her words pressed against the walls I’d built.She spoke like the world wasn’t sharp, like kindness was something you could give without losing pieces of yourself.
“Books don’t care about smiles,” I said, voice gruff again.
“No,” she agreed.“But people do.”
The silence that followed wasn’t heavy like before.It lingered, softer somehow, warmed by the fire and her stubborn brightness.
For the first time in a long while, I felt the edges of my bitterness loosen.Just a fraction.Like maybe the storm outside wasn’t the only one easing up.
I glanced at her from the corner of my eye.She was still smiling, watching the fire as though it held secrets worth keeping.Her face glowed in the flicker of light, and I realized something I didn’t want to admit, even to myself—her presence didn’t feel like an intrusion anymore.
It felt… right.
I clenched my jaw, dragging my gaze back to the flames before she could catch me staring.I couldn’t afford right.Not with her.Not with the past clawing at my heels.
Still, her laughter echoed in my chest, and no matter how tightly I held on to the bitterness, it wasn’t biting quite as hard tonight.
I told myself I was only keeping an eye on her, making sure she didn’t burn herself leaning too close to the fire.But the lie wore thin fast.
My gaze lingered longer than it should have—on the way she brushed her hair back from her face, fingers tucking a loose strand behind her ear.On the little laugh she gave at one of her own remarks, light and careless, like the storm outside couldn’t touch her.
Heat coiled in my chest, sharp and foreign.Dangerous.I hadn’t felt it in years, not since before the fire, before the betrayals.Desire had no place in me anymore, no right to crawl back up from the grave I’d buried it in.
I tried to blame the firelight.Told myself it was just the glow playing tricks, softening her edges, making her seem like something out of reach.But the truth pressed in hard, undeniable.
I wanted her.
And that terrified me.
She was nothing like her father.God help me, she was better.Honest where he’d been false.Bright where he’d been cruel.Too good by far.And that made her the worst temptation of all.
I clenched my fists, nails digging into my palms, as if I could hold myself together by sheer force.If I gave in, if I let even a fraction of this longing show, it would undo everything.
Then she glanced up, her eyes meeting mine across the flicker of the flames.She smiled—soft, unguarded, like she saw something in me worth smiling at.
Something in me cracked, a fissure running deeper than I dared admit.
And for the first time in years, I was afraid—not of the storm, not of the scars, but of what I might do if I stopped fighting.
Chapter7
