His hand came up, fingers grazing her jaw as he tucked the sprig into her hair. The touch was featherlight, but she felt it everywhere. His thumb brushed her cheekbone as he adjusted the placement. His eyes had gone dark again, focused on her mouth.
She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. His hand lingered against her face, thumb tracing her cheek. He leaned down, slow like he was fighting himself, and she stretched up to meet him?—
“The stew needs stirring,” he said as he pulled back, hand dropping. He turned away, not looking at her. “Or it’ll burn.”
She nodded, watching as he stirred the stew, then she moved to set the table. Adjusted decorations that didn’t need adjusting. Keeping busy while her body hummed with frustrated want.
He put full bowls of stew on the table and they ate in silence, the tension thick enough to cut. But it wasn’t the hostile silence of her first days here. This was different. Charged. Like the air before lightning strikes.
“Tomorrow,” she said, needing to fill the quiet, “I thought I’d try to make something special. For Christmas dinner. If you have the ingredients for?—”
“Whatever you need.” He wasn’t looking at her, focused on his bowl. “Make a list. I’ll see what we have.”
When the bowls were empty, she stood to clear the table. So did he. Another dance of almost-touches as they moved around each other.
She washed. He dried. The silence stretched, thick and charged.
The fire had burned lower while they ate.
She should go to her room. Put the decorations between them and retreat to safety.
Her feet carried her to the fire instead.
He followed.
Dropping down to sit on the floor in front of the couch, she pulled her knees up and wrapped her arms around them. He sat with his back against the couch, long legs stretched toward the heat. The space between them was deliberate. Careful. But not enough. She could still feel the warmth radiating from his body, could catch his scent every time he shifted.
“The lights are beautiful,” she said softly. “Thank you. For buying them. For helping today.”
He grunted. Not dismissive, just acknowledging.
“I know you didn’t want—” She stopped, started over. “I know this isn’t what you signed up for. Me being here. But I’m grateful. For the supplies. For taking me to Midwinter. For?—”
For making me feel less alone than I’ve felt in years.
“—everything.”
He turned his head, firelight catching his eyes and making them glow. “You’re not what I expected.”
“Disappointed?”
“No.” The reply was rough, but certain. “Not disappointed.”
They sat in the charged quiet, the fire crackling in front of them. Snow had started falling outside, fat flakes visible through the windows, adding another layer of insulation from the world.
She should go to bed. Should put distance between them before she did something stupid like crawl into his lap and kiss him until neither of them could breathe.
“We’ll need to start early,” he said, voice low. “If you’re making something elaborate.”
“Right. Early.”
The fire popped, sending sparks up the chimney. One of the ceremonial logs shifted, releasing a fresh wave of scent. The silver herb behind her ear had warmed against her skin, its fragrance mixing with everything else.
“The fire’s getting low,” he said, though it wasn’t.
“We should add more wood,” she said, though they shouldn’t.
And still, neither of them moved.
