“That’snot?—”
“Don’t expect that from me, hotshot.”
The word slipped out before I could stop it, and his expression changed — somewhere between disbelief and a laugh he seemed too afraid to let out.
“Hotshot?” he repeated.
I shrugged. “You earned it. You’ve got the whole brooding thing down to a science.”
His mouth twitched, an almost-smile that never quite made it to his eyes. “You’re relentless,” he said again, with the faintest hint of an eye roll.
“Someone has to be,” I said, and looked straight at him. “Otherwise, you’ll just sit here and overthink your coffee.”
For a long moment, neither of us spoke. The snow outside pressed against the windows, a muffled world of white and quiet. Inside, it was warm, and close, andtoo much.He set his mug down. “You’re dangerous, Colette.”
“Only if you let me be.”
I watched his Adam’s apple bob in his throat as he swallowed, sputtering quietly.
“So, Mr. Author… how long until the power returns?” I sipped my coffee — it was much too strong for my liking, but just warm enough to curl in my stomach.
“When the roads clear and the linemen can get to whatever caused the problem, Ms. Baxter.” He said it too properly, like formality was armor.
I tilted my head, pretending to think. “So, days. Maybe a week.”
“Hopefully not.”
“Oh, but think of all the quiet time. Just you, your notebook, and a woman who hums Christmas songs off-key.”
He gave me a look — one part glare, one part surrender. I liked it. It made me feel alive in a way I hadn’t in months.
Maybe it was childish, flirting with the first man who looked at me like I wasn’t a mistake, but I couldn’t help it. Power felt good after losing so much of it.
He was still half-smiling when he stood, brushing his palmsagainst his jeans. “I should check if there’s a generator somewhere. Old places like this sometimes have one tucked behind the shed.”
I arched a brow. “And you’re volunteering to brave the blizzard?”
“Unless you’d rather freeze.”
I sighed, dramatic. “Fine. I’m going with you. But if we both die, I’m haunting you.”
He gave a low hum, pulling on his coat. “Wouldn’t surprise me.”
We geared up separately. Me in the small bathroom, him… elsewhere. I pulled on sweats and a second sweatshirt, tugged a dark beanie over my hair, and slipped on my boots.
“Those aren’t shoes.” Silas’ eyes drifted down my ridiculous outfit, gaze settling on my shoes. “Those areslippers.”
“They’ve got soles!” I lifted one up to show him the rubber bottom.
He didn’t answer, just shook his head and zipped up his coat.
The door stuck on the snowdrift, and Silas had to throw his shoulder into it before it gave way. The cold slapped my face, sharp enough to steal my breath. The world had turned to white noise — wind and snow and the crunch of our boots.
He moved ahead of me, solid and steady, with the hood of his coat pulled low. I kept my eyes on the dark line of his shoulders, the way he leaned into the storm like it was something he could reason with.
“This is insane!” I shouted over the wind.
“Just — stay close!”
