“Iamclose!” But when he turned to look, I wasn’t — at least, not close enough.
My foot hit ice. The ground pitched, and my breath caught in my throat as I went down. The snow hit cold and heavy, but before I could curse, a hand closed around my arm — strong, sure — and pulled me upright.
“Got you,” he said. His voice was low, nearly lost in the wind.
I blinked up at him. Snowflakes clung to his hair, his lashes, the scruff of his beard and the curve of his mouth. His arm was still around my waist, his chest pressed to mine, both of us breathing fast and shallow.
“Thank you,” I managed. My words puffed between us, clouding the small space we shared. Whether it was the cold or something…more,my cheeks flushed deep.
He didn’t move right away. Just looked at me —reallylooked at me — and I could almost feel him deciding whether to laugh or to let the moment hang there, heavy and unspoken.
“You’re freezing,” he said finally, voice rough.
“No shit, Sherlock.” I grumbled, gloved fingers curling into his arm. “Comes with the territory.”
“Or maybe just the bad footwear,” he murmured, eyes dropping to where my boots were half-submerged.
I smirked. “You don’t get to critique me when I savedyourvacation.”
His lips twitched, almost a smile. “You call this saving?”
“Depends on how the story ends.”
That earned me a quiet sound from him — half a sigh, half a laugh — and then he stepped back, gloved fingers brushing my arm as if reluctant to let go.
The shed was half-buried behind a drift; the lock was iced over. He rattled it, cursed softly, then turned. “No generator, at least not one we have access to.”
I tilted my head, pretending to be disappointed. “So we’re really going to have to share body heat then.”
His eyes flicked to mine — fast, startled, andmaybea little amused. “You don’t know when to quit.”
“You like it.”
“Maybe.”
He turned back toward the cabin, but when I slipped again — half on purpose this time — his hand shot out, steadying me before I could fall. This time, he didn’t let go right away.
For a breath, we just stood there in the storm, his fingers tight around my wrist, our pulses a little too loud in the quiet.
“Come on,” he said finally, softer now. “You’ll freeze out here.”
But he didn’t let go until we were both back under the porch light, snow dripping from our coats, my heart still a little too fast for the cold to explain.
CHAPTER 9
Colette
Inside,the quiet hit harder than the cold ever had. The wind dulled to a low hum against the walls. The fire had burned itself down to a red pulse, barely holding.
I toed off my boots and watched him do the same, both of us dripping onto the floorboards. His coat came off in one practiced motion, snow scattering as it fell, and for a second I just stood there, watching the steam rise from his shoulders where the heat met the wet.
He noticed. Of course he did.
“You’re soaked,” he said, voice roughened by cold. “You’ll make yourself sick.”
“You sound like my grandmother.”
“Yourgrandmotherdidn’t drag you into a blizzard while looking for a dead generator.”
