I smiled — something small, something that shouldn’t have felt like a dare. “You didn’t have to save me.”
He looked at me then, really looked. A look that starts soft and ends sharp. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “I did.”
My pulse tripped.
He moved past me toward the fire, crouched low, and startedfeeding it bits of kindling. His shoulders flexed beneath his shirt, and I had to look away before I stared too long.
When the flames caught, he sat back on his heels, hands outstretched toward the warmth. “Come closer,” he said without looking up.
I hesitated, then stepped into the glow. The air between us hummed, alive with the kind of heat that had nothing to do with fire.
“Better?” he asked.
“I’d say so.”
He glanced up — eyes dark, focused — and for a moment neither of us moved. The drip of melted snow from my hair traced the curve of my jaw, and his gaze followed it like it mattered.
“You’ve got to get out of these clothes,” his voice broke through the silence.
I looked up, pulse jumping. “Excuse me?”
He froze halfway through wringing out his sleeve. “You’re soaked,” he said a little too quickly. “You’ll get sick if you stay in those clothes too long. There’s no path for the EMTs to save you from hypothermia.”
“Oh.” I blinked at him, fighting a smile. “Right. Of course. Thepracticalthing.”
“Right.” He stared down at the floorboards like they were suddenly fascinating. “I have extra sweats, thicker than the flimsy shit you brought.”
I raised a brow. “You’re very traditional for a man who rented a one-room cabin.”
“I wasn’t planning on having company.”
“Neither was I,” I said, tugging lightly at the hem of my sweatshirt. Water dripped to the floor. “Guess that makes two of us.”
He didn’t answer. Just watched me for a second too long before turning to his duffle bag. His shoulders were tight, his jaw tighter.
I took my time peeling off the damp layers, the air cool against my skin. Tossing each piece aside, I could feel him trying not tolook, couldfeelit in the way his breath hitched when I brushed past to hang my clothes near the fire.
I stood there, practically bare before him, and his eyes were still glued to his bag.
He shifted, back to me as Idaredhim to look. As I stood there, in nothing but my underwear, my heart raced. “There,” I said softly. “All dry.”
“Good.” He cleared his throat, handing a pile of clothes my way without looking. “Here, appropriate clothing.”
“There’s nothing appropriate about this.” I snatched the clothes, letting my fingers linger over his for just a moment. “Your turn, hotshot.”
He glanced back over his shoulder, one eyebrow lifting. “My turn?”
“You’re drenched too. Unless you’re planning on proving your own point about getting sick.”
A small smile ghosted his mouth — barely there, but it lit something in him I hadn’t seen before. “You’re relentless.”
“I’ve been called worse.”
He hesitated, then tugged his sweater over his head. The motion was all economy, no pretense, but my breath still caught. The neck of the fabric dipped into a V, causing his skin to gleam faintly in the firelight, pale against the dark fabric.
“Happy now?” he asked, voice low as his eyes snagged on mine.
I tilted my head, nodding to his own wet pants. “Getting there.”
