I stood too.
She looked back, startled.
“You can leave the dishes,” I said. “It’s late. The storm’s not letting up.”
She hesitated, then smiled, small but real. “You really can’t stand letting anyone work, can you?”
“Not when I can help it.”
Her smile lingered as she turned away, and for the first time in a long time, the quiet didn’t feel like punishment.
CHAPTER 5
Colette
I washed the dishes anyway.I know he told me not to, but I needed the noise — the clink of plates, the rush of water, the small illusion of control.
He moved quietly behind me, tidying without saying much. Every so often, I’d catch the faint scent of him — soap, smoke, and something colder. It wasn’t fair that he smelled good. That during the hardest season of my life, this older, and unbelievably attractive, man was just… here.
By the time the dishes were stacked, it was well past ten. The storm outside had thickened to a solid white wall. I kept checking the window, as if the sight of it might magically change. It didn’t.
He’d settled on the couch with a book — his own, probably, because who else could get away with that — and the firelight cut across his face in these sharp, quiet lines. The kind of face that looked carved, not made.
It was too still. Too… full.
“So,” I said, voice too bright, “this is fun. Cozy. A totally normal evening with a complete stranger.”
He didn’t look up. “Stranger seems generous.”
“I might still murder you in your sleep,” I offered.
That earned the ghost of a smile. “Between you and that snowstorm… I think I’ll take my chances.”
I lingered there a moment, hugging my arms to my chest, waiting for him to say something else. He didn’t. He just turned another page, calm as the snow outside.
Eventually, I gave up. “Goodnight, Silas.”
“Goodnight, Colette.”
He said it low — so soft I almost didn’t hear it — and the way it landed made something in my chest tighten.
The cabin only had one proper bed, tucked into a nook across from the couch, so close I could see the rise and fall of his chest when I finally lay down. I turned my back to him, determined not to think about it.
The wind battered the windows. The fire dimmed to a quiet, pulsing glow. And then, sometime in the dark hours between wake and sleep, the lights flickered once… twice… and died.
The silence that followed was heavy and complete.
“Silas?” I whispered into the dark.
Nothing. Just the hiss of wind and the groan of the cabin.
I sat up, heart hammering. It wasblack— dark you could drown in. “Silas?”
There was a rustle, an inaudible murmur, then the sound of him shifting. “Colette, it’s all right,” he said, voice rough with sleep. “Power’s gone. Stay put.”
Easy for him to say. He sounded steady, and I was a heartbeat away from panic. The floor creaked, the undeniable sound of movement in the cabin, before something brushed my arm — a blanket, maybe, or his hand guiding it toward me — and my breath hitched.
“Fire will hold until morning,” he said softly, his voice closer than I expected. “Go back to sleep.”
