“In my defense, it was sixty-five degrees when I left LA.” He glanced around the cabin, taking in the fire, the cozy furniture, and then his eyes landed on the couch. “Is that the cat?”
I turned to see the white demon sitting there, grooming itself with supreme dignity, completely unbothered by the stranger in its territory.
“That’s not my cat,” I said automatically.
“Right.” Samuel’s smile widened into something genuinely amused, and I felt my stomach do something complicated. “It’s just visiting?”
“For dinner. Apparently.” I gestured at the empty plate still sitting on my kitchen floor. “Gladys told me not to feed it.”
“She told me the same thing.” He moved closer to the couch, and the cat immediately stood up, stretched, and began purring. “How’s that working out for you?”
“The cat is currently eating like royalty thanks to me. Smoked salmon from the Boar’s Head Inn.”
Samuel laughed—a real, genuine laugh that made his eyes crinkle at the corners and did absolutely nothing to help my situation. “That’s fancy. I was going to offer it tuna from a can if it showed up at my place again.”
The cat, an absolute whore, immediately rubbed against Samuel’s hand and started purring louder.
“Traitor,” I muttered.
“I think it likes me.” Samuel looked up at me, still smiling, and something in my chest twisted painfully.
“It likes anyone who might provide food, warmth, or attention. The cat has no loyalty. No standards. It’s basically the feline equivalent of—” I stopped myself before I could say “my ex-boyfriend.”
Samuel stood up, brushing white fur off his hands. “Well, I appreciate it breaking the ice. Speaking of which—” He looked embarrassed suddenly, color rising in his cheeks. “This is going to sound ridiculous, but the reason I’m here is that I’m having a situation with my fire.”
“A situation?”
“The wood Gladys left is all wet. I’ve been trying to get it to catch for like an hour, but it just sits there smoking and hissing and slowly killing what little fire I had left.” He ran a hand through his hair, making it even more tousled. “Do you have any wood? Just a log or two to get me through tonight?”
My brain immediately went somewhere it absolutely should not have gone.
Do I have any wood? Why yes I do.
Heat crawled up the back of my neck. “Wood,” I repeated, my voice coming out slightly strangled.
“Yes. Firewood. For burning. In a fireplace.” His cheeks were definitely pink now, and not just from the cold. “Oh God, that sounds like the worst pickup line in history, doesn’t it?”
“A little, yeah.”
“I promise I’m just genuinely incompetent at mountain survival and about to freeze to death in my cabin. I need some wood. Not trying to—I mean, not that you wouldn’t be—” He stopped, looking mortified. “I’m going to stop talking now.”
The cat meowed as if it were enjoying the show.
“I have wood,” I said, and immediately wanted to die. “Dry wood. For fires. That you can borrow. To burn.” My cheeks were on fire. “In your fireplace.”
“That would be amazing.” Samuel’s relief was palpable. “I’ll replace it tomorrow. I’m planning to go to Shifflett’s General Store and stock up on supplies. Apparently, I need to actually buy things like food and firewood and clothes that weren’t designed for seventy-degree weather.”
“Probably a good idea.” I moved toward my stack of logs near the fireplace, grateful for an excuse to turn away from him. “I’m going to the store tomorrow, too. How long are you here for?”
“A month. Maybe longer if I figure my shit out, or maybe shorter if I have a breakdown and flee back to civilization.” He paused. “You?”
“A month.” I grabbed three good-sized logs—the driest ones I had, because apparently I was a disaster who wanted to help attractive strangers stay warm. “Maybe less if my boss decides to fire me for incompetence.”
“Are you incompetent?”
“At life? Currently, yes. At my job?” I turned back to face him, logs in my arms. “Jury’s still out.”
He smiled at that, and I noticed for the first time that he had a dimple. Just one, on his left side.
