“That’s Ben’s cheap whiskey.”
“It’s not cheap, it’s practical,” Ben protests, settling onto the couch.
“Those aren’t mutually exclusive.” Milo raises his glass. “To being snowed in with good company.”
We drink. The whiskey burns going down, but it settles warm in my stomach, taking the edge off.
Tessa curls up in the corner of the couch, legs tucked under her. Ben’s on the other end, close but not touching. Milo’s back in the armchair, and I’m in my usual spot by the fire.
The storm howls outside. The fire crackles. And for a while, nobody talks—just sits together in the warm silence, watching the flames.
Then Tessa’s hand finds mine.
I look over. She’s not looking at me—she’s staring at the fire, her expression soft and unguarded—but her fingers are threaded through mine, her thumb tracing idle patterns on my palm.
Such a small thing. But it settles the restless ache in my chest.
Milo catches my eye. Smiles. Doesn’t say anything.
Ben notices too. His jaw tightens, but it’s not jealousy—more like wonder. Like he can’t quite believe this is happening.
Neither can I.
“I should sleep,” Tessa says eventually, her voice thick with exhaustion. “I’m...”
“Tired,” Ben finishes for her. “Yeah. The couch pulls out, or you can take my bed again.”
She hesitates. Looks at me. At Milo. At Ben.
“Would it be weird,” she says slowly, “if I just... stayed out here? By the fire? I don’t want to be alone.”
The three of us exchange glances.
“Not weird,” Milo says. “We can figure out sleeping arrangements. Someone should keep the fire going anyway.”
We make it work. The couch pulls out into a bed—lumpy but passable—and we pile it with blankets. Ben takes the first fire shift, settling into the armchair with a book. Milo stretches out on the floor near the hearth with a pillow and a resigned sigh.
And Tessa curls up on the pull-out bed, wrapped in quilts, her freshly-bandaged hands tucked under her chin.
I should go to the back room. Give her space. But when I start to move, she reaches out and catches my wrist.
“Stay?”
One word. A question. A request.
I look at Ben. He nods.
I look at Milo. He’s already got his eyes closed, a small smile on his face.
So I sit on the edge of the pull-out bed, my back against the couch arm, close enough to touch but not touching.
“Thank you,” she whispers.
I don’t answer. Just stay.
The fire pops and settles. The snow falls. And eventually, her breathing evens out into sleep.
I watch her for a long time. The soft rise and fall of her chest. The way her brow furrows, then smooths. The small sound she makes when she shifts, burrowing deeper into the blankets.
