“Nnngh,” he mutters, voice thick and sleep-rough.
Shitbiscuits.
He shifts, rolls halfway onto his back, and blinks up at me in slow motion.
Messy hair. Dazed eyes, softening. Confused frown, melting into a wondrous smile.
If he weren’t a constant tumult in my currently highly strung bloodstream, I might allow myself to admit he’s genuinely beautiful. But I don’t.
Slash, Iwon’t.
“Morning,” I say, too bright. Too sharp.
His eyes narrow, trying to focus. “Ally?”
“No, the other woman whose bed you snuck into,” I snap before I can stop myself.
Nate stiffens. “I didn’t getintothe bed.” He pulls himself upright, palms raised as if warding off accusation. “I swear. The fire started to die and the floor was frickin’ freezing. And I couldn’t get comfortable on the sofa. I just…” He gestures vaguely to the top of the blankets. “I didn’t go under. Promise.”
I rub my eyes. “I know. It’s fine. It’s just… I was startled. When I woke up.”
He nods, exhaling. “OK. Good.” Giving me a cautious glance, he asks, “Did you sleep OK?”
“Not much.”
“Because of…?” He gestures between us.
“Not everything is about you,” I mutter.
His mouth quirks into a sad smile. “Fair enough.”
I turn away before I can thaw even a little more. I’m being a moody bitch, but if I let go of that, I might start thinking aboutthings that make me break. And I’d rather Nate sawgrumpyme thanemotional breakdownme.
“I’m going to make coffee,” I announce. “Ifthe generator hasn’t died.”
“It hasn’t,” Nate says.
Right on cue, the generator immediately coughs in the next room like it’s dying of a Victorian illness.
We both stare toward the sound.
“You had to jinx it, didn’t you,” I drawl.
He sighs, running a hand down his face. “I’m going to have to go out there, aren’t I?”
“No,” I say immediately. “Nate, it’s barely dawn. It’s still storming.”
“I won’t be long.”
“Nate, for the love of -”
“I’ll be careful. I promise.”
Those words hit too deep and too fast. Why is he always gentle when I least want him to be? Can’t he just snap back at me and call me on my shit the way I deserve?
I swallow. “I’ll… make coffee. So you have something hot when you come back.” I can’t do it. I can’t be frosty with him anymore. It’s not who I want to be.
Something flickers in his expression, something warm, surprised, and almost tender. But, without further ado, he nods and heads to pull on his coat and boots.
