“My folks are back in Knoxville. We’re not close.” I picked at a scorch mark on my coat. “I’m the middle kid. Older brother was the golden child—football star, dad’s favorite. Younger sister had health problems, so mom was always focused on her.” I shrugged. “I learned pretty early that if I wanted anyone to notice me, I had to be funny. Be loud. Be the guy who made everyone laugh.”
She was quiet for a moment. “That sounds lonely.”
“It was.” The admission came out easier than I expected. “Still is, sometimes. But I got good at hiding it.”
“Is that why you moved here? To get away from all that?”
“Partly.” I looked at her, at the way the shadows played across her face. “Mostly, I just wanted a place where I could be something other than the family clown. Build something that was mine.”
Before she could respond, my radio crackled to life.
“—got a call from one of the roadhouse servers. Meghan something. Her heat went out, and she’s losing power. Says the snow’s piled too high for her to dig herself out, and her place is getting cold. Anyone available?”
I recognized the voice. Conner, sounding harried.
Then another voice cut through, sharp and immediate. “I’ve got it. I know where she lives. Heading out now.”
Wolfe. I frowned. Since when did Wolfe know where some server lived? And since when did he volunteer for anything that wasn’t directly fire-related?
The radio chatter continued for a moment—someone asking if Wolfe needed backup, Wolfe cutting them off with a terse negative—and then it went quiet.
Allegra was watching me. “Did he say Meghan?”
“She works at the roadhouse, right?”
“She’s one of our servers.” Concern crossed her face. “Sweet girl. I hope she’s okay.”
“Wolfe’s got her.” I clipped the radio back to my belt, still puzzling over his reaction. The guy barely talked to anyone on the crew, and now he was racing out into a blizzard to rescue a woman he claimed to know? “She’ll be fine.”
The interruption had broken something between us, but not entirely. We were still here. Still alone. Still sitting across from each other in the dim light while the storm raged outside.
She should get back. I knew that. She had work to do, people to feed. But I didn’t want her to go. Not yet.
“Stay,” I said. “Just a few more minutes.”
She hesitated. I could see her weighing it—the responsible choice versus whatever this was building between us.
“You’re not what I expected,” she said finally.
“What did you expect?”
She pulled her knees tighter to her chest. “Someone who doesn’t actually see me. Guys like you—” She stopped, started again. “Charming guys. Funny guys. They flirt with everyone. They’re not serious.”
“I’m serious about you.”
The words came out before I could second-guess them. They hung in the air between us, heavy and undeniable.
She didn’t say anything for a long moment. Her eyes searched my face, looking for the joke, the deflection. Finding nothing but the truth.
“I felt something this morning,” I said. “When I woke up and saw you standing there with that bowl of soup. I know it sounds crazy. I know this is all new. But I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”
She was quiet. Too quiet. I’d pushed too hard, said too much, scared her off?—
“I’ve never done this before,” she said. “Any of this.” She met my eyes. “I’ve never been with a man.”
The words hit me like a punch to the chest. Not because it changed anything. It didn’t. But because she was trusting me with something real. Something vulnerable.
“That doesn’t change anything,” I said. “Not for me.”
