"Thanks." She pulls away, looking around the interior with open curiosity. "Wow. This is... not what I expected."
I see it through her eyes. The vaulted ceilings with exposed beams. The massive stone fireplace that takes up most of the south wall. The kitchen with its custom cabinetry and professional grade appliances. The furniture my brother Declan made by hand, solid and masculine and built to last.
"What did you expect?"
"I don't know. Dead animals on the walls. Empty beer cans. Maybe a Confederate flag."
"Wrong part of the country for Confederate flags."
"You know what I mean."
I do know. She expected a stereotype. The gruff mountain man living in squalor, surrounded by the trappings of toxic masculinity. Instead she got something that looks like it belongs in an architectural magazine, all clean lines and warm wood and intentional design.
"Guest room is upstairs. Second door on the left. Bathroom attached." I set her suitcase near the stairs. "Kitchen's fully stocked if you're hungry. I'll make a fire."
"You don't have to take care of me."
"I'm not taking care of you. I'm being a decent host." I crouch in front of the fireplace and start arranging kindling.
She's quiet, and when I glance over my shoulder, she's watching me with an expression I can't quite read. Wariness mixed with something warmer. Something that looks almost like hope.
"Why did you really ask me to do this?"
The question catches me off guard. "I told you. The matchmakers."
"That's not the whole reason."
I consider lying. But I've already told her more truth tonight than I've told most people in years, and something about the wayshe asked, like she genuinely wants to understand, makes me want to keep going.
"There's a woman. Helena Chen. She moved to town last year, and her mother is convinced we'd be perfect together." I strike a match and watch the kindling catch. "She's been seated at my table for the wedding. If I show up alone, her mother will spend the entire night engineering reasons for us to interact. Dancing, photos, toasts. By the end of the reception, half the town will be planning our engagement party."
"And you don't want that."
"I don't want to be managed into a relationship I didn't choose." The fire catches properly now, flames licking up through the logs. "I've spent enough of my life being managed."
Nadia moves closer to the fireplace, extending her hands toward the warmth. The light plays across her features, softening the angles and catching the gold undertones in her skin.
"That ex fiancée really did a number on you."
"She did." I stand, brushing ash from my palms. "But that's not the only reason."
"Then what is?"
The smart answer is to change the subject. The smart answer is to show her to her room and say goodnight and spend the rest of the evening reminding myself that this arrangement has boundaries.
But smart has never been my problem. My problem is wanting things I shouldn't want and people I shouldn't have.
"I saw you walk into that bar and I wanted to know what your voice sounded like. Then you spoke and I wanted to know what made you laugh. Now I know both of those things and I want to know more." I hold her gaze, letting her see exactly how much I mean it. "That's why I asked. Not just practicality. Not justconvenience. Because something about you makes me curious, and I haven't been curious about anyone in a very long time."
Her breath catches audibly.
"That's... very direct."
"I warned you I prefer honesty."
"You did." She swallows, and I track the movement down her throat. "I just didn't expect you to actually practice it."
"Get used to disappointment. I'm exactly who I say I am."
