The silence grows thick. I can see the pulse jumping in her neck. Can see the way her weight shifts forward almost imperceptibly, like she's fighting the urge to step closer.
I could kiss her. The thought arrives fully formed and immediately problematic. She's exhausted, travel worn, in a strange house with a man she just met. Any move I make right now would be taking advantage of vulnerability she hasn't offered.
So I step back instead.
"Guest room's upstairs. Towels are in the closet. Help yourself to anything in the kitchen." I turn toward the hallway that leads to the master suite. "We'll figure out the details tomorrow."
"Callum."
I stop but don't turn around.
"Thank you. For the drink. The room. All of it." Her voice is softer now. "Even if you did proposition me in a bar like some kind of romance novel cliché."
I allow myself one glance over my shoulder. She's silhouetted against the fire, all curves and defiance and something I absolutely cannot pursue.
"Get some sleep, Nadia. The weekend hasn't even started yet."
I walk away before I do something stupid.
But I already know sleep isn't coming easy tonight. Not with her under my roof and the memory of her pulse fluttering under my fingertips and the growing certainty that this simple arrangement is about to become very, very complicated.
CHAPTER THREE
NADIA
Idon't sleep.
The guest room is gorgeous. Exposed beam ceiling, queen bed with a handmade quilt that probably costs more than my monthly rent, and windows that would showcase stunning mountain views if they weren't currently being pelted with what sounds like the apocalypse.
The wind howls like something alive and angry. Every few minutes, a gust hits the cabin hard enough to make the walls creak. I lie in the dark, listening to the storm and thinking about the man sleeping somewhere on the other side of this house.
Callum Ridge.
I replay our conversation at the bar, searching for red flags I might have missed. He's older, successful, apparently the town's most eligible bachelor, and he hasn't dated seriously in eight years. That last part would normally send me running. Men who've been single that long usually have a reason, and it's rarely a good one.
But the reason he gave me wasn't a red flag. It was a wound.
She wanted me to be something I'm not.
I know that feeling. Marcus, my last serious relationship, spent two years trying to sand down my edges. Stop being so aggressive in meetings. Smile more. Let me handle this. He called it helping me navigate corporate politics. I called it slowly suffocating until I couldn't recognize myself anymore.
We broke up a year ago. I threw myself into work to avoid dealing with it. Now there's no work to throw myself into, and I'm lying awake in a stranger's guest room wondering if I've made a series of terrible decisions that led me to this exact moment.
The wind screams. Something crashes outside, loud enough to make me bolt upright.
Okay. Sleep is definitely not happening.
I grab my phone from the nightstand. 2:47 AM. The battery is at twelve percent because I forgot to ask Callum for a charger, and I have seventeen unread messages in the family group chat. Mom asking if I've arrived safely. Dad sending a photo of the mountain views from his hotel room. Yasmine sharing the final seating chart with my name next to a blank space labeled "Nadia's Plus One."
I type a quick response confirming I'm alive and that I have a date, then silence the notifications before anyone can ask follow up questions.
My throat is dry. The whiskey, probably, or the recycled airplane air I breathed for sixteen hours. I need water, and maybe a snack, and definitely to stop lying here overthinking every choice I've ever made.
The hallway is dark but not pitch black. Soft light glows from somewhere downstairs, probably the fire Callum built earlier. I pad barefoot down the stairs, grateful for the thick wool socks I packed, and navigate toward the kitchen by memory and ambient glow.
The refrigerator is stocked like he's expecting company. Fresh vegetables, quality cheeses, containers of what looks like homemade soup. I grab a bottle of water and drink half of it standing in front of the open door, letting the cold light wash over me.
"Couldn't sleep either?"
