He was already moving the screen aside, pulling out the dried flowers and setting them on the coffee table. Then he crouched down and looked up into the flue, doing something I couldn’t see.
“There’s wood outside,” he said. “Stacked against the shed.”
“I saw it, but I couldn’t get to it. The snow?—”
“I’ll get it.”
And then he was gone, back out into the storm like it was nothing. I stood in the dark living room, listening to my own breathing and wondering who the hell this guy was.
He made four trips, each time coming back with his arms full of split logs. He stacked them neatly beside the fireplace, then knelt and started building a fire like he’d done it a thousand times. By the looks of him, he’d done exactly that.
Within minutes, flames were licking at the kindling, and a few minutes after that, a real fire was crackling in the hearth. The heat was immediate, washing over me like a wave. I actually felt tears prick at my eyes from the relief of it.
“Thank you,” I said. “Really. I don’t know what I would have done.”
He stood, brushing off his knees, and finally looked at me. Actually looked at me, not just that quick assessment from before. His eyes were dark, nearly black in the firelight, and there was something in them I couldn’t quite read.
“You know how to manage a fire?” he asked.
I blinked. “I mean…I can add wood when it gets low?”
He shook his head once. “It’s not that simple. Fire like this needs tending every few hours. You let it burn down too far, you’ll have trouble getting it going again. And if it goes out while you’re sleeping…”
He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t need to.
“Oh.” I looked at the flames, suddenly aware of how much I didn’t know. “I guess I didn’t think about that.”
He moved to the window and looked out at the snow still falling in thick curtains. His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.
“I’m not leaving you here alone,” he said. “Not with no power, no heat source you know how to use. That’s not how this works.”
The words hung in the air between us. I processed them slowly, my cold-numbed brain struggling to catch up.
He was staying. This silent, bearded stranger was going to be here with me until…when? Until the power came back? Until the storm passed?
“You don’t have to do that,” I said, even though the thought of being alone in this dark, cold house made my stomach clench. “I’m sure you have better things to do than babysit some girl who got stuck in a snowstorm.”
He turned from the window. That unreadable expression was still there, but something flickered in his eyes. Just for a second, so fast I might have imagined it.
“Not babysitting,” he said. “It’s protocol. We don’t leave people in situations like this.”
Protocol. Right. He was just doing his job. I didn’t know why that thought made me feel slightly deflated.
He shrugged out of his coat and hung it on the back of a kitchen chair. Underneath, he wore a simple flannel shirt that strained across his shoulders. Then he walked past me toward the kitchen, and I heard him opening cabinets, then the sound of water running.
I moved closer to the fire and sank onto the floor in front of it, letting the heat soak into my bones. My hands were still shaking, partly from the cold and partly from something else. Nerves, maybe. Or just the strangeness of the whole situation.
Through the doorway, I could see him moving around the kitchen. He’d found some candles and was lighting them, placing them on the counter. In the flickering light, his profile was sharp and serious. He had the look of someone who didn’t smile much.
I wondered what his story was. The firefighters who came into the roadhouse were usually friendly—loud, laughing, always joking around with each other. But this one had barely looked at me since he arrived, barely spoken two words. He’d just shown up, done what needed to be done, and now he was rattling around in a stranger’s kitchen like I wasn’t even here.
He came back into the living room with two mugs and handed one to me. I took it, grateful for the warmth against my skin.
“Found some instant coffee,” he said. “Water’s still working. For now.”
“Thank you.” I took a sip. It was bitter and not very good, but it was hot, and that was all that mattered. “I don’t even know your name.”
He settled into the armchair across from me, his big frame making it look like furniture for children. “Wolfe.”
