The house was small—two bedrooms, one bathroom, and a little office that had been converted into a sewing room. I checked each room methodically, holding the candle out in front of me and looking for any signs of trouble. The bathroom faucet was dripping slightly, which was good. Moving water was less likely to freeze. I left it alone.
In the guest bedroom, I found where she’d been staying. The candlelight flickered across a suitcase that sat open on the floor, clothes neatly folded inside. A laptop and some textbooks were stacked on the nightstand. I remembered hearing she was taking classes, working toward some kind of degree. I didn’t know the details. I only knew what I’d overheard at the roadhouse, and I tried not to listen too closely. It felt like cheating somehow.
I stood there longer than I should have, looking at her things. This was her space, temporary as it was. A half-empty water glass on the nightstand. A notebook beside it, the handwriting just visible in the candlelight.
What the hell was wrong with me?
I turned and walked back to the living room. She was still sitting by the fire, but now she had her phone in her hand, the screen casting a blue glow on her face.
“No service,” she said, not looking up. “I keep checking, but nothing.”
“Storm’s too heavy. Might come back once it lets up.”
She nodded and set the phone aside. Then she looked at me—really looked—and I felt it like a physical thing. Those eyes, brown and warm in the firelight. I wanted to tell her something. I wanted to explain why I was like this, why I couldn’t seem to string more than a few words together. But the explanation was too long and too ugly, and she didn’t need to hear it.
“Do you have anyone waiting for you?” she asked. “Family? A girlfriend?”
I shook my head. “Just my dog.”
“You have a dog?”
Something in her voice shifted. Lighter, more animated. I didn’t know why that topic would be any different from the others, but I’d take it.
“Black lab,” I said. “Name’s Midnight.”
“I love that name. Do you have a picture?”
I pulled out my phone and scrolled to my photos. Midnight was in most of them—lying on the porch, running through the woods, sleeping in a patch of sunlight. I handed the phone to her without thinking, then immediately regretted it. What if she scrolled too far? What if she thought I was weird for having nothing but dog pictures?
But she just smiled, her whole face softening as she swiped through the images. “He’s beautiful. Look at that face.”
“She,” I corrected. “Midnight’s a girl.”
“She’s beautiful,” Meghan amended. “How long have you had her?”
“Six years. Got her when she was a puppy. Right after I left the Army.”
The words came easier now. I didn’t know why talking about Midnight was different, but it was. Maybe because Midnight had never expected anything from me. She didn’t need me to be charming or articulate. She just needed me to show up, and I could do that.
“She must be worried about you,” Meghan said, handing the phone back. “Being out in this storm.”
“She’s fine. I left her plenty of food and water. She’s probably sleeping on the heater vent right now, not even thinking about me.”
That got a small laugh out of her, and something in my chest loosened. I’d made her laugh. That was something.
She shifted, tucking her legs underneath her, and the afghan slipped off one shoulder. I saw the curve of her neck, the way her hair fell across her collarbone. I looked away fast, but not fast enough.
When I glanced back, she was watching me.
Our eyes met, and for a long moment, neither of us looked away. The fire crackled between us. The wind howled outside. And I stood there, frozen, knowing she’d caught me staring and having no idea what to do about it.
“I should get more wood,” I said, the words coming out rough. “Fire’s going to need it.”
I was already moving toward my coat before she could respond. I needed the cold. I needed the shock of the wind and the snow to clear my head. Because if I stayed in that room with her looking at me like that, I was going to do something stupid.
Outside, the storm hit me like a wall. I trudged through the drifts to the woodpile, loading my arms with as many logs as I could carry. The cold burned my lungs, but it helped. It reminded me who I was and what I was doing here.
I was here to keep her safe. That was it. That was all.
