He says it so matter-of-factly, like it's the most obvious thing in the world, and I have to look away because the intensity of his gaze is too much.
My eyes burn, and I blink rapidly, refusing to cry in front of this man I barely know.
I want to believe him. I want to believe that I'm enough, that someone could see me and want me without reservation. But years of evidence to the contrary make it hard.
"I'm cold," I say suddenly, needing to shift the conversation before I start crying or saying something I'll regret. My voice sounds too bright, too forced, but Joseph doesn't call me on it.
He stands without a word and moves to a small chest by the wall. He pulls out a thick plaid shirt and holds it out to me.
"Here."
I take it, the fabric warm and surprisingly heavy in my hands. "Are you sure?"
"I'm sure."
I slip it on over my hoodie. It smells like him, makes me want to pull the collar up to my nose and breathe deeply, and I have to resist the urge to bury my face in it.
The flannel is soft from years of wear. I can feel the warmth of it immediately, and it's not just the physical warmth, it's also the intimacy of wearing something that belongs to him, something that's touched his skin, something that carries his scent and his presence.
When I look up, Joseph is watching me, and there's something in his expression that makes my breath catch. Something heated and restrained, like he's holding himself back.
His eyes track over me slowly and I see his jaw tighten, his fingers flex against his thigh.
"Better?" he asks, his voice rougher than before, almost hoarse.
"Yeah."
He sits back down, closer this time, and I feel the warmth of him even though we're not touching.
I lean back against the cushions, letting the warmth of the fire and the weight of the flannel shirt settle over me. My body feels heavy, relaxed, and I realize that I haven't felt this comfortable in a long time.
Joseph shifts slightly, and his knee brushes mine. It's a small thing, barely noticeable, but the contact sends a jolt of awareness through me. The heat of him seeps through the fabric, and I feel it all the way to my bones.
I don't move away. Neither does he.
We sit like that for a while, close but not quite touching, the fire crackling between us and the night pressing in around the cabin.
I can hear the wind outside, the creak of the trees, the soft hiss of snow against the windows. But inside, it's warm and quiet and still, and I feel protected, held.
"Thank you," I say eventually, my voice barely above a whisper.
"For what?"
"For letting me stay. And for not making this weird."
He looks at me, and there's something soft in his expression, something that makes my heart squeeze. "It's not weird."
"It could be."
"But it's not."
I smile, and this time it feels genuine, unguarded. "No. It's not."
He holds my gaze for a long moment, and I feel the undeniable pull between us.
Chapter 4 – Joseph
Demi is beside me, close enough that I can feel the warmth radiating from her body, close enough that if I shifted even slightly our knees would touch.
