“I’ll get the fire going again,” he says finally. “Keep the place warm.”
“I can help.”
He nods, and something passes between us. An understanding, maybe. An acknowledgment that we’re in this together now, whatever this turns out to be.
We move toward the fireplace together, and our hands brush reaching for the same log. The contact is brief—barely a second—but it sends a jolt through my entire body. Finn goes still, his fingers inches from mine in the dim light.
Neither of us pulls away.
“Sorry,” I whisper, though I’m not sure what I’m apologizing for.
“Don’t be.” His voice is rougher than before.
He picks up the log, adds it to the fire, and the flames leap higher, casting dancing shadows across the walls. I watch him work—efficient, capable, completely in his element—and feel something dangerous taking root in my chest.
I’ve known this man for a few hours. I broke into his house. I’m trapped here by a blizzard, and tomorrow or the next day I’ll leave and probably never see him again.
This is not the time to develop feelings.
But as Finn turns from the fire and his eyes find mine in the golden light, I realize it might already be too late.
Wrong cabin. Wrong date. Wrong everything.
But somehow, something’s starting to feel right.
Chapter 6
FINN
The fire takes longer to build than it should.
My hands know the work—kindling first, arranged in a careful pyramid, then smaller logs stacked to allow airflow, then the larger pieces that will burn slow and hot through the night. I’ve done this a thousand times. Could do it blindfolded if I had to. But tonight my movements are clumsy, distracted by the woman sitting on my couch with her phone pressed to her ear.
Marcella’s voice is soft, meant for her friend and not for me, but the ranger station isn’t large. I can’t help but hear.
“I’m fine, Cora. I promise. Yes, really fine. The cabin—the actual cabin, not the rental—is really nice, and Finn is...” She pauses. I keep my back to her, feeding another log into the flames, pretending I’m not hanging on her next words. “He’s actually really kind. Just quiet.”
Something in my chest tightens.
Kind. When’s the last time anyone described me that way? Moira calls me stubborn. The few people in town who know me probably use words likestrangeorreclusiveorthat weird hermit up the mountain. My therapist at the VA—the one I stopped seeing after three sessions—called meavoidantandresistant to treatment.
But this woman, this stranger who’s known me for all of three hours, looks at me and seeskind.
I don’t know what to do with that.
“No, I can’t send a picture. There’s barely any signal, and—Coralyn, I’m not going to secretly photograph the man while I’m a guest in his home. That’s creepy.” She laughs, and the sound warms the room more than the fire. “Yes, I’ll be careful. Yes, I’ll text you in the morning. Love you too. Bye.”
I hear her phone click off. Feel her attention shift to me.
“Sorry about that,” she says. “Coralyn worries.”
“She should.” I stand, brushing bark from my hands. “You’re snowed in with a stranger in the middle of nowhere.”
“A stranger who makes incredible furniture and didn’t murder me when I broke into his house.” There’s a smile in her voice. “I think I got lucky with my accidental home invasion.”
I turn to face her. She’s curled up on my couch—the one I spent two months building, getting the angles right, making sure the cushions were deep enough to sink into—and she looks like she belongs there. Like I made it for her without knowing it.
The thought is dangerous. I push it away.
