"Are we safe?" Daria asks, shivering.
"We're safe. The storm will pass. Might be a couple hours." I build a fire with the stocked wood. "Get those wet layers off before you get hypothermic."
She strips off her jacket and outer layers. I do the same, hyperaware of the small space, the intimacy of it. The fire catches, warmth filling the room.
We sit on the bench, shoulders touching. Outside, the wind howls. Inside, there's just us and flickering firelight and the weight of everything unsaid.
"This is cozy," Daria says softly.
"Emergency shelters are not anyone's first choice for cozy."
"I don't know. I'm here with you. That makes it better."
I gaze at her. Her hair's fallen from its bun, curls wild around her face. She's watching the fire, profile outlined in gold. She's so beautiful it hurts.
"Daria."
She turns to me, and the want in her eyes mirrors everything I'm feeling.
"We shouldn't," I say, even as I'm leaning closer.
"Why not?"
"I'm twelve years older than you."
"So?"
"I'm your instructor."
"Not right now you're not." She shifts to face me. "Right now we're just two people in a warming hut, and I want this. I want you."
"You don't know what you're asking."
"Don't I?" Her hand cups my jaw, thumb brushing my beard. "Nick, I've spent my whole life not asking for what I want. Not believing I could have it. But I want this. I want you. And I think—I hope—you want me too."
"God, Daria." My control is fraying. "I've wanted you since the moment I saw you."
"Then stop overthinking."
She kisses me.
It's tentative at first, testing. But when I respond—when I angle her face and deepen the kiss—it ignites. She makes a small sound in the back of her throat that destroys me.
I break away, breathing hard. "If we do this—"
"I'm sure." Her voice is steady, eyes clear. "I've never been more sure of anything."
That's all I need to hear.
I stand, pulling her up with me. The bench converts into a narrow cot, barely wide enough for one person, definitely not two. I don't care.
I lay her down, following her onto the cot. She's soft and warm beneath me, curves pressing against my harder planes. I brace myself on my elbows, looking down at her.
"You're so beautiful," I murmur.
She shakes her head. The automatic denial I'm learning is her default. But I stop her with a kiss.
"You are," I insist between kisses. "Every single inch of you."
