The weight of his attention roots me in place. There’s something in his expression that feels like he’s been waiting, like he already knew I’d be here, like this moment was decided long before I walked into the auction.
“Four hundred,” Claire says. My shoulders sink. This is outside my budget, but I can dig into savings.
I open my mouth to counter, but Davin moves first. He steps forward to the edge of the stage, his boots heavy on the wood. His voice carries low and rough across the space. “That’s enough.”
Evelyn blinks. “I’m sorry?”
“I said that’s enough.” He nods toward me. “I’m taking her bid.”
The crowd goes silent. Not the held-breath quiet from before. The shocked kind, the kind that comes when the rules change mid-game, and no one saw it coming.
Claire’s mouth falls open. “But I bid higher.”
Davin doesn’t look at her. His eyes stay locked on mine, dark and certain. “Doesn’t matter.”
The warm air feels too thick in my lungs. My fingers tremble against the wall, but the rush of heat flooding my face drowns out everything else. The crowd has disappeared. The noise is gone. All that exists is the man walking toward me and the way my body has started to unclench, muscle by muscle, like it’s been waiting for permission to let go.
He steps off the stage and crosses the room. People move out of his way without being asked. He stops three feet away. Up close, he’s enormous. Not just tall but solid, the kind of presence that makes the air feel heavier. I crane my neck to look up at him. The angle makes me acutely aware of how much space heoccupies, how small I feel in comparison, how that should be frightening but isn’t.
“You need help with something,” he says. It’s not a question.
I nod because words won’t come.
“Then let’s go.”
The words unstick. “Wait. I need to explain. This isn’t—I’m not here for the weekend thing. I just need help moving furniture. That’s it. I can pay you for your time, and then we’re done.”
“We’ll talk about it,” he says, and his tone makes it clear the conversation is over for now.
Evelyn’s assistant materializes beside us, clipboard and mobile credit card reader in hand. I dig my card out of my bag and fumble with the reader until it dings. “Congratulations, you two,” she says, smiling.
I start to correct her, but Davin’s hand settles on the small of my back, and the words evaporate. The touch is light, barely any pressure, but it burns through my coat and sweater like a brand. My knees soften, and I lock them to stay upright.
“Storm’s coming,” he says, his voice low enough that only I can hear. “We need to move.”
Through the glass double doors at the far end, I can see the sky. Thick clouds move fast, dark and heavy with snow that’s already started to fall.
“My car—”
“Won’t make it up the mountain in the coming storm. You’ll ride with me.”
“I don’t even know you.”
His hand doesn’t move from my back. His gaze doesn’t shift. “You know enough.”
And the terrifying part is that some deep, exhausted part of me agrees. My shoulders drop. The tension I’ve been carrying for months loosens its grip on my spine, and for the first time inwhat feels like forever, the idea of not holding everything alone doesn’t feel like failure. It feels like relief.
“Okay,” I say.
His expression doesn’t change, but something in his eyes softens. He nods once, then turns and starts walking. I follow because my body has already decided. The crowd parts around us, and behind me, Evelyn’s voice rises in triumph. “And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how it’s done!”
We step out of the auction into the cold, and the temperature drop hits like a wall. The air chills my hands and face, sharp after the stifling warmth inside. Snow falls steadily now, fat flakes that catch in my hair and melt on my cheeks. I pull my coat closed and button it with fumbling fingers. Davin’s hand stays at my back, guiding me across the square toward the parking area, his body blocking the worst of the wind.
His truck sits at the edge of the lot, a dark blue extended cab with chains already wrapped around the tires. He opens the passenger door, and I climb in. The cab smells like pine sap and worn leather. The passenger seat is cracked but spotless, and a thermos sits in the cup holder.
He slides into the driver’s seat, and the engine starts with a low rumble that vibrates through the seat and into my bones. The heater kicks on immediately. After a moment, warm air pours from the vents.
He pulls out, and we’re moving over the road like he owns the snow. The town fades behind us as we climb into the mountains. Snow falls harder now, coating the windshield before the wipers sweep it away in steady arcs.
