Her blush returned with a vengeance. “That’s not—you don’t have to?—”
“I want to.” He said it simply, without any of the hesitation or conflict that had marked their previous encounters. “If you do.”
Dani made a strangled sound that might have been a suppressed squeal.
She looked between them—her sister practically glowing with satisfaction while Tarek watched her with steady green eyes and something that might have been hope lurking beneath his usual gruffness.
What am I doing? This is reckless. This is foolish.
This is exactly what I want.
“Okay,” she heard herself say. “Okay. We’ll switch rooms.”
Dani launched herself off the cushion and threw her arms around Jessa’s waist. “This is going to be wonderful. This is going to be the best. We’re going to be so happy here, I just know it.”
Over her sister’s head, she met Tarek’s eyes.
Here.As if it were permanent. As if they belonged.
His expression softened into something almost tender, and she felt the last of her resistance crumble.
Breakfast was a cheerful affair—leftover honey cakes warmed by the fire, tea brewed strong and sweet, easy conversation that flowed around the table like they’d been doing this for years instead of days.
Afterwards, Dani directed the room switch with the organizational fervor of a general commanding troops. She supervised the movement of blankets and furs, the rearrangement of small belongings, the precise placement of her growing collection of carved animals on a shelf Tarek promised to build.
By mid-morning, she’d claimed her small domain and immediately closed the door, declaring she needed “private decorating time.”
“What have we created?” she murmured, staring at the closed door.
“A monster,” he agreed. “But a happy one.”
She laughed despite herself. The sound felt strange in her throat—too light, too carefree for everything that had happened. But it felt good, so unexpectedly good.
“The storm has cleared,” he said. “The berry bushes along the eastern slope should be ready for harvest. Their juice is good for dyeing so it would add to your color options.”
“Berries for dye?” She turned to him with interest. “What colors?”
“Deep purple from the mountain berries. Red from the ones near the stream. I’ve seen your threads—they’re beautiful, but limited. This would expand your options for the trader.”
He was thinking about her work and planning for her future. Warmth filled her as she smiled at him.
“Show me?”
The pathto the berry bushes wound through woods still damp from the previous day’s storm. Water dripped from leaves overhead, catching the sunlight in scattered diamonds. The air smelled of wet earth and growing things, fresh and clean in a way the valley never quite managed.
He walked ahead, his steps sure on the uneven terrain, occasionally glancing back to make sure she was keeping up. The mountain didn’t seem to slow him at all—he moved up and down slopes as if he were part of the landscape, as natural here as the trees and stones.
She found herself watching him more than watching where she was going. The way his shoulders moved beneath his shirt. The grace of his stride. The dark hair pulled back from his face, revealing the strong line of his jaw.
Mine,something whispered deep inside her.He’s mine.
The thought should have triggered old warnings about dependence and vulnerability. Instead, it just felt true.
“You’re staring.”
She jumped. He’d stopped and turned, catching her in the act.
“I’m observing,” she corrected primly. “There’s a difference.”
