"Absolutely not. I was completely distracted by..." I snap my mouth shut, feeling heat crawl up my neck.
"By?"
"The... technical complexity of fire maintenance?"
He makes that sound again, the one that's almost a laugh but not quite. "Try again."
"I'd rather not." I stand quickly, nearly tripping over myself. "So! Is the generator good? Storm still bad? Any other survival skills I should know about? Bear wrestling? Moose taming?"
"Harper." He rises slowly, all coiled grace, and suddenly I'm very aware that I've backed myself into a corner. "What are you really running from?"
The question hits like ice water. "I'm not—"
"Bullshit." But his voice is gentle. "Nobody buys a bookstore two thousand miles from home, in November, unless they're running from something."
Or someone. But I'm not ready for that conversation. Not with this stranger who doesn't feel like a stranger at all.
"Maybe I just really like books," I say lightly. "Maybe I'm pursuing my dream of becoming a small-town bookstore owner who solves mysteries in her spare time."
"And names her vehicles?"
"That's just a quirky character trait to make me more endearing to readers."
This time he does laugh, the sound rich and unexpected. "That what I am? A reader?"
No. He's the love interest. The plot twist. The complication I definitely don't need right now.
But before I can answer, the lights flicker once, twice, and go out.
Perfect.
"Don't move," Dean says in the darkness. "There's a lantern under the sink."
I hear him moving with sure steps, the click of cabinets, then soft light fills the room. He sets the lantern on the counter, and the shadows it casts make him look even more dangerous. More compelling.
"Generator's probably iced up," he says. "I should—"
"Don't." The word comes out before I can stop it. "I mean... it's getting worse out there. And we have the fire. And I..." I take a breath. "I don't want to be alone."
He goes very still. The lantern throws shadows across his face, making his expression unreadable. For a long moment, the only sound is the crackling fire and the howling wind.
"Harper," he says finally, my name like a warning. "I'm not good at being around people."
"Good thing I'm not people." I shrug off his coat, draping it over a chair. "I'm just a quirky bookstore owner. In training."
He takes a step closer, and the air changes, charges. "This isn't a book."
"No?" I lift my chin. "Stranded in a snowstorm with a gorgeous, grumpy mountain man? Seems pretty on-brand for a romance book to me."
His eyes darken. "You think this is romantic?"
"I think..." I wet my lips, watching his gaze track the movement.Be bold, Harper. "I think you're still here. Even though you keep saying you should go."
Another step. He's close enough now that I have to tip my head back to meet his eyes. "Maybe I'm just worried about you burning the place down."
"Maybe." I smile. "Or maybe you're not as alone-loving as you pretend to be."
His hand comes up, callused fingers brushing my cheek so lightly I might have imagined it. "You don't know anything about me."
