"I know you stopped to help a stranger." I lean into his touch, just slightly. "I know you gave me your coat. I know you—"
The fire pops loudly, making us both jump. Dean steps back like he's been burned, running a hand through his hair.
"I'll heat up some soup for dinner," he says roughly.
Then he's across the room, putting safe distance between us, leaving me breathless and confused and more intrigued than ever.
So much for not getting involved in any more complications.
*****
Sleep isn't happening.
Not with the wind howling outside like a lost soul. Not with the unfamiliar creaks of a cabin settling. And definitely not with the knowledge that Dean McKnight is downstairs, probably brooding magnificently on that leather couch.
By two AM, I give up. The fire's died down to embers, casting just enough light to navigate the stairs. I make it halfway down before freezing – Dean's sitting up, shirtless, staring into the dying fire.
I should go back upstairs. I should absolutely, definitely not notice how the faint light plays across his shoulders, or the way his hair is mussed from sleep, or—
"Can't sleep?" His voice is rough, lower than before.
Busted. "How did you know I was here?"
"Third step creaks."
Of course it does. I finish my descent, trying to look like I totally meant to get caught staring. "I was just getting water."
He gestures to the kitchen without looking at me. I'm halfway there when his sharp intake of breath makes me turn.
Oh. Right. I'm in sleep shorts and a thin t-shirt. No bra. Definitely not appropriate attire for late-night water missions.
"Sorry," I mumble, crossing my arms. "I didn't think..."
"Don't." His voice is strained. "Just... get your water."
I fill a glass with shaking hands, very aware of his presence behind me. When I turn back, he's added another log to the fire, sparks dancing up the chimney.
"You should go back to bed," he says, still not looking at me.
"Probably." I take a sip of water. "Want to know why I can't sleep?"
"No."
I sit on the opposite end of the couch anyway. "I keep thinking about how different this is. From Seattle, I mean. It's never this quiet there. Even at night, there's always sirens or traffic or drunk college students singing 'Sweet Caroline.'"
He finally looks at me, firelight catching the angles of his face. "You miss it?"
"I thought I would." I tuck my feet under me, careful to maintain distance between us. "But this kind of quiet... it feels honest, you know?"
"Honest," he repeats softly. "That why you came here? Looking for honesty?"
Something in his tone makes me brave. Or maybe it's just the late hour, the storm, the intimacy of firelight.
"My ex-fiancé was sleeping with his co-worker." The words come easier in the dark. "Classic, right? Like, couldn't he at least be original about destroying my trust?"
Dean goes very still. "When?"
"Three months ago. Right before the wedding." I attempt a laugh, but it comes out shaky. "We'd been together since college. I was... waiting. For marriage. For it to be special."
