“Just a hamster and a cat, falling into friendship—”
“Ew, stop!” Moira gritted out, pushing out of the hug. “I’m walking back to the Woodpecker Inn.”
“It’s like ten miles away,” Birdie said after her.
“The walk will do me good.”
“Girl code says I can’t leave you behind. You just pissed off a bear shifter and look around, Moira. There is no one around here to get you out of a bad situation.”
“I would rather be chased by a hot bear shifter than sit in the same shuttle as a ro-o-o…” She shuttered and tried to say it again. “A rah-rod-reh…” She gagged.
“Really?” Birdie asked.
“A rooo—” A shudder consumed her shoulders. “Rodent,” she choked out.
“You’re really dramatic,” Lance muttered from where he’d stepped around the check-in hut to look at the cabin beyond. “Should I check on him? I feel bad for him.”
“Why?” Moira asked.
“Because you don’t understand how baiting you are. He probably hated that moment. If I got pushed into losing my temper by a stranger? I’d be so mad.”
“I wouldn’t.”
“Well, you’re a woman. It’s different for a man. And clearly, he liked you. He asked you out, God knows why. He’s probably beating himself up right now. You did that. You get to people. What is it?” Lance asked. “Is it a rush to make someone angry? To ruin their day?”
Moira had gone quiet. She wanted to pop back at him and hurt him for judging her, but dang it all, Lance was right. She did cling to her walls, and she did enjoy keeping people away from her. Everything was easier from a distance.
“You should apologize,” Lance said. The audacity of this human. “It’s the right thing to do,” he said softer.
She stood there frozen, her mind spinning over what had just happened. He’d kissed her. He’d kissed her well. He’d given her the hottest mini-make-out session she’d ever been a part of, and he’d done it angry.
That was kind of hot.
Lance started walking toward the cabin.
“What are you doing?” Moira asked.
“Apologizing for you.”
She bolted for him and shoved him into a snowbank. “I don’t need you to apologize for me. I can do it myself.”
She felt confident until she reached his front porch. It was adorned with two navy blue Adirondack chairs covered in a foot of snow, a storage bin that had been left open, and his snow boots were thrown in there. The other shoes in the bin were organized in neat rows. A perfect trail had been shoveled through the snow from the stairs to the front door, and when she lifted her mitten-clad hand to knock, she hesitated.
What if he was still mad?
“Come in,” a tired, growling voice called out.
Slowly, she twisted the door handle and opened it.
He was standing with his back to her, his arms locked on the kitchen counter across the room.
His cabin was nice, and everything was put in its place. It was the cleanest bachelor pad she’d ever seen. It had vaulted ceilings and exposed rafter beams, and a hanging chandelier near the stone fireplace that was made of moose antlers.
“Hi,” she said softly.
Cam blew out a steadying breath and turned around, rested his back against the counter and crossed his arms. He didn’t wear a jacket right now, and his muscles looked even bigger in his shirt now. That fine man was diced.
She parted her lips to say she was sorry, but he beat her to it. “I’m sorry I kissed you.” He shook his head and dropped his gaze to the ground.
