"That risks your shoulder." I peel off my gloves, trying tosound professional instead of breathless. My fingers tingle as I flex them. "I'm not signing off on that."
He has the nerve to say, "You're not my boss."
He peels off his coat and tousles his chin-length blond hair, which is somewhere between damp and soaking. His white Henley clings to his muscular chest, wet from melted snow. With his blue-gray eyes, chiseled cheekbones, and broad shoulders, he looks like he just stepped off a runway in Milan.
I tell myself not to gape even as I can't help but look my fill. Silas seems to sense my heavy gaze. He looks up, flushing slightly.
"I think I get a say about things that could affect your shoulder." I stretch, thinking the room's too small for the two of us. "I can sleep on the floor."
His jaw tightens. "You're not sleeping on the floor while I take the bed. You don't need to do that here, Scout."
"Do what?" I put my hand on my hip.
"Take care of everybody. I know what you're doing. I'm not about to let you sacrifice your own comfort just to make sure I don't have a crummy night's sleep."
My cheeks heat and I drop my gaze. He's got me there. "Can we share the bed, then?"
He works his jaw, eyes dark in the firelight. The tension between us thickens until I can barely breathe through it. He looks at the bed, then at me, then away. "That's fine."
"Fine," I echo. "That's what we'll do."
Silas stares at me for a second. At his tight swallow, I realize he's watching a drop of water as it glides down my neck to my collarbone. Does he somehow find me attractive right now? I'm drenched, the snow melting and wetting gaps at the front of my shirt and the back of my coat. My hair's likely frightful. And yet, the way Silas looks right now,hungry and longing, makes a bright bloom of want pool low in my belly.
He clears his throat. "I'm going to try to hunt down some dinner." He escapes before I can respond, leaving wet footprints on the floor.
Left alone, I hang our coats to dry, prop boots by the fire, and arrange gloves on the grate. The room warms slowly while a nasty gust of wind rattles the windows. I'm too aware of the bed. I can't stop thinking of how Silas looked at me when he realized we'd be stuck here together.
My body's humming with nervous energy, so I drop to the floor between the bed and the fireplace. I move through a few gentle stretches, nothing intense, just warrior pose and triangle pose to ground myself. Deep breaths, centering my thoughts. But even yoga can't quiet my racing pulse.
He returns with a tray balanced in his good hand. Two bowls of soup, crusty bread. "Mrs. Zhao's apologizing with food. I told her you accept."
"That was thoughtful." I'm surprised by how normal my voice sounds. “I have a few sets of Havoc-branded sweatpants in my backpack.”
“Oh, that’s amazing. I thought I was going to have to sleep in my jeans.”
“You could’ve just worn your skivvies.”
He arches a brow. “Assuming that I’m wearing any.”
“What? Oh!” I get tongue-tied when I picture him going commando.
“Kidding.” He sets the tray on the trunk at the bed's foot, then settles on the mattress edge like he's testing its stability. We eat quietly, but it's not awkward. It's the silence of two people hyperaware of each other, measuring every movement.
Okay, it's a little awkward. But it's still progress.
"How's the shoulder?" I ask.
He rolls it carefully. "Better than this morning. Worse than I want."
"Oh, Si. You should rest it tonight."
He stiffens. "What'd you call me?"
"Si?" My brain sputters and my cheeks heat. "Sorry, it's been such a long day. I'm only working with two brain cells and right now, they're in overdrive."
"I don't... mind." His voice is low and rough.
The fire shifts, sending shadows dancing across his face. He's watching me with an intensity that makes my skin flush.
