For a beat, I stare at the gray and red pattern. “I don’t need—”
“A drownin’ rat is drier than you are right now, Nash. Take it. It’s the least I can do.” With a sound that’s equal parts sigh and huff, she thrusts it at me. “That and offer you some tea before you go.”
We stand in silence for long enough, Raelynn takes two steps closer and presses the shirt into my hands. Her fingers are still half-frozen when they brush mine.
“Tea would be great. Thanks.” I hate the stuff unless it’s dark as sin and twice as bitter, but up close, Raelynn smells like orange blossoms, and the memory of her curves—of how good she felt in my arms—makes my jeans tight as fuck. Turning away quickly, I strip off my wet sweatshirt and hang it from a hook next to the front door. Her footsteps fade away, and water starts to run in another room.
The flannel is warm, and once I do up the buttons, I head for the kitchen.
Raelynn stands at the sink, staring out the window into the darkness with the tap on full blast.
“Fits just fine,” I say. Her shoulders jerk, and she blows out a breath. Is she still panicky? Or did I actually startle her? She hasn’t made a move to turn around. Or fill the kettle she’s holding.
“Let me take care of that.” I ease the red enamel pot from her hands. “You should sit down. You’ve had a hell of a night.”
“This is my house,” she protests weakly.
“Yes, but you’re exhausted. Sit.”
She slinks off to the built-in breakfast nook in the corner of the kitchen and almost collapses onto the cushioned bench. When I caught her at the dojo, her eyes drew me in. Clear blue, with so much fire they burned. But now, all that heat is gone.
Before I say something that’ll get me thrown out on my ass, I return my focus to making tea. The ancient gas stove reminds me of home. Of the house I grew up in—before my family was taken from me.
“I haven’t seen an O’Keefe and Merit in years.” Running my fingers along the old clock above the burners, I grin. “My mom cursed ours every time she had to bake, but when it finally gave out, she cried a little. Dad never could find another one for sale. He looked everywhere for years.”
“West told me not to buy a house this old. I should have listened,” Raelynn says. “The electrical is buzzard bait. Just like the heater. I spent a fortune replacing the windows last month, and it was snowing when I had it done. Couldn’t get the downstairs over sixty degrees for three days.”
The burner catches, and I set the kettle over the flame. “Please tell me your upstairs isn’t this cold.”
She cracks a weary smile. “Baseboard heaters up there. Pretty sure the second floor was added twenty or thirty years ago. I live up there most of the time.”
Leaning back against the counter, I study her. Yesterday, she was the textbook definition of strong, powerful…even intimidating. The way she went after the heavy bag distracted me from class more than once. Even if she was favoring her right shoulder. West kept giving me the side-eye because I couldn’t stop staring. But now, she has her knees drawn up to her chest, practically curled in on herself.
God. I’d do anything to see that other Raelynn again. To bring her back from wherever she’s hiding, still afraid of the storm.
But I have no idea how.
“What’s wrong with your heater?” I should stop with the questions. Finish making her tea and get the hell out of here. But I think she needs someone in her corner tonight—even if she hates it.
She shrugs, and small lines of pain bracket her lips. “The damn thing won’t turn on. It’s so ancient, no one in town will work on it. I’m gonna have to get a whole new system, and that’s a good ten grand. If not more.”
“Can I take a look?” The water starts to boil, and I turn off the burner. “After you tell me where your tea bags are.”
Raelynn’s gaze flicks to one of her cabinets, then back to me. She’s skittish, rubbing her shoulder gently. “Up there. I’ll…uh…get the mugs.” Slowly, she pushes to her feet and retrieves two mismatched cups hanging from a shelf in the nook.
Unlike her living room, which was mostly devoid of personal touches, her kitchen looks lived in. A small painting hangs below the shelf—a cup of coffee with steam wafting from the dark brew. Plants line the window, all healthy and lush, despite the cold. One of them even has a handful of bright red flowers.
I find four tins of tea in the cabinet, each with a handwritten label, but don’t recognize any of the names. “Which one do you want?”
“The Vera’s Tea. It’s chamomile with apple pieces and lemon peel.”
Opening the black tin, I fish out two bags and drop one into each cup. She moves closer. I can almost feel her warmth as I pour the water.
“Thank you, Nash,” she says softly. “If you hadn’t shown up when you did…and stayed…”
She won’t look at me, so I reach for her hand. Or try to since I can’t force my gaze from her lips. My fingers curl around her wrist, and I’m shocked when she doesn’t pull away. “My sister used to get panic attacks. Loud noises, darkness, and ambulances were her biggest triggers, but storms got to her too.”
She backs up until she hits the sink. Her cheeks flush a darker shade, and she stares down at her feet. “I haven’t had an attack in over a year. Thought maybe…I was over them. This storm…I didn’t expect…”
