Abilene shifts again, blanket slipping a little, and her bare shoulder catches the firelight. My gaze lands there before I can stop it.
She notices.
Her breath catches, barely audible, but I hear it anyway because I’m tuned in to her as if she’s a radio signal I can’t ignore.
She draws the blanket up, not defensive exactly. More aware of herself all of a sudden. Her cheeks go pinker.
Marshall’s eyes flick up from his beer at the same time Wyatt’s do. They both caught the shift in the room, even if they didn’t see what caused it.
They can feel the air tighten.
Marshall doesn’t say anything. Of course he doesn’t. He just sets his bottle down with a loud thunk and leans back in his chair, forearms braced on the table, gaze drifting toward the dark window, watching the tree line for embers.
Wyatt adjusts his glasses and clears his throat, the world’s most polite signal flare.
“So,” he says, tone casual in a way that is absolutely not casual. “If the wind stays like this, the crews should be able to hold the line. Maybe.”
“Maybe,” Marshall repeats flatly.
Abilene’s fingers worry the edge of her mug. I can see the tension in her shoulders, the way she’s trying to make herself small under that blanket. If she shrinks enough, the fear can’t find her.
Or maybeIcan’t find her.
I should move. Get up. Go check on the kids. Throw myself into some kind of useful task to bleed the energy out of my body.
Instead, I sit there, trying to pretend my pulse isn’t pounding too hard, trying to pretend Abilene’s bare shoulder didn’t just flip a switch inside me.
The fire pops in the hearth. The cabin creaks.
Outside, the lake makes a soft sound. It’s trying to remind us there are still things in the world that know how to stay calm.
Abilene’s gaze flicks from Wyatt to Marshall and back again, then lands on me, checking whether I’m okay.
Which is… funny.
Because I’m not. I’m fighting myself so hard I can practically hear the gears grinding.
Her eyes hold mine for a beat, and her expression shifts. Just a faint tremor of uncertainty.
She’s felt the pull between us too, and doesn’t know what to do with it.
I open my mouth, because I’m stupid, and say the first thing that might give her an out.
“You tired, Abilene?”
Her lashes flutter. “I…” she starts, then stops. I guess her brain did the same thing mine did. “Maybe. It’s been… a day.”
“That’s one way to put it,” Wyatt mutters.
Marshall’s mouth twitches.
Abilene’s lips press together. She’s trying not to smile and failing a little.
Then she shifts on the couch, setting her mug down carefully on the coffee table, and that’s when it happens. The sudden, unmistakable flicker of panic across her face.
She sits up straighter.
“Um,” she says, slightly too bright. “I… I need the bathroom.”
