She lets out a quiet breath, something between a scoff and a reluctant acceptance. “Right.”
I move past her, grab a log, and toss it into the fireplace. Sparks jump as the flames catch, heat filling the cabin quickly, chasing out the chill that’s been hanging in the air. She turns with me, watching every movement like she’s cataloging it.
“You always play host like this?” she asks.
“I don’t have guests.”
Her lips part slightly at that, just for a second. “Then what am I?”
The word lands harder than I expect. Her chin lifts immediately, defensive.
I let the silence linger, realizing that she’s here to stay, she did answer my mail-order bride ad afterall. I brush my hands together and move toward the window, scanning the tree line out of habit. It’s getting dark faster than it should, the air heavy, the kind that signals a storm rolling in whether you’re ready for it or not.
“You eat?” I ask without looking back.
She shrugs. “I’m fine.”
“That wasn’t the question.”
“I said I’m fine.”
I turn then. She hasn’t moved from that spot, but the tension in her shoulders is sharper now, more telling. Hungry. Tired. Pushing through both.
“Sit,” I tell her.
Her eyes flash immediately. “Don’t start.”
“Sit,” I repeat, lowering my voice just enough to make it clear I’m not asking.
She holds my gaze, long and steady, like she’s weighing whether this is a fight she wants to pick. Then, after a beat, she moves, dropping into the chair at the table like it was her idea all along.
I almost smile. Almost.
I grab a plate, set it in front of her, then turn back to the stove.
“You cook too?” she asks.
“Yeah.”
“Anything you don’t do?”
“Plenty.”
She leans back slightly, studying me now the same way I studied her earlier, her attention sharper.
“Like what?”
I glance at her over my shoulder. “Like letting people walk all over me.”
That quiets her for a second. Good.
I finish plating the food and set it down in front of her. She looks at it, then up at me.
“You trying to impress me?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
