I glance at her and find her watching me with an expression that makes my chest tight. Trust. Affection. Something deeper that neither of us has named yet.
"Always," I say quietly.
We install a new deadbolt on the window, one I found in her surprisingly well-stocked shed. Then we move to the back door, which is even worse than the window. The frame is old, the wood soft in places, and the lock is the kind you could pick with a credit card.
"How have you survived out here for three years with security like this?" I ask, examining the door frame.
"Carefully. And with the knowledge that I'm in the middle of nowhere and most people don't know I exist."
"Most people isn't all people."
"Hence why I'm letting you tear apart my door instead of arguing about it."
I look at her, taking in the way she's leaning against the counter with her arms crossed, one hip cocked. Her dark blue eyes are warm with humor, but there's steel underneath.
"What?" she asks when I don't look away.
"Just appreciating the view."
"The door?"
"You."
Color rises in her cheeks, and she ducks her head, but I can see her smile. "Flirt later. Fix my security now."
"Yes, ma'am."
We spend the next several hours reinforcing the door frame, installing a proper deadbolt, and adding a security bar for good measure. Maya proves to be surprisingly handy, anticipating what I need and working alongside me without complaint. We fall into an easy rhythm, passing tools back and forth, our hands brushing more often than strictly necessary.
By the time we move outside to check the security cameras, the sun is high and bright, reflecting off the snow in a way that makes everything look clean and new. I walk the perimeter while Maya monitors the feeds from her laptop, calling out when I hit blind spots.
"There," she says when I reach the northeast corner. "I can't see you at all."
I mark the spot mentally and continue around the cabin. There are three significant blind spots, all of them on the north side where the tree line comes closest to the building. Perfect places for someone to approach unseen.
"We need more cameras," I call out.
"Add it to the list."
By the time we finish, the sun is starting to sink toward the horizon, painting the snow in shades of pink and gold. We're both tired, our breath misting in the cold air, but there's satisfaction in the work we've done together.
Maya stretches her arms over her head, and her shirt rides up to expose a strip of pale skin above her jeans. My hands itch to touch her, to slide my palms over that exposed skin and feel her warmth.
"Hungry?" she asks, catching me staring again.
"Starving."
"For food or for something else?"
The teasing note in her voice sends heat through me. "Both."
She grins and heads inside, and I follow, my eyes on the sway of her hips. We make dinner together, another comfortable dance of movement and conversation. Such a huge change from yesterday with the standoffish approach she gave me. She tells me about her first winter here, how she nearly froze to death before she figured out the wood stove. I tell her about the memory fragment from last night, the ledger and the terrified man.
"You think that was Pavel?" she asks, stirring the pot of stew.
"I don't know. Maybe. The face feels familiar, but I can't place it."
"It'll come back. Your memories are returning more frequently now."
