“I see how it is,” Nico mutters, setting down the cups and sitting on Grey’s other side. “I guess I didn’t need to worry about them.”
He lifts a blanket from the back of the couch and passes it to me. I cover myself, and Grey gives me a look that clearly says, “what about me?” until I toss it over his back. Nico huffs a laugh.
Nico has a paperback on his lap, and I know more than most people how fucking annoying it is when someone interrupts my reading time.
“I’m sorry for intruding, I?—”
“Este.”
“Yeah?”
“Stop apologizing.” His voice has a firm, but not unkind, commanding tone. It’s not the first time I’ve noticed it since I arrived. He doesn’t try to soften it or dance around what he wants like some people do. Or, if he is trying, he’s not very good at it. I wonder if it’s the result of not having many people to talk to. Regardless, I think I like it.
I’m used to people walking on eggshells. Especially since the crash. Everything is on my terms—what do I want, when do I want it, how exactly do I want it. I’m lucky ashell to have people who care about me so much that they want me to feel comfortable, but I’m exhausted from having to constantly make decisions for myself. It’s not much, Nico telling me to drink a Gatorade or stop apologizing, but it’s refreshing to switch off and just do it.
“Did you hear that sound earlier? The rumbling?” I ask.
“Yeah. Avalanche.” My face must show how alarmed I feel because he quickly follows it up. “They’re normal at this time of year. As it gets warmer, the snowpack gets weaker. It can’t handle the weight of the wet snow falling on top of it, and today’s snow was heavy.”
I appreciate the explanation—I’ve always liked understanding how things work—but it does nothing to reassure me. “Are we safe here? Should we leave?”
“We’ll be fine. We’re not in a direct avalanche path, and the cabin is fully reinforced.”
“Okay.” My voice is shakier than I’d like it to be, and Nico hears it.
“I won’t let anything happen to you, Este. I promise.”
I like how he says my name, like he’s breathing out the second syllable. It washes over me, soft and soothing. I barely know him, but somehow, I believe that I’m perfectly safe right here with him. And the cabin does seem sturdy.
“Did the avalanche wake you, too?” I ask. Grey whines as I move to reach for my tea.
“I hadn’t gone to sleep yet. I’m not a great sleeper,” he says.
“Me either.”
“Because of your nightmares?”
I nod, gripping my cup tight. “Yeah. You?”
He’s quiet for a moment before answering. “Same.” It looks like he has to force the word out—like he’s admitting something he’s embarrassed of.
I let myself take in the details of his face. His gray eyes are dark and shadowy, and he has purple, bruise-like smudges in the corners below them. He has a neat, full beard and dark brown hair that’s long and messy on top, in a way that looks deliberate but I’m sure is just its natural state.
The gray Henley he’s wearing is unbuttoned, and I can see a smattering of dark chest hair and what looks like the edge of a scar or a tattoo. The man isbuilt. Catching me earlier was probably nothing—I suppose he does haul wood around for a living. His arms are thick, his muscles visible through the thin fabric, and his whole frame is broad.
Guys my dads’ age don’t usually catch my attention, but damn. Nico is hot.
And I’m very clearly checking him out. Shit.
I drag my gaze up his chest at a snail’s pace, hoping like hell he isn’t watching me check him out. Alas. I meet his eye, ignore his slightly raised brow, and swallow.
My tongue darts out to lick my lower lip, and I have to be imagining the way his pupils track the movement, the wayheswallows.
I clear my throat. “You know that TV showBlack Mirror?”
He blinks at the random subject change. “Kind of.”
“There’s an episode where a woman wakes up with amnesia and has to fight for her life while all these people watch her, except she doesn’t know it’s all fake. I won’tspoil why, but when she gets to the end of the ‘scenario,’ they wipe her memory, and it all starts again. I had a nightmare kind of like that last week.” I don’t know why I’m telling him this. Maybe I don’t want him to feel alone in his nightmares, or maybe I just want to get it off my chest, and something about Nico’s steady presence makes it easy to talk.
