Her eyes narrow. “Wow. So secretive. Very normal. Definitely not serial-killer vibes.”
I step closer, just enough to make her tip her head back a fraction. I keep my hands to myself. For now.
“You’re in my cabin,” I say. “On my land. You want normal, you can go back down the mountain.”
Her jaw tightens. “I can’t.”
The words slip out before she can stop them.
“You can’t,” I repeat, soft.
She looks away, blinking fast.
“That’s what I thought,” I murmur.
Her gaze snaps back, sharp. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“That… quiet voice thing.” She gestures at my face, irritated, flustered. “Like you’re reading me.”
“I am reading you.”
Her breath catches. She tries to cover it with attitude. “Well, stop.”
I smile without showing teeth. “No.”
She stares at me like she can’t decide if she wants to slap me or kiss me. The answer is neither, and both. It’s written all over her.
I nod toward the backpack. “That all you brought?”
Her lips press together. “Apparently.”
I don’t ask why. Not yet. Ellie’s pride is a live wire; if I yank on it too hard she’ll bolt. I want her here. I want her safe. I want her under my roof where I can keep my eyes on her.
I gesture toward the small hallway. “Bedroom’s down there. Bathroom’s first door on the left.”
Her eyes widen slightly. “Bedroom?”
“You sleeping in the bed,” I say, like it’s not up for debate.
“And you?”
“Couch.”
A beat.
She snorts. “Sure you are.”
I lean closer, letting my voice drop. “You think you’re going to share a bed with me, sweetheart?”
Her entire body stills on that word.
Sweetheart.
It’s not a pet name I use. It’s a warning wrapped in velvet. I watch it hit her like a spark—something in her belly, something behind her eyes.
She swallows hard. “Don’t call me that.”
