EIGHT
ELI
The dishes clink softly in the sink as I rinse the last plate from dinner. Daisy stands beside me, drying the glasses with a dish towel. She moves slower than usual, still favoring her ankle, but the color is back in her cheeks and the shadows under her eyes have faded. I watch her from the corner of my eye. The way her hair falls across her shoulder. The way my flannel shirt hangs loose on her frame. Every small detail pulls at something deep in my chest.
I want to kiss her again. Badly. The memory of her mouth on mine earlier still burns. But I’m trying to be the better man here. She’s healing. She’s scared. She’s under my protection. I can’t let my own wants complicate that. So I keep my hands busy and my voice even.
“You don’t have to help,” I tell her. “I can finish this.”
She smiles without looking up. “I want to. It feels good to do normal things. Besides, you made the oatmeal earlier. The least I can do is dry.”
I grunt in response and pass her another plate. Our fingers brush. The contact sends heat straight up my arm. I pull back faster than I should. She notices but doesn’t comment. We finish the dishes in a comfortable silence, the kind that has started to settle between us these last few days. When the last fork is put away I wipe my hands on a towel and turn to her.
“I’m making hot chocolate,” I say. “We can take it out to the porch. The stars are clear tonight. It might help clear your head.”
Her eyes light up. “I love that idea.” She grabs the big quilt from the back of the couch, the one with the faded navy stripes, and drapes it over her arm. “I’ll bring this. It’s getting cold out there.”
I heat the milk on the stove, stir in cocoa and a pinch of cinnamon the way my mom used to make it. The scent fills the cabin. Daisy leans against the counter and watches me, a small smile playing on her lips. I pour the hot chocolate into two thick mugs and hand her one. Our fingers touch again. This time I let them linger for a second longer than necessary.
We step outside. The porch boards creak under our boots. The air is crisp and sharp, carrying the scent of pine and distant snow. The mountains rise dark and massive against a sky full of stars. I sit on the wide wooden swing and Daisy settles beside me, close enough that our thighs press together. She spreads the quilt over both of us. The warmth of her body chases away the chill.
We sip in silence for a while. The hot chocolate steams between us. The swing rocks gently. I watch the way the starlight catches in her hair and the way her breath fogs in soft clouds.
“Tell me about the meeting,” she says after a few minutes. Her voice’s quiet but steady. “What happened with Dominic?”
I set my mug on the railing and turn toward her. “There’s been a new development. Rafe got word from a contact down south. Dominic’s men were spotted in Boise yesterday. Two of them. They were asking questions at a motel where you stayed a week ago. They’re moving north. Slowly. Methodically. It looks like they picked up your trail from the gas station receipts you used before you ditched the cards.”
She goes still beside me. “They’re getting closer.”
“They are. But we’re ready. The team doubled the patrols on the lower roads. We have cameras on every approach. If they come within twenty miles of the gate we’ll know before they do.”
She nods but I see the worry crease her brow. “I hate that I brought this to your door. To all of you.”
I reach over and take her hand under the quilt. Her fingers are cold. I wrap mine around them. “You did not bring it. They did. And we handle threats together here. You’re not alone in this anymore.”
She squeezes my hand back. The contact feels bigger than it should. We sit like that, watching the stars, the mountains silent around us. The hot chocolate warms us from the inside while the quilt keeps the cold at bay. Every so often the swing creaks and our shoulders brush. The tension that has been building between us all evening thickens.
I want to kiss her again. The urge is so strong it makes my jaw ache. I fight it. I’m supposed to be the steady one. The one who keeps his head. But she’s looking at me with those big eyes and her lips are still stained from the chocolate and I’m losing the battle.
She sets her mug down and turns to face me fully. “Eli?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you. For everything. For the hot chocolate. For letting me stay. For… last night.”
I can’t hold back anymore. I cup her face with both hands and lean in slow, giving her time to pull away. She does not. She meets me halfway. The kiss starts soft, almost careful, but it catches fire the second her lips part. I taste chocolate and the faint sweetness that is only her. She makes a small sound in her throat and I deepen the kiss, sliding one hand into her hair to hold her exactly where I want her.
She kisses me back with the same hunger. Her fingers clutch the front of my shirt. I pull her closer until she’s half in my lap under the quilt. The cold night air disappears. There’s only her mouth, her body, the way she melts against me like she’s been waiting for this as long as I have.
When we finally break apart we’re both breathing hard. Her forehead rests against mine. Her lips are swollen and her eyes are dark.
“I’ve never been with a man before,” she whispers.
The words hit me like a live wire. Heat floods my veins. My grip on her tightens. “Never?”
She shakes her head, cheeks flushing. “Never.”
That confession does something primal to me. I want to be careful with her. I want to be the first and the last and everything in between. But the need to claim her is so strong I have to close my eyes for a second to steady myself.
