"Better?" I ask.
"Much better," she says, pushing the sleeves up to her elbows. "Thank you. Really. I know this isn't… I know you didn't plan on having company."
"It's fine."
"It's not fine. You made it pretty clear you like your space, and here I am, invading it." She moves closer to the fire, holding her hands out again. "I promise I'll leave as soon as the rain stops."
I glance toward the window. The rain is still coming down in sheets, showing no signs of letting up.
"Might be a while," I say.
"That's okay. I don't mind waiting."
She sits down on the floor in front of the fire, pulling her knees up to her chest. Ridge immediately moves to join her, settling in beside her like he's known her his whole life.
I should sit down. Should do something other than stand here like an idiot. But every instinct I have is telling me to keep distance, to stay back, to not let this become something it shouldn't be.
"You can sit, you know," she says, looking up at me. "I won't bite."
"I'm fine."
"You're hovering."
"I'm not hovering."
"You're definitely hovering." She pats the floor beside her. "Come on. It's your house. You're allowed to relax in it."
I hesitate. Then, against my better judgment, I sit down. Not right next to her. There's a solid two feet of space between us, but close enough that I can feel the heat from the fire on my face.
We sit in silence for a minute. The rain drums against the roof, steady and relentless. The fire crackles. Ridge sighs contentedly.
"This is a good place," she says finally.
I glance at her. "What?"
"Your cabin. It's good. Peaceful."
"That's the idea."
"Do you ever get tired of it? The quiet, I mean."
"No."
She nods, like she expected that answer. "I think I would. Eventually. But I get the appeal."
I don't respond. Don't know what to say to that.
"I'm not trying to pry," she adds. "I know you don't like questions."
"You ask a lot of them."
"I know. It's a character flaw." She smiles, and even in the firelight, I can see the warmth in it. "My mom used to say I was born curious. Always asking why, always needing to understand everything."
"Used to?"
The smile falters, just for a second. "She died a few months ago."
Something in my chest tightens. "I'm sorry."
