Tarmek didn't knock.
He grabbed the door handle and pulled.
The scene that greeted him was pure chaos.
Edie was wedged into the narrow space between the tiny kitchenette and the wall, surrounded by tools, spare parts, and what looked like the internal components of her heating system. She was still wearing last night's dress, now wrinkled beyond repair, with a flannel shirt thrown over it and thick socks on her feet.
Her hair was a disaster. Her makeup was smeared. And she was holding what appeared to be a pipe wrench in one hand while glaring at a piece of metal like it had personally offended her.
"What are you doing?"
She jumped at his voice, nearly dropping the wrench.
"Tarmek! What—you can't just—" She gestured at the open door, at the snow blowing in, at her own disheveled state. "I'm busy."
"I can see that." He climbed inside without invitation, pulling the door shut behind him. The camper immediately felt smaller, cramped, barely large enough to contain his bulk. "What broke?"
"Nothing."
"Edie."
"Nothing." She turned back to the metal components spread across the floor. "I've got it handled."
He looked at the parts. At the tools. At the way her hands were shaking, whether from cold or frustration or something else entirely.
"That's the heating system."
"I know what it is."
"I had it fixed two weeks ago."
"I know that too." She jabbed the wrench at something he couldn't see. "And apparently whoever you paid did a terrible job, because it stopped working again last night and I woke up to a temperature that felt like the inside of a freezer."
The words hit him like a punch to the gut.
She was freezing. She left my bed and came back here and?—
"Why didn't you come back?"
The question came out rougher than he intended. Edie's shoulders tensed.
"I didn't want to wake you."
"Bullshit."
She whirled to face him, eyes blazing. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me." He stepped closer, eating up the tiny space between them. "You didn't leave because you were worried about my sleep. You left because you were scared."
"I wasn't?—"
"You run, Edie. That's what you do. Things get real, things get serious, and you disappear before anyone can hurt you." Another step. She backed into the counter. "I told you I loved you last night. You kissed me like you meant it. And then you snuck out of my bed at dawn without even leaving a note."
Her jaw tightened. "I needed space."
"Space." The word tasted bitter. "You've had nothing but space. Your whole life is space. How's that working out for you?"
"Don't—"
