"Give it here," I order, my fingers curling in an unspoken demand for her foot.
She sputters, a beautiful flush creeping up her throat, but she doesn't pull away. Slowly, she lifts her leg and rests her ankle against my thigh.
My calloused hands look massive against her pale skin, entirely too rough for something so delicate. But the moment my fingers brush her skin, goosebumps prickle up my arm.
An instant, stubborn urge to protect her takes root, so deep it catches me off guard.
I don't just want to fix the wrap; I want an excuse to keep my hands on her.
"It's going to loosen to the point of being a tripping hazard. Don't be stubborn, little trespasser." Looking up, I catch her staring down at me incredulously.
"Lucia," she corrects, scoffing at my nickname. She looks at her ankle and grimaces at its swollen state. "It hurts, so be careful."
"You're quite bossy, Lucia." Saying her name just to feel it against my tongue, I put my focus on her ankle instead of herflush. Carefully cradling the joint, I frown at the heat radiating off her skin. Brushing her toes with my thumb, they twitch in return. Not broken or bruised, so that's good. "Want to tell me why you were traveling in the middle of a storm?"
Lifting my gaze, I watch her frown. "I was trying to prove a point."
"If it was against nature, I think I can see who won." Carefully unwrapping her work, I smile at her scoff. Redoing the wrap, I have to tighten it enough for support, which earns me a groan from her. "Are you a hiker?"
"Hardly." Sighing under her breath, her toes curl each time I brush the underside of her foot. "More of a camper."
I don't need another growl of thunder to answer for me, but I still shake my head. "Kind of dangerous to plan on sleeping out in this mess. If you're some kind of risk-taker—"
"I was trying to prove a point," she says, repeating her words. "My friends placed a bet that I couldn't do it, that's all."
Seriously?
"You risked your life for some money?" Maybe if it were a large amount, that would be one thing, but still—
"Fifty bucks was not worth all of this." Grumbling the words, she finally takes a bite of the soup and sighs. "Tomorrow, I'm going to figure out how to get off this mountain. I'll never come back."
A sharp spike of refusal hits my chest before I can even process it.Walk away? No. Not happening.
I don't know what upsets me more—the fact that she risked her safety for pocket change, or the casual way she talks about walking out of my life before she’s even truly entered it. She has no business being out in those woods alone. If she needed fifty bucks that badly, I would have given it to her myself just to keep her safe inside.
"Uh, sorry to break it to you, but you're not leaving tomorrow." Hitting her with the truth, I notice the look of fear in her eyes in return. "Fuck, no. That came out wrong. That storm out there? It's not stopping until the end of the weekend. No one is going to risk driving out there with the chance of fallen trees and the rock slides."
She blinks, confused. "I'm stuck here?"
I can tell her it doesn't have to behere,but the words won't come out. "Yeah. For a night or two. Maybe three, depending on if the storm ends early."
I should be annoyed. I should be wondering how an uninvited guest will ruin my quiet, isolated routine. But as I look up at her from the floor, watching her shovel another spoonful of soup into her mouth, all I can feel is a twisted, breathless gratitude toward the storm outside.
I have a limited amount of time to prove to her that the mountain isn't so bad. Prove to her that staying is better than leaving.
Finishing my work, I'm soon settled across from her. I don't miss the way her brows pinch together.
"Aren't you going to yell at me?" Her question breaks the silence between us. "I kind of broke into your place, you know."
I wouldn't be able to raise my voice without choking on my words, so she's got nothing to fear.
"No point," I say, my voice dropping an octave. "The mountain decided we're stuck together, and I don't feel like fighting fate."
I reach across the small space dividing us, extending my hand. It’s a demand masquerading as an introduction. She hesitates for a fraction of a second before wrapping her small, warm fingers around mine.
"Dawson," I supply.
I don't give her hand back. Instead, I slowly drag my thumb across her knuckles, watching her chest heave as her breathcatches. Yeah, if the dark flush on her cheeks is any indication, she feels it too.
