I cross my arms. Silence stretches between us, taut and weirdly electric.
“You want?” he asks, holding up the chocolate cluster between his fingers.
When I reach out, he doesn’t let go right away. Our hands touch—his warm, rough fingers linger over mine a second too long as azing!shoots through my arm. I instantly hate having nerve endings ...
I clear my throat. “Thanks.”
“Don’t say I never share.”
“I won’t—because you’re doing it reluctantly.”
“Sharing is sharing.”
He leans in enough that I smell his body spray and the faintest trace of soap, doing all sorts of crazy shit to my lower half. I take a giant step sideways, practically vaulting toward the fridge.
Is it hot in here? “I need water,” I mumble.
“No—you need pants,” he says, biting back a grin.
I swallow. Hard. “So,” I say, desperate to fill the silence. “Do you have any siblings?”
“Why?”
I shrug. “Just wondering.”The fact that you’re not fazed by my lack of clothing... Some would say:immune.
“Two older brothers. Married. Both live in North Carolina.”
“Ah.” I nod like that tells me anything.
“You?”
“None. My mom always said I was enough of a handful on my own.”
“No arguments here.”
I make a face. “You’re so rude.”
“You call it ‘rude,’ I call it ‘honesty.’”
I narrow my eyes. “You know what your problem is?”
“Please,” he says, gesturing magnanimously. “Enlighten me.”
“You think just because you look sexy when you limp and have the bone structure of a Greek god that you can get away with saying anything.”
He looks genuinely confused. “Sexy limp?”
My face flames. “That’s not what I meant.”
“It’sexactlywhat you said.”
Silence drapes over us again, not awkward this time—just quiet and full of unsaid things. The fridge hums. Outside the cottage, the wind whistles, and pine trees bend from the gusts.
Then: “You’re kind of weird,” he tells me.
“Excuseme?” That is not at all what I thought he was going to say.
“I meant it as a compliment.”
