As the night wears on, our conversation drifts to lighter topics—childhood memories, funny stories from college, our favorite books. The tension eases from my shoulders, and I relax into the couch, into Matt's side.
It's well past midnight when I feel my eyelids droop. Matt stands up, stretching. “The bedroom's mostly fixed. The window is boarded up, and the snow's been removed and cleaned up. The bed's ready for you,” he says, gesturing toward the bedroom. “I changed the sheets earlier.”
I look at him, hesitant. “Matt, I can't take your bed again. I've already imposed enough.”
He shakes his head, offering a small smile that makes my heart skip a beat. “It's no imposition,” he says. “I'm used to sleeping in worse conditions from my time on the rig.”
I bite my lip, torn between my desire to stay close to him and my guilt over kicking him out of his own bed. “Are you sure? I feel bad about this.”
“I'm positive,” he assures me.
A mischievous thought crosses my mind, and before I can stop myself, I say it. “Or ... we could both sleep on the floor in front of the fire again. Or you could share the bed with me.”
And there it is, out there. The moment the words leave my mouth, a blush creeps up my neck. I wasn't joking. I meant it. Now, the room feels charged, and I can't help but wonder how he'll take it. I didn't intend to make things awkward, but there's no taking it back. All I can do is wait as I look at him.
Matt raises an eyebrow, but there’s something else in his expression—interest, even if he’s trying to hide it. A playful smirk tugs at his lips, though his eyes reveal something deeper. “We’ve survived an avalanche, a storm, and who knows what else,” he says, his tone light but edged with hesitation. “But I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t survive your brothers if they caught me in bed with you.”
I laugh, the tension easing from the room. “Fair point,” I say. “But they're not here, so who's to know?”
He chuckles, shaking his head. “Tempting, but I think I'll stick to the couch—I'd like to live to see the morning.”
