Page 92 of Silent Shadows

His ears actually go pink. “No, I don’t.”

“You absolutely do.”

“I’m being informative.”

“You sound like a Wikipedia page.” I laugh, and something in his shoulders relaxes instantly at the sound. Like he needed proof I was okay.

Oh, God. That realization settles warm and hopeful in my chest.

Miles wheels around toward the supplies like he suddenly remembers I’m here and alone with him in a tiny cabin.

Honestly, same.

I shrug out of his jacket, but the second cold air hits my skin again, I regret it.

“You can keep it,” he says without turning around. Of course he heard me unzip.

“It’s your jacket.”

“You’re cold.”

“So are you.”

“I run warm.”

“You keep saying that like you’re a fucking husky.”

“I’m from the Midwest. We’re resilient.”

“You’re pale enough to combust in direct sunlight. I’m honestly surprised your skin doesn’t sparkle in the sun.”

“That’s called responsible sunscreen usage.”

I grin and pull the jacket back on.

It smells like him. Cedar and detergent and campfire smoke.

Which should not feel intimate. And yet it really, really does.

Miles gets the wood stove going surprisingly fast while I poke through the emergency food bins.

“Beans or soup?” I ask.

“Definitely soup.”

“Oh, thank God.”

A beat passes, then Miles clears his throat. “You were really scared out there.”

I glance up. He’s crouched near the stove, firelight flickering warm across his face.

I exhale. “Um, yeah. Who wouldn’t be?”

“You handled it well.”

“That feels generous considering I almost peed my pants.”

His mouth twitches.