I huffed out something between a scoff and a laugh. “Yeah, okay.”
She didn’t smile. She just looked at me—really looked. “You wear this armor all the time.”
The word hit a little too close.
“Armor,” I repeated flatly, tasting the bitterness of it.
“Yeah.” Her voice was still gentle, but it had an edge of knowing to it. “But even steel can bend.”
Her eyes met mine, holding. There was something there I didn’t want to face. Something warm. Something dangerous.
And for the first time in a long time, I didn’t look away. I just let her see whatever she saw. Let her hold the thread that trembled in the air between us.
Not quite connection.
Not yet.
But not distance, either.
Just… something.
I kept my eyes on the snow outside, watching it spiral down like ash—cold, quiet, endless. Callie shifted beside me, rubbing her arms. I didn’t need to look to know she was cold. Her breath fogged up the glass in short, uneven puffs.
“It’s freezing,” she muttered, voice tight from the chill as she tucked her hands into her sleeves.
I hesitated—not long, but long enough to notice. Then I pulled off my jacket and tossed it across the console into her lap.
“You’ll whine the whole time if I don’t,” I said, keeping my tone dry.
She looked over, startled. Didn’t say thank you. Just curled into the jacket like she hadn’t expected me to give it but wasn’t about to give it back either. She held it close, breathing it in like the warmth alone might thaw something deeper than the cold.
It was just a jacket. Old. Broken-in. Nothing special.
But watching her wrap herself in it made something shift in my chest—something I didn’t have the words for.
Her eyes flicked up to meet mine, lashes low, and a faint smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. “Guess you do have a heart under all that armor.”
“Don’t push it,” I muttered, no heat behind the words.
She laughed—quiet and warm—and somehow; it filled the cab like light cracking through storm clouds. Just for a second, I let it settle between us. Let myself breathe it in.
Then I leaned back in my seat, eyes still on the snow. “So what now? We wait for Sam to come dig us out?”
Callie shifted in her seat, still cocooned in my jacket. “I could tell you about some of the new books coming in.”
I shot her a look. “You really think I’m interested in your book list?”
She tilted her head, that familiar spark flaring in her eyes. “Maybe not. But it might be enough to distract you from whatever brooding thoughts you’ve got bouncing around in there.”
“Not much to distract from.”
She raised a skeptical brow but didn’t press. That was something I appreciated about her—when she wanted, she could leave a door alone, even if she was dying to open it.
Outside, the snow kept falling—blanketing everything in silence. And inside the van, for the first time, I didn’t mind sitting still with her beside me.
Not completely.
She watched me from the corner of her eye. I didn’t need to look to feel it—that quiet, steady gaze. Like she was trying to read something I didn’t know how to say. I kept mine fixed on the snow swirling past the windshield, jaw tight. Not out of irritation. Out of something else. Something harder to admit.
