The fire pops when he drops the logs near the hearth. He doesn’t speak right away, just kneels, stacks the wood with a practiced efficiency that shouldn’t surprise me but does. He’s not the kind of man who fumbles. Every move is deliberate, like he’s done this before. Like maybe, somewhere in the chapters of his life he doesn’t talk about, there was once a place that needed tending.
He sets the food down—wrapped containers still warm—and only then does he speak again.
“The inn lost power too. Generator failed. Most guests evacuated back down the mountain. I figured you’d be stuck.”
“You figured right.”
“I almost didn’t come.”
I glance at him, eyebrows raised. “But you did.”
He shrugs one massive shoulder, then settles back against the opposite side of the hearth, legs stretched out like he’salready claimed the space. “Would’ve been bad optics if you froze to death.”
“You really know how to comfort a woman.”
“I wasn’t trying to.”
“Well, congratulations. Mission accomplished.”
He doesn’t smile, but one corner of his mouth twitches like it might be considering it. I pull the food toward me, unwrap the foil from one of the containers. It’s stew. Thick, rich, full of unfamiliar spices that hit my nose before I even take a bite.
“You cooked this?” I ask, because it smells too good to be store-bought.
He nods. “My mother’s recipe.”
That stops me. Not because I don’t believe it, but because it’s such an unexpected offering. A piece of him, held out like it’s nothing, when it’s clearly not. I take a bite before I can think better of it.
It’s delicious. The kind of warm that starts in your mouth and spreads through your chest like something you forgot you needed.
I eat in silence for a while, the fire casting long shadows on the walls, and he doesn’t push. Doesn’t ask questions or offer conversation. Just sits, occasionally adding another log, watching the flames like they’re telling him secrets he hasn’t decided how to interpret.
Eventually, I break the silence.
“You always show up like this? Uninvited, bearing warmth and guilt?”
His gaze flicks to me, steady and unflinching. “Only for women who call me a wrecking ball.”
I snort. “Well, if the boot fits…”
He exhales slowly, a sound that isn’t quite a laugh. “You don’t make this easy.”
“You don’t deserve easy.”
“That’s fair.”
We sit with that for a moment. The wind howls again, loud and low, and the fire stutters before roaring back stronger. I curl deeper into the blanket I grabbed earlier, tugging it around my shoulders like armor. He doesn’t look away when I move, and when I glance up, I catch him watching my mouth.
Long enough that it’s noticeable.
“You’re staring,” I say, too tired to be coy.
“I know.”
I wait for him to elaborate, but he doesn’t. Just keeps watching, like he’s cataloging something for later. Like he’s trying to memorize the shape of what he’s not allowed to touch.
I should tell him to stop.
I don’t.
