She disappears and I see the top of her head in the kitchen. Maybe doing dishes. Maybe she’s making herself at home by the world's most devastating game of house. I push the thoughts away. All I have to do is get through tonight. Then she’ll be on her way and I’ll have my life back.
It’s almost an hour before the door opens and she holds a blanket out toward me. “Come on, enough. It’s freezing out here. Let me return the favor.”
I don’t take the blanket but she’s not wrong. I can’t feel my hands, so I step inside. "That used to be my favorite shirt.”
"Used to be?"
"Now I'm never going to be able to wear it without thinking about—" I cut myself off, but not before I see her small smile.
The way she bites that goddamn lip makes me want to pin her against that wall. She looks just like the girl who used to steal my shirts in college. Back before her family convinced her I wasn't enough. It'd be too easy to lose myself with her. If I let my guard down for one minute, I'll be hers. If she walks away this time there won't be any coming back from it.
"Bedroom's yours," I say without looking at her. "Extra blankets in the trunk if you get cold."
"Where will you?—"
"Couch." I poke at the fire. "I need to keep an eye on the storm anyway. Power might go out."
“We can share. We’ve shared a bed plenty of times without anything happening. Just for warmth with the storm and everything. I’d hate to?—”
“Kara.” Her name from my lips is a warning. ”That was before I knew how you felt. How you tasted. How you sound when you let go."
Heat floods her face and tingles ignite low in my belly. "Rustin?—"
I put my foot down. "Kara, down the hall. Lock the door if you know what's good for both of us."
"Right."
There's hesitation in her voice that I don't dare read into. I turn away and refuse to look back. I can’t trust myself. Eventually I hear her footsteps retreat. But I don't exhale until the bedroom door closes.
I stretch out on the couch and don't bother pulling up the thin blanket.The couch is fine. I've slept on it during plenty of storms when I want to keep the fire going.
But tonight isn't about the fire and there’s no amount of reasoning that will allow me to ignore that fact. Every creak of this old house makes me wonder if she's awake. If she's okay. If she's really here. I try to focus on anything but the woman in my bed. All I can think about is how she looked in that dress... Destroyed, beautiful, and mine even though she isn't.
The power flickers at two in the morning. When it dies completely at three, my eyes are still wide open. The backup battery keeps the essentials running, but I need to fire up the generator. I sit up and grab my coat.
"Rustin?"
I'm one foot into my boots when her voice from the hallway stops me cold. The early morning air electrifies.
"Power's out. The generator's in the shed. Go back to bed. I'll have us running in just a second."
"Of course, thank goodness.”
But instead of heading toward the bedroom, she sits on the bench beside the door and starts pulling on my boots.
"Those are too big, take them off. What the hell are you doing?"
“No.” She doesn’t even pause. "I’m holding the flashlight for you."
"You're stubborn as hell."
I continue protesting, but it's no use. Five minutes later we trudge through the snow, Kara shuffles beside me in the oversized boots and a flashlight illuminating our path.
She stands incredibly close while I wrestle with the generator. She smells like my soap and something uniquely her. I'm trying not to think about how natural it feels to have her by my side. But she isn’t making it any easier. When the generator finally roars to life, Kara smiles up at me like I've performed a miracle.
"My hero," she says softly.
She isn't serious, but the words hit me like a punch to the gut anyway. "Just a guy with a generator."
