Fine. But I’m watching you. And if you chicken out, I’m telling her myself.
You wouldn’t.
Try me.
I logged off before he could continue his campaign. Tank meant well, but he didn’t understand. How could he?
I pulled up a single-player game, something mindless I could grind through without thinking too hard. But my attention kept drifting to the woman down the hallway, to the closed door of the guest room, to the knowledge that Maya was here, in my space, and sleeping in my clothes.
Around ten, I checked on the bread dough and shaped it into loaves for tomorrow. Put the cookies in the oven, filling the cabin with the smell of melting chocolate and vanilla. I made myself a sandwich I didn’t really want and ate it standing at the counter, watching the snow pile up outside.
If it were possible, the storm had gotten worse. The wind had picked up, creating drifts that would be taller than Maya by morning. The windows rattled in their frames. I’d need to check the generator tomorrow, make sure we had backup power if the lines went down.
We. Like this was normal. As if having someone else here was something I did regularly instead of a once-in-a-blue-moon occurrence when my parents visited.
I liked it; I realized. The cabin felt different with Maya here. Less empty. The guest room door was closed, but I could still catch her scent when I walked past. Human, yes, but also something uniquely hers, mixed now with my soap andshampoo. It made something in my chest feel warm and tight and terrifying.
Yetis bonded deeply. It was part of our nature, part of what made us such devoted partners and parents. We didn’t do casual well. When we cared about someone, we cared with everything we had. And maybe that was part of my problem with dating in town.
I’d been fighting that instinct with Maya for over a year, telling myself it was just a crush, just loneliness, just the intimacy of late-night conversations making me feel closer to her than I actually was.
But having her here, seeing her in person, hearing her laugh in my living room instead of through a headset, it was almost too much. Her presence brought all those carefully suppressed feelings roaring to the surface.
She’d called me her hero. Said I’d saved her life. Looked at me like I was something wonderful instead of something to be afraid of.
I was so screwed.
Around midnight, I heard movement from the guest room. Soft footsteps, the creak of the door opening. I was on my feet immediately, moving toward the hallway.
Maya stood in the doorway, backlit by the small nightlight I kept plugged in. Her hair was mussed from sleep, and my shirt hung off one shoulder. She looked tiny and rumpled and absolutely adorable.
“Hey,” she said, her voice hoarse. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“You didn’t. I was up.” I stayed in the kitchen doorway, giving her space. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah, I’m a bit thirsty. And I smelled cookies?” She smiled sleepily. “Tell me I didn’t dream the cookies.”
“No dream. Chocolate chip. Want one?”
“I’ll start with one, but I want several, honestly.”
I grabbed the plate from the counter and brought it to the living room, gesturing for her to sit. She curled up on the couch again, tucking her feet under her, and I handed her the plate before settling into my chair.
She bit into a cookie and made a sound that I absolutely was not going to think about in any inappropriate context.
“Oh my God,” she mumbled around the mouthful. “These are amazing. Why didn’t you tell me you could bake?”
“Didn’t come up. We’re usually too busy arguing about optimal skill rotations.”
“True.” She took another cookie, studying me in the dim light. The only illumination came from the dying fire and the glow from my gaming setup across the room. “Can I ask you something?”
My stomach tightened. “Sure.”
“Why were you out in the storm? You said you saw my crash, but that seems like quite a coincidence.”
“Not really. I always check the roads when storms hit this hard. Make sure nobody’s stranded, clear any fallen branches, that kind of thing.” I leaned back in my chair, making myself relax. “It’s part of living up here. We look out for each other.”
“So you regularly patrol mountain highways during blizzards?”
