Instead, I was here. With him. Alone. In his house.
The bathroom was surprisingly normal with a toilet, sink, and a shower stall big enough for someone his size, which meant it was absolutely massive by human standards. Masculine in a sparse way with just the essentials, but clean. A bottle of fur conditioner sat on the shelf, and I felt another inappropriate laugh trying to escape. Of course he needed fur conditioner.
I peeled off my wet clothes with difficulty, everything clinging and cold. My hip was already showing a spectacular bruise, dark purple spreading across my skin. My chest wasn’t much better, with a seatbelt burn and airbag bruising across my collarbone. I rubbed my jaw, surprised I didn’t have any facial bruising.
But I was alive. Miraculously, incredibly alive, when I could have easily frozen to death in that storm.
The shower was heaven. I stood under the spray until the water ran clear and the shaking in my muscles settled into a dull ache. The body wash on the shelf smelled like Geoff’s fur. Nowwe both smelled of pine and something clean and crisp. I used it sparingly, feeling like I was intruding on something private.
His clothes were comically large. The sweatpants had a drawstring I pulled tight, and even then they threatened to slide off my hips. I was grateful for their looseness because my hip still throbbed. The t-shirt hung to my knees, the sleeves falling past my hands. The socks were impossibly thick and warm, meant for feet at least three times the size of mine, and I pulled them up almost to my knees.
I caught sight of myself in the mirror and almost laughed. I looked like a kid playing dress-up, drowning in fabric, my damp hair hanging in tangles around my face.
But I was warm. And alive. And about to have hot chocolate with my online gaming partner, who turned out to be a literal Yeti.
“You can handle this, Maya,” I told my reflection. “You’ve handled toxic teammates. You can handle hot chocolate with your good friend.”
My reflection looked skeptical.
I took a breath and opened the bathroom door.
The smell of rich chocolate and something spicy hit me first, followed by notes of cinnamon. Now that my eyes weren’t blurred with cold, the living room was more visible. The space was open-concept, with the living room flowing into a kitchen area where he stood with his back to me, stirring something in a pot on the stove. The furniture was all oversized but not uncomfortable-looking, built for someone with his dimensions but with a homey quality. Custom made, if I had to guess. Bookshelves lined one wall, crammed with everything from fantasy novels to survival guides. And in the corner, a gaming setup that would make any enthusiast weep. He had a top-of-the-line PC, the latest gaming systems, two monitors, a chairthat looked custom built, and a headset I’d recognize anywhere hanging on its hook.
The same headset I’d heard his voice through countless times.
“You can sit anywhere,” he said without turning around. “Couch, the chair by the fire, wherever you’re comfortable. This is almost ready.”
I made my way to the couch, moving carefully so I wouldn’t slip with the oversized socks and my aching body. Everything hurt less now that I was warm, but my body was making it very clear it had been through trauma. I curled into the corner of the couch, tucking my feet under me, and watched him work.
He moved with confidence in his kitchen, his size somehow graceful rather than awkward in the space designed for it. The fur on his back was slightly darker than his front, I noticed, more gray than white, and it moved like water as his muscles shifted beneath.
“How bad is the storm?” I asked, needing to break the silence.
“Bad. Roads will be closed for days, probably.” He glanced over his shoulder at me. “I’m sorry. I know this isn’t what you wanted.” He cleared his throat. “I mean, you were supposed to settle into your new place tonight.”
“Better than being frozen in my car.”
“True.” He poured hot chocolate into two mugs. He handed me a normal-sized one, while his looked like it could hold a gallon. “Careful, it’s hot.”
I wrapped my hands around the mug, grateful for the warmth. The smell was incredible, rich and sweet. “You made this from scratch?”
“Easier than you’d think. Cocoa powder, milk, sugar, vanilla, a little cinnamon and cayenne.” He settled into the chair across from me, his own mug looking normal-sized in his enormous hands. “My mom’s recipe.”
“It smells amazing.” I took a tentative sip and nearly moaned. “Okay, it tastes amazing too. Why have you been hiding this recipe from me?”
“Didn’t want to make you jealous.” He was smiling, but there was still tension in the set of his shoulders. “How are you feeling? Any dizziness, nausea, blurred vision?”
“Thanks for asking. I’m fine. Bruised and sore, but fine.” I paused. “You know first aid?”
“Have to, living up here. The nearest hospital is forty-five minutes away in good weather.” His ears twitched again, and I thought it might be a nervous tell. “I called the police station before I made the hot chocolate to let them know I found you, that you’re safe. They’ll mark your car and tow it when they can get to it.”
“Thank you.” I studied him over the rim of my mug. Now that the initial shock was wearing off, questions were piling up. “So. Geoff?”
He blinked. “What?”
“Your name. Is it Geoff? I remember you mentioned it once, in passing. Or was that another misdirection?”
“No, that’s…yes. Geoff.” He set his mug down on the side table. “Geoffrey MacKay. My parents have a strange sense of humor.”
