“I will sleep on the rug,” I say. “Or the chair. You take the bed.”
“This is ridiculous,” she mutters.
“You are stubborn.”
“You are bossy.”
I stare at her until she breaks first.
“Fine,” she says. “But only because it is freezing. And I will wash the sheets before I go.”
I grunt. Not an agreement but not a refusal.
She looks stupidly pleased with herself.
I grab a blanket from the storage room and drop it near the rug by the fire. The floor is warm there. I have slept on worse.
“Thank you,” she says softly.
I do not answer. If I open my mouth right now I might say something I will not be able to take back.
She shifts on her feet, looking down at her damp sweater and jeans. “Um… would it be alright if I used your bathroom? Just to change? I have dry clothes in my suitcase.”
“Yeah,” I say. “End of the hallway. Door on the left.”
She nods, quick and relieved. She crouches by her suitcase, unzips it, and pulls out something soft and folded. I look away, giving her space.
She stands with the clothes in her arms and heads for the hallway. She pauses once, glancing back like she is making sure I am not about to bark at her to stop.
Then she slips into the bathroom and closes the door.
I stare at that door longer than I should.
Should look at the fire.
Or the window.
Anywhere else.
I hear the quiet rustle of fabric as she changes. The soft scrape of a zipper. Nothing more. Still, something warm curls low in my gut before I force it back down.
A minute later the bathroom door opens and she steps out in something warm and fuzzy and painfully sweet. An oversized red sweater with a white snowflake pattern, the kind that screams Christmas from across a damn mountain. Soft fabric, sleeves a little too long, paired with simple black leggings that hug her legs just enough to make my jaw clench. Fuzzy socks.
It is the sort of outfit Ishouldhate.
Cute. Festive. Cheerful.
Exactly the kind of thing I have had no use for in years.
But I do not hate it.
Not even close.
And that irritates the hell out of me.
Her cheeks are pink from the cold and the heat of the cabin, and for a stupid second I forget how to breathe.
She stands there for a moment, fingers hooked together nervously. “By the way… I never told you my name. It is Nikki. Nikki Hope.”
