Noah wordlessly sets down the lantern and lifts his hands toward my waist. “May I? I don’t want you straining your shoulder.”
Well, thisdefinitelyisn’t going to help my heart rate, but I nod my head anyway. He gingerly unties my robe, then slips it off my shoulder, taking extra caution on the left side. He shakes it out, righting the inside-out arm, then drapes it over my shoulders, holding it up while I slip my arms through. He leans even closer as his hands drift around my waist, retrieving the tie on either side and tugging it around my body. For a brief moment, I’m fully encircled in his arms. We aren’t exactly touching—not quite—but he’s close enough for me to feel the warmth of his body, to breathe in the scent of snow and pine needles and something else spicy and sweet and uniquelyNoah.
I expect him to hand me the ties once he’s holding them both, but he keeps them until he’s tied them into a neat bow just belowmy ribs. This is the second time he’s helped me with my clothes because of my shoulder, but the first time felt clinical, a matter of expediency.
This…is not that.
Noah’s gaze is heavy, the air between us thick with crackling chemistry. When his hands fall away from my body, he doesn’t step away. “You don’t sleep in much,” he says, his voice low and husky.
I swallow against the sudden knot in my throat. “I like to use a lot of blankets.”
Noah’s expression isn’t quite hungry, but it does feel…admiring.Like he’s noticing me, and he likes what he sees. “You might want to rethink that for tonight,” he says. “The fire will do a lot, but you might still get cold.”
I resist the wildly inappropriate impulse to suggest that he stay and keep me warm and nod my head instead. “Noted. I’ve got sweats in my bag.”
He nods like he finds my answer satisfactory and turns back toward the hallway, where he’s left a bundle of firewood. “Can I bring this in?”
I smirk, pressing my lips together as I ask, “Your wood?”
He breathes out a longsuffering sigh. “I walked right into that one, didn’t I?”
I grin as I take the lantern from his extended hand. “You and yourfirewoodare welcome,” I say.
I step out of the way, watching as he carries the bundle of wood into the room. He kneels next to the fireplace, then makes quick work of building a fire—it’s clear he’s done this enough that it’s practically second nature.
“That should do it,” he says. “It won’t burn all night, but it’ll help. And I can come back in the morning and build it up again.”
“Thank you,” I say as I move toward the fire. There’s a nice sitting area next to the hearth with two swivel armchairs sittingopposite each other, a small table, and a thick, woven rug. I take the chair across from where Noah is crouched in front of the flames. “Do you think this means the reunion won’t happen?”
“I doubt it,” he says. “It isn’t snowing hard enough for the outage to be too widespread, so I’m guessing they’ll have it back on sometime tomorrow. That’s what the text message from the power company said when I reported it.”
“And you said it’s supposed to warm up enough for the snow to melt?”
“It’s hard to believe, but that’s what they’re saying. We should know by tomorrow afternoon what Christmas Eve will look like.”
He shifts, sitting himself on the rug with his legs bent, his arms resting on his knees. His gaze drifts to the fire, and he’s quiet for a long moment, but I get the sense he’s working up to something, so I stay perfectly still and wait.
“Megan,” he finally says, then he clears his throat. “I’m sorry about the way I…” his words trail off, and I get the sense this isn’t easy for him. Not so much the apologizing, but thetalking. “I’m sorry for the way I snapped at you earlier,” he finishes. He lifts his gaze to meet mine, his eyes dark in the shadowy firelight. “I’m not great with words, and this particular subject…”
I almost step in. Reassure him. Fill the silence with my own words, which always come so easily.
But sometimes listening is just aboutlistening.About letting the silence stretch as long as it needs to for words to work themselves out.
“It’s tough for me,” he continues. “For a lot of reasons that have to do with my dad and my own personal expectations. But you weren’t wrong for asking or for offering to listen. And I was out of line for being so dismissive.”
“It’s totally fine,” I say. “I get it.”
He nods, then he reaches behind him and tugs a blanket off the arm of the other chair. He unfolds it before holding it out to me. “PICU, huh? That’s a lot.”
I take the blanket and drape it over my lap. “It will be, for sure. But it was my last clinical rotation in nursing school, and I loved it. I like the challenge. And kids are so much better than adults.”
This makes him chuckle. “I know a lot of nurses who would disagree with you.”
“My roommates disagree with me,” I say. “But I love it. Give me all the kids and babies.”
After another beat of silence, Noah shifts like he’s going to get up. “I should let you get some sleep,” he says. “Unless you need anything else?”
I could be making it up, but he almost sounds hopeful. Like he doesn’t really want to leave.
