“The view is why I built here.”
“I can see why.” She smiled at him.
“You’re going to freeze. Come here.” He placed a hand at the small of her back and steered her to the couch where he draped thick blankets over her and tucked in the edges. “Warm enough?”
She placed her empty mug on the table. “Cozy, yes, thanks.”
He crossed to a cabinet built into the exterior wall and pulled out a bottle of single malt he kept for nights that deserved it. “I think tonight merits the good stuff.” He poured two glasses and carried them to the couch.
She took the glass he offered, her thumb skimming his. “What are we drinking to?”
Wyatt looked at her, the woman who’d saved his life with a flare gun and refused to quit even when everything was falling apart. He’d never met anyone quite like her.
“To surviving.” He lifted his glass.
She clinked her glass against his, sipped, and coughed. “Heavens, that’s strong.”
He downed a gulp himself, savoring the heat of the liquid sliding down his throat. “You didn’t panic. Even when you were scared.”
She shook her head. “I was cold and terrified and on the verge of a breakdown.”
“But still, you got the job done.”
“Mmm. Like you?”
He clinked his glass against hers again as the stove threw out golden sparks under the night sky. “Touché.”
“You didn’t hesitate.” She tugged the blanket around both their knees, where it had fallen. Her knee pressed against his, hidden underneath.
“About what?”
“Letting me lead. Under the crane. In the water.” She shrugged and faced him. “Most men would’ve overridden me.”
He considered that for a moment. “You knew the structure. I knew the explosives. Anything else would’ve been inefficient.”
Her throat moved as she swallowed. “You always reduce people to efficiency?”
“Only when I trust them.”
That made her look at him properly for a second longer than required.
“So you paint,” she said, quieter now.
“Sometimes.”
“What kind of things?”
He tipped his glass, studying the fire. “Landscapes. Places where nothing’s happening.”
She glanced at him. “That’s not an accident.” Her gaze drifted across the deck to the house behind them. “This place is the same. Controlled. Thoughtful. Like someone who plans exits but made something beautiful instead.”
A beat.
“I like quiet things,” he said. “Things that don’t ask anything of me.”
She looked straight at him. “And yet you keep running toward the loud ones.”
The words landed somewhere he didn’t let people reach. His glass stilled halfway to his mouth.
