Hawke
What’s your poison?”
I took a clean mug out of the cupboard, eyeing up my guest seated at the kitchen table. Bella curled up on the floor at her feet as if Maddie were already a regular fixture.
Other than the realtor who’d sold me the cabin this summer and a lost hunter who’d needed directions, I’d never invited another person inside the doorway, let alone to sit at the table where I ate my meals.
It was surreal.
Maddie was still snuggled inside my jacket, her legs tucked up underneath her on the chair, watching me with those intense blue eyes. Now that her face had returned to its normal color, a faint spray of freckles stood out across her nose and cheeks.
Fucking adorable.
She considered my offer for a full minute, then finally said, “I think I’ll have hot cocoa.”
Damn.
“No can do.”
Her nose wrinkled. “It’s Christmas Eve and you don’t have any hot chocolate?”
“Maybe you haven’t noticed, but this ain’t exactly Santa’s workshop.” I slammed the mug on the table, harder than I’d meant to.
Why hadn’t I thought to pick up hot chocolate on my supply run the other day?
Because you weren’t expecting a hot, demanding-as-fuck, cocoa-drinking redhead to come crashing into your driveway, dumbass.
“I got coffee,” I said. “Leaded and unleaded. I got whiskey, which I ain’t keen on sharing. I got shitty Christmas beer. I got heavy cream. And I got water. Pick one. Hell, pick two—I’m in a generous mood.”
“You have Christmas beer, but no Christmas tree?”
I clamped my jaw shut before I said somethingreallyrude.
“Okay, okay. Coffee,” she said, undeterred. “Leaded, with cream. But don’t make ittoostrong. Caffeine makes me kind of spazzy.”
“So, decaf then.”
“Hawke!”
I shot her a glare, then got to work. I didn’t have a coffeemaker, just did it pour-over style with an old bandanna for a filter. She watched me with great interest as I attached the bandanna to the mug with a rubber band and dumped some ground coffee on top—a little regular, followed by a whole heap of decaf, hoping she wouldn’t notice the ol’ switcheroo.
“Does this mean you don’t have any Christmas cookies, either?” she asked. “Because I haven’t eaten since breakfast and I could really use a bite of something sweet. I have to eat a snack every three hours, or else I get this low blood sugar thing, and I really don’t want to pass out on you again. If you don’t have cookies, I’ll—”
“Hang on.” I filled the teakettle with water and set it on the stove, then dug through the pantry. I had a fuck ton of MREs stockpiled in there; maybe the nutrition bars would help with her blood sugar thing. “Here.”
Maddie grabbed it from my hand, turning it over to read the label. “Soldier Fuel?”
“It’s like a cookie. Closest thing I got, anyway. Look, it’s chocolate. Just eat it and be happy.”
“No problem. This looks… good.” She tore open the wrapper and nibbled on the corner of the bar, trying not to make a face. “Hey, if by some miracle we find a way out of here tonight, you should come with me to Christmas dinner! My family won’t mind—the more the merrier. I mean, they don’t even knowI’mcoming. And my mom makes this crazy feast, with turkey and ham, two kinds of mashed potatoes, three or four different salads, sweet potatoes with pecans… Well, my dad probably polished those off by now—they’re his favorite. Oh! She also makes this amazing creamed spinach thing baked in a tree-shaped dish and decorated with little red tomatoes to look like—”
“Pass. Hard pass.” I shook my head so fast I nearly gave myself whiplash. “I don’t do Christmas. Don’t do families either.”
She opened her trap to say something else, but apparently thought better of it because she stuck the nutrition bar in her mouth instead, and the yammering finally ceased for a full thirty seconds. I could’ve sworn my ears were ringing. I’d almost forgotten what quiet actually sounded like.
But after two minutes without a word from the girl, I actually missed the sound of her voice. Something was obviously bugging her.
I’m going to regret this, but…
