Pretty curls.
I swallowed irritation and stepped inside anyway, stripped fast, and grabbed my own soap from the bottom of my bag. Plain. Unscented. Familiar. I turned the water as hot as it would go and stood under it, scrubbing hard, attempting to wash off the night, the lack of sleep, and the sight of the cute intruder standing in my space with coffee in his hand as if he belonged there.
I stared at myself in the mirror and considered shaving. Nah. The bags under my eyes were dark enough to have their own shadows, and no blade in the world was going to fix that. I poked at my face, tired and rough and unmistakably worn down, and my gaze drifted to the neat row of bottles on the shelf. I wondered, briefly and against my better judgment, if any of them held the secret to functioning on two hours of sleep.
“Probably expensive enough,” I muttered, then dressed and headed downstairs.
Lucas was already at the table, nursing a mug of coffee.Mycereal was out.Mybowl half-full, soggy spoonfuls abandoned as if he’d lost interest halfway through. Irritation flared.
“That’s my fucking stuff, get your own shit,” I snapped,moving past him to make more coffee, the words rough with sleep and resentment.
“Isn’t it three-quarters mine?” he said mildly.
I whirled to face him, ready to bite his head off, muscles already coiling for a fight. But he wasn’t posturing. He wasn’t even looking at me properly. He scrubbed at his mouth with his thumb, half smiling as if he hadn’t meant to correct me out loud, gaze dropping to the table, then flicking back up again.
It threw me.
What was he doing? Was that flirting? Was that some new shit he was trying to pull?
I tried to stay angry, but it stalled, replaced by a jolt of confusion and an unwelcome awareness sending all my blood south. Was he—fuck—was he doing something on purpose, or was that just how he was? Casual. Self-assured. Pretty in a way that had no business landing right now.
I scowled harder because that was safer than thinking about it.
“Anyway,” he added, “it’s out-of-date. Stale.”
“I don’t eat here,” I said and pointed out of the window. “I eat at the staff building. Kitchen, employees’ dining hall, offices.”Stop talking, idiot.
He looked thoughtful. “Can I get an omelet there? Y’know, egg whites? Whisked.”
“I know what a fucking omelet is, and we have eggs,” I blurted. Jesus Christ.We have fucking eggs.
He stood as if he’d already made a decision. “Okay then. I’ll get my coat, and you can show me,” he said and wandered out to the hall as if this was settled.
What the hell?
I stared after him, coffee mug clenched in my hand, irritation flaring hot and sharp. I wasn’t taking him to breakfast like some guest on a fucking ranch holiday. He wasn’t a guest. He was a problem. He was here to carve this place up with paperwork and good intentions and call it progress.
He was here to destroy everything.
“Out the front. Turn left,” I snapped.
“Huh?” He sounded confused. “You’re not coming with me?”
“No.”
He glanced at me, doubtful, then at the snow piling up outside. I waited for him to argue. But instead, I saw something shift.
His chin lifted. His mouth set. Stubborn focus slid into place like a switch being flipped. He tugged on boots that were too clean, too city, all leather and no give, then pulled on his coat and hat, winding a scarf around his neck.
“Fuck you, asshole,” he muttered. “I can do this shit on my own.”
I told myself I was watching him walk outside to underscore his leaving the house. I wasn’t checking to see if he was okay. Nope.
I topped up my coffee, stared into the mug, then drifted to the window anyway. Outside, the snow was thick and bright. Lucas stepped into it and immediately sank deeper than he’d expected, swore silently, windmilled once, and kept going. A few steps later, the snow gave way under him completely, and he disappeared into a bank of white. A heartbeat passed. Then another.
He surfaced, scrambling—snow caking his coat and down his collar—and hauled himself back onto his feet.
Halfway across the yard, he stopped, turned, and looked straight back at the house. At the window. At me.
