She crossed her arms, lifting her chin like she was preparing for battle. “I already told you, if you hadn’t scared me, I wouldn’t have fallen off the ladder, and my head wouldn’t have been in danger of said cracking.”
We stood there in a silent staring match as the storm raged around us, the entire place groaning in protest. And somehow, she still looked entirely convinced she was right.
“You know, there is a perfectly comfortable inn in town. You could stay there until you allowactualprofessionals to fix this place.”
“No,” she said immediately. “I already did my little staycation there when I first arrived in town, so I’m all good.”
Of course she was. Stubborn little sea sprite...if that was even what she truly was.
She stood there, soaked through from whatever attempts she had made to manage the leak before I arrived. But there was a flush to her cheeks that had nothing to do with the cold, her expression set with that same stubborn refusal to yield, and I found myself lingering on it longer than I should have, not wanting to read her emotions without her consent. Still, she was... annoyingly compelling.
I forced my gaze away, reminding myself why I was here in the first place. I had come to check on her, and she was fine. At least, she insisted she was, and that should have been enough to convince me to turn around and walk out that door.
But for fuck’s sake, it wasn’t enough, because I knew I couldn’t leave her like this. I reached down, picking up the nearest hammer and a warped plank of wood from her scattered supplies.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“I'm getting to work.”
Her brows shot up. “Right now? It’s the middle of the night, and there’s a storm.”
I glanced toward the window as another gust of wind rattled the frame. “Yes. And?”
“You can’t be serious.”
“If you are unwilling to leave,” I said, already moving toward the nearest broken window, “then I can’t leave you here alone with this place falling apart around you.”
She opened her mouth to argue, then closed it again, likely realizing I wasn’t going to be moved on this.
I positioned the plank over the worst of the opening, testing its placement before securing it. “And if you refuse to contact the people I recommended,” I added, driving the first nail into place with a decisive strike, the wood shifting and settling under my hand, “then I will handle what I can.”
“You don’t have to—”
“I’m aware,” I cut in, striking the nail again. “And yet, here I am.”
There was a brief silence behind me, one that lasted all of two seconds.
“You know,” she muttered, “you’re very bossy.”
“You are correct.”
“And slightly insufferable.”
“So I’ve been told.”
I heard her let out a small laugh, the sound warmer than it should have been given the circumstances, and instead of arguing with me, she silently watched. In fact, she moved closer, hovering just within reach as I worked, and if she was going to learn, she might as well observe and get some more hands-on experience.
“Hold that,” I said without looking back, shifting my grip on the board.
She stepped in immediately, pressing her hand against it to keep it steady. “Like this?”
“Yes.”
“I feel like I’m being trained,” she said, like she knew she wasn’t going to get away with just watching from the sidelines, because after tonight she was on her own again. So maybe if she could at least learn how toproperlyhammer a nail, she might stand a chance in this shack.
“Just focus,” I said as I rolled my eyes.
She made another quiet sound, something between a laugh and a complaint, but she didn’t argue further. Instead, she adjusted her grip as I secured the rest of the board in place, sealing the window far more effectively than the cardboard ever had.
