“We are discussing it now.”
“That is not a discussion.”
“Shower.”
I stare at him.
He stares back.
I smile despite myself. “Bossy.”
“Go.”
I carry his clothes down the hallway before I do something humiliating, like lift the shirt to my nose.
I do it anyway.
Obviously.
The bathroom is as neat as the rest of the cabin. Dark towels folded on an open shelf, one toothbrush beside the sink, a razor placed neatly near the mirror. There is no collection of mysterious bottles and no damp clothing on the floor.
I set the clothes on the counter and turn on the shower.
The first touch of hot water makes me realize exactly how tense I have been.
I stand beneath the spray longer than I mean to, watching gray water disappear down the drain while smoke loosens from my hair and skin. My throat still feels raw, and every few minutes I catch the faint smell of fire even though I know most of it is probably trapped in my memory now.
My chest tightens.
I shut off the water before the tears can start.
I dry off with the towel Zain gave me, pull on his T-shirt, then hold up the sweatpants.
One leg could house a small family.
I try them anyway.
They slide straight down my hips.
“Absolutely not.”
I step out of them and look at myself in the mirror.
The shirt falls almost to mid-thigh. On Zain, it probably fits close across his chest. On me, it hangs loose through the body, the sleeves nearly reaching my elbows and the collar slipping slightly toward one shoulder.
This is fine.
Completely fine.
I am simply standing half naked in Zain Carson’s bathroom wearing his shirt.
Perfectly normal.
I gather my ruined clothes, fold them because apparently his house is already changing me, and open the bathroom door.
Zain is standing near the kitchen when I step into the main room.
He looks up.
