He pushed the cabin door open and glanced over his shoulder when she didn’t move. “You coming, Bean?”
The nickname hit her square in the chest, soft and familiar and far more dangerous than it had any right to be.
She forced a smile. “Yeah. Just… enjoying the quiet for a second.”
Slater studied her for half a heartbeat, like he was deciding whether to push or let it go. He let it go—of course he did. That was Slater’s way. Easy. No pressure. No heavy conversations unless absolutely necessary. It was one of the things she liked about him.
It was also the thing that made the idea of leaving hurt more than it should.
He held the door open, and she slipped past him into the warmth of the cabin. The scent of pine and whatever woodsy candle Maisie insisted every cabin have wrapped around her immediately, chasing away the chill. Behind her, the door clicked shut, sealing them inside a pocket of quiet that felt suddenly, almost painfully intimate.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Slater crossed to the small table and gathered up the stray mugs they’d left behind earlier, stacking them absently. “You cold?” he asked, not looking at her.
“A little.”
He set the mugs down and grabbed the throw blanket from the back of the couch, tossing it in her direction. She caught it against her chest, the soft fabric still faintly warm from the earlier fire. The simple gesture squeezed something tight and uncomfortable inside her.
Don’t do this, she warned herself. Don’t turn every little thing into something bigger just because you’re leaving.
She wrapped the blanket around her shoulders anyway.
Slater leaned his hip against the counter, arms crossed loosely over his chest. His hair was a little messy from the night breeze, his T-shirt rumpled, and he looked so completely at home here that it made her throat ache. This place suited him. The laid-back pace, the small-town familiarity, the way everyone knew his name and he knew theirs right back.
He didn’t belong in Seattle high-rises and traffic and endless gray drizzle.
And she didn’t belong in a life where she hovered on the edges of someone else’s town, waiting to see if they’d decide she was worth rearranging everything for.
Not that he would. Slater didn’t rearrange his life for anyone. He’d told her as much in a dozen different casual, joking ways that hadn’t felt like warnings at the time. They’d just felt honest. And at the time, she’d appreciated it.
Now? Not so much.
“So,” he said lightly, “it sounds like you all had a great time at girls’ night tonight.”
She huffed out a small laugh. “It was definitely a lot of fun. Although Connor made way too much food.”
“It’s what he does.”
“I can’t believe I even had any room for s’mores.” Her hand dramatically rested on her belly.
He grinned, and for a second, everything felt completely normal. Easy. Just Evie and Slater teasing each other in a cozy cabin after a night with friends. No ticking clock. No looming flight back to Seattle.
Just this.
She clung to that feeling, even as it slipped through her fingers.
Slater pushed away from the counter and crossed the room, stopping in front of her. He was close enough that she could see the tiny flecks of gold in his eyes, the ones she hadn’t noticed the first week they’d met. Close enough that she could feel his warmth, steady and familiar.
“You sure you’re okay?” he asked quietly.
There it was. The question she’d been hoping he wouldn’t ask and yet needing him to ask all at once.
Evie’s fingers tightened in the blanket. For a reckless second, she imagined telling him everything. That she was counting down the days and hating herself for it. That she was terrified of what next week would feel like when she walked through airport security and away from him. From them. That she wanted—ridiculously, impossibly—for him to tell her he’d go with her.
But that wasn’t who they were.
They were light and fun and temporary. They were s’mores and inside jokes and late-night walks, not heavy conversations about the future. If she pushed, she might break the fragile, perfect thing they’d managed to build in this little bubble of time.
