"I believe I made a promise that matters more than my personal comfort."
When she's eaten everything she's willing to touch, she sits back and looks directly at me.
"Thank you for dinner."
"You're welcome."
"And for …"
She makes a vague motion between us.
"Making me think."
"It's part of the service."
A wry expression crosses her face, and one corner of her mouth lifts.
It isn't a smile, exactly, but it's close enough to feel like a victory.
She helps me clean up, moving around the tight kitchen without trying to take over or getting in my way. The sounds arestrangely domestic. Ceramic against wood. Water running into the basin. The soft brush of fabric as we pass each other.
Her sleeve grazes my arm when she reaches for a dish, and I catch the scent of her shampoo.
Clean. Floral.
It doesn't belong in this cabin, but it makes the place feel less like a one-man operation.
When we're finished, she returns to her equipment. I bank the fire, check the windows, and run through the mental list that keeps people alive in places like this.
Weather is holding.
It won't forever.
"Dr. Thorne," I say as I turn down the lights.
She peers over the edge of the loft, her face framed by loose hair in the lamplight.
My pulse kicks at the base of my throat, quick and uninvited.
I look back at the fire.
"Yes?"
"We'll be working together for several weeks, so we might as well use first names. I'm Nash."
She hesitates, considering the offer as though it comes with hidden conditions.
Then she nods.
"Aris."
"Aris," I repeat.
It fits her.
"Get some sleep. We start early tomorrow."
"How early?"
