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“Problem?” Wilder walked over, Grimm trotting along beside him. Grimm nudged my knees until I started scratching him behind his ear.

“Not really, I guess. But there’s no electricity on my block.”

“The hall will still have electricity, even if it goes out everywhere else. They have a generator.”

I looked up at him from beneath my lashes. “So you’re going to set up?”

He frowned down at me. “I was.”

“Okay. Well. I guess I’ll, um, see you around sometime.” Why did I feel like I was saying goodbye to a camp friend, never knowing if I’d see him again?

I knew I probably wouldn’t see him around. He didn’t come to town except after dark, so no casual bumping into him at the grocery store. He avoided people with a passion. And despite what had happened between us last night…

It hadn’t meant anything. Men did things like that all the time. Not that he took advantage of me. I’d wanted it too.

Trouble was that I wanted more. More of him.

We stood there in silence as the rain started to fall in earnest. He’d worn another hoodie today, but the hood was pushed back. His dark hair was getting wet. I followed a drop of rain down his throat, over his scar, and wanted to stand on my tiptoes and lick it off.

“Come on, you’re getting wet.” He grabbed my hand and started walking fast to the parking lot. I had to double-step to keep up with his long strides. Grimm ran ahead, as if he knew what was happening. I wished I did.

Wilder opened the passenger door of his truck and Grimm climbed in, going straight over the seat into the back of the king-sized cab. Before I could decide how to make a graceful ascent into it myself, I felt two large hands close around my hips and lift me up. He closed the door and walked around the front of the truck without saying a word.

I turned and looked at Grimm. “Do you know what he’s doing?”

The dog just stared at me, tongue hanging out.

Wilder got in and slammed the door. Rain started pounding down on the roof. We had barely made it into his truck before the skies had opened up. He ran a hand over his head, flicking away some of the rain. “Put on your seatbelt.”

I did, smiling at myself at his order. And thought about the other kinds of orders I’d like for him to give me. “Do I get to ask where we’re going?”

He didn’t look at me, just pulled out his phone. I listened to his side of the conversation and smiled again. He wasn’t going to town hall to set up the SAR booth. He’d found someone to take his place.

I settled against the seat and decided not to ask any more questions. I knew where I wanted him to take me.

His home was not what I had built in my head.

I had pictured a small cabin in the middle of nowhere. A man punishing himself for something that was not his fault. The scars he carried had to have their share of guilt.

His house was in the middle of nowhere and it was a cabin. A cabin that looked like a home. Cedar and stone with a kitchen table so beautiful I had to put my hand on it before I took my coat off. “You built this.”

“Two winters ago. Walnut tree came down behind the cabin.” He took my coat and hung it up. I saw him hesitate before taking off the hoodie and hanging it up beside my coat. Then he was taking a towel and drying Grimm.

“It’s beautiful, Wilder.”

I said the words, not sure exactly what I was referring to. His cabin. The table. The scar. Him.

Something crossed his face — pleased and uncomfortable in equal measure. A man who did not know where to put praise. He busied himself with the dog instead, an operation that took too long given how thoroughly Grimm fought it while also leaning his entire weight into it.

Twenty minutes later we were at that table with grilled cheese and coffee that put mine to shame. The reserve he’d worn at the festival table was slowly dropping away. Leaving him looking slightly unguarded. I wanted more of that. “This is really good,” I said, tipping my cup toward him.

“Should be. I special order it. Coffee is one of my vices.”

“What? The Ghost of Lone Mountain has vices? I thought you spent all your time patrolling the mountain.”

I finished my sandwich and looked out the window. The downpour, and it made me think of sitting on the front porch between my parents as a kid, watching it rain.

“Do you have a porch?” I hadn’t seen the front of his house. We’d come in through his garage.