I look away, uncomfortable with her sincerity. "Eat your stew before it gets cold."
She does, and we finish the meal in silence. Not my usual comfortable silence, but something charged with questions unasked. When she yawns, I realize how late it's getting.
"You should sleep," I say, taking our empty bowls. "Been a hell of a day."
"Where should I..." She glances around the cabin's single main room, eyes lingering on the door that leads to my bedroom.
"Take my bed," I say before she can finish the question. "I'll sleep out here."
"I can't take your bed." She protests immediately. "The couch is fine."
"The couch is too short for me, and you're injured." My tone leaves no room for argument. "It's just a bed, Delilah."
"Lila," she corrects. "And it's your bed. I'm already imposing enough."
"Lila." Her name feels strange in my mouth, too soft for this place. "Take the damn bed before I carry you there myself."
Her eyebrows shoot up at my tone, but then she smiles—a real smile that reaches her eyes. "Well, when you put it so charmingly..."
I help her to the bedroom, keeping my touch clinical, impersonal. The room is sparse—just a bed, a dresser, a lamp. No personal touches. I don't believe in cluttering space with sentiment.
"Bathroom's stocked with whatever you need," I tell her, already retreating. "I'll check your ankle again in the morning."
"Goodnight, Caleb." She sits on the edge of my bed, looking too right there. "And thank you. For everything."
I nod once and close the door, exhaling slowly.
One night. Maybe two. Then she'll be gone, and my life will return to normal. The silence I crave will settle back around me like a familiar coat.
I make up the couch with spare blankets, Ruby curling at my feet with a confused whine. She senses the shift, the disruption in our routine.
"Just temporary," I tell her, scratching behind her ears. "She'll be gone soon."
But as I lie in the dark, listening to the rain against the roof and the occasional soft sound from the bedroom, I can't shake the feeling that Delilah Monroe has already changed something in my carefully ordered world.
Something I might not be able to fix when she leaves.
3
LILA
Iwake up disoriented, surrounded by unfamiliar scents.
Wood smoke. Pine. Something earthy and masculine that makes me bury my face deeper into the pillow.
Then it all comes rushing back. Getting lost. The rain. The pain.
Caleb.
I sit up slowly, wincing as my ankle throbs in protest. Morning light streams through a small window, illuminating the spartan bedroom. There's almost nothing personal here—no photos, no clutter, nothing that tells me who Caleb McKenna is beyond a man who needs a bed to sleep in.
The sheets smell like him, though. That's personal enough.
I swing my legs carefully over the edge of the bed, testing my weight on my injured ankle. Still swollen, still painful, but maybe a tiny bit better than last night. I'm not running any marathons today, that's for sure.
My borrowed clothes are rumpled from sleep. I attempt to smooth them down, but there's no saving this look. I'mdrowning in Caleb's flannel, my hair is a rat's nest, and I'm pretty sure I look like something that crawled out of the woods—which, technically, I did.
I hear movement outside the bedroom door. Caleb is awake, probably has been for hours. He strikes me as the rise-before-dawn type.
