Page 49 of Max Bannon

She just nodded, arms wrapped around herself like she was holding in more than fear.

“I don’t mind sleeping out here,” she said. “The couch looks comfy.”

“You’re not sleeping out here alone.”

Her eyes flicked up, wide and startled.

“I’ll stay on the recliner,” I added. “Unless Pancake calls dibs, in which case I’m flipping a coin.”

That got a weak laugh out of her. Just a little one—but it was a start.

She went to wash up, and I moved around the cabin, checking every window, rechecking every lock, and ensuring the security cam above the porch was live. Every movement was automatic. I was trained. I was focused.

But my mind kept circling back to her.

To the sound of her voice when she told me about Derek.

To the way she’d looked at me when I said she wasn’t going home.

To the way she was trying to be brave even when she was clearly terrified.

When she returned wearing one of my old flannel shirts—myflannel shirt—barefoot, with her damp hair in a braid and those sleepy gray eyes searching for comfort, something in my chest pulled tight.

She curled up on the couch, legs tucked under her, the blanket around her like a cocoon.

I sat down beside her—not too close, but not far, either.

She turned her head to look at me. “You don’t have to stay up.”

I shook my head. “Can’t sleep yet.”

Silence settled between us, heavy but not uncomfortable. The fire crackled softly, casting a warm glow over her face.

“You ever have something you thought you got away from,” she said quietly, “but it catches up anyway?”

I looked at her. “Yeah. I have.”

She nodded, like she already knew that about me. Like she’d seen something in me that others hadn’t.

My hand twitched on the couch cushion, inches from hers. “You’re safe here, Willa.”

Her eyes met mine. “I know.”

And in that moment, I leaned in.

Not all the way. Just enough that our faces were inches apart. I could feel her breath and smell the lavender on her skin, even after her shower. Her eyes flicked to my lips, and mine did the same.

We were bothright there.

I wanted to kiss her. Needed to.

But I didn’t.

Not yet.

Because this wasn’t about me, this wasn’t about want.

It was abouther.

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