Page 63 of Saved By the Boss

“Don’t get too comfortable,” I joke. “As soon as the roads are clear, you’re out of here.”

“Noted,” he says, leaning back in the chair. The firelight flickers across his face, casting shadows along the sharp lines of his jaw. For someone as big and imposing as he is, he fits rather well in my small cabin.

And he seems so at ease. I, on the other hand, am not.

I find a couple of flashlights in one box, and a handful of candles in another. I hand Declan a flashlight and start setting the candles out around the room so it isn’t so dark. Of course, it only adds to the romantic feeling, but I think the situation calls for more light, not less.

With that handled, I feel like I need to keep my hands busy. If I have something to do, maybe I won’t make a fool of myself.

“I’m going to make some food,” I say over my shoulder, as I start rifling through the pantry for some of my emergency canned food. “Do you want anything?”

“Sure,” he says, but when I glance back at him, he’s already pulling himself out of the chair. “I’ll help.”

“You’ll sit,” I counter, pointing at him with a wooden spoon I’ve just grabbed. “Your ankle’s already bad enough. The last thing I need is for you to make it worse.”

He raises an eyebrow but doesn’t argue, settling back into the chair with a slight wince. “Bossy.”

“Practical,” I correct, turning back to the stove.

I turn on the gas stove, warming the cabin even more as I pour some soup into a pot and wait for it to start boiling.

It’s nothing fancy, but it’ll do. I can feel Declan watching me as I move around the kitchen. It’s unsettling, the way he just observes without trying to start a conversation. I’m a nervous talker. Eventually, the silence becomes too much for me.

“So,” I say, breaking the silence. “Where did you come from? Where was home before middle of nowhere Colorado?”

There’s a pause, just long enough to make me glance back at him. His expression hasn’t changed, but his eyes seem more guarded than before.

“Chicago,” he answers simply.

“Oh, that’s nice,” I prattle on. “I’ve never been, but I hear it’s a cool city. What did you do there?”

“This and that,” he says finally, his tone casual but infuriatingly vague.

“This and that,” I echo, raising an eyebrow. “That’s specific.”

He shrugs, getting up carefully, gingerly, and moving closer toward the fire. He picks up the poker and moves the wood around, causing the flames to spring up even brighter.

“Nothing worth talking about,” he finally answers. “I left a long time ago, and I have no intention of going back.”

The words come out too easily, like he’s practiced them, and I don’t push. I’m not exactly eager to spill my own life story, so I can’t really blame him for keeping things close to the chest.

Still, it only adds to his mystery. There’s something about the way he carries himself, so calm, so controlled, that makes me wonder what’s underneath it all. What he’s hiding.

Not that it’s any of my business, of course. I, for one, really shouldn’t pry seeing how I wouldn’t have much to share either.

I pour the soup into a couple of bowls and bring them over to the table, setting one down in front of him where he’s finally hobbled back.

“Here you go. It’s not exactly gourmet, but it’s hot.”

“It’s perfect,” he says, his voice softer this time. “I didn’t realize how hungry I was until just now.”

We eat in relative silence, the crackle of the fire filling the gaps between us. It’s nice, in a way. Comfortable. For someone so quiet, Declan has a way of making the silence feel less awkward.

“Do you always go around rescuing damsels in distress, or was this a special occasion?” I ask, a teasing lilt in my voice.

His lips twitch, but he doesn’t look up from his bowl. “I would argue that, of the two of us, I’m the one in distress.”

“Fair enough.” I can’t help but laugh.

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