Page 17 of Playing Dirty
She stared at me a moment too long. “I’m not sleeping in the same room as you, Rhett.”
“Didn’t ask you to. I’ll take the chair.” I stood and tapped the back of it with two fingers. “You get the couch. You’ll be closer to the fire, and you won’t freeze your damn toes off.”
Something softened behind her eyes. A crack in the defenses. She nodded.
“I don’t need babysitting,” she said, a whisper this time.
I didn’t answer. Just knelt to add another log.
I didn’t need to be wanted. I just needed to know she’d wake up warm.
That was enough—for now.
The wind howled outside like it was circling something it couldn’t quite touch, and inside, the fire cracked and popped, casting warm flickers of light across the cabin walls. I’d pulled the chair close enough to the hearth to keep from freezing, but far enough not to seem like I was hovering.
Callie curled up on the couch, her knees tucked to her chest beneath the blanket. She hadn’t spoken much since I got the fire going. Just quiet nods and half-smiles.
I didn’t push. Didn’t ask. Just sat there, elbows on my knees, staring into the fire like it could tell me what the hell I was supposed to do now.
“You’re really staying?” she asked after a while with a soft voice, as if she didn’t want to disturb the silence too much.
I looked over. Callie wasn’t watching me—just the fire—but the question hung between us, heavier than the quilt she was wrapped in.
“Chair’s not the worst place I’ve slept,” I said. “Besides, I’m not leaving you up here with no heat and no cell service. Not happening.”
She nodded slowly. “Okay.”
I poured the hot tea into the mugs I’d found and carried one over. When I handed it to her, our fingers touched—just a brush, not even long enough to count as anything. But damn, if it didn’t spark all the same.
“Thanks,” she murmured.
I sat back down before I forgot my place. Took a sip of the bitter tea and stared at the flames again.
“This wasn’t exactly how I pictured the night going,” she added.
“No?” I glanced over, arching a brow. “Did the fantasy involve more firewood and frostbite, or less?”
She gave a small, tired laugh. “Less.”
The silence stretched again, but it wasn’t uncomfortable this time. It was… something else. Like we both knew, if we said too much or looked too long, something would break loose that couldn’t be undone.
“I didn’t mean to call you,” she said suddenly. “I mean—I’m glad you came. But I didn’t want to need anyone. Not tonight.”
That landed right in the center of my damn chest.
I shifted forward in the chair, elbows on my knees again. “You didn’t need me,” I said. “You had it handled. I just… showed up.”
Her eyes met mine then. And whatever sat in that look wasn’t about needing anyone.
It was about not wanting to feel alone.
“I was scared,” she admitted. “Just for a second. When the heater cut off and the cold came in fast… I panicked. And Matt’s not here and?—”
“You don’t have to explain,” I said, shaking my head. “You called. That’s enough.”
She nodded again, quick and quiet. Then, Callie looked down at the mug in her hands like it held all the answers she didn’t want to say aloud.
We sat that way for a while—her on the couch, me in the chair. Nothing between us but the flicker of firelight and the storm swirling outside. And yet, the room felt small, like the air itself was thick with everything we'd ever said, done, or left unsaid.
