Chapter 3
Nova
The shower is a temporary truce with my own brain.
Hot water hits my shoulders and my whole body tries to melt into the tile like it’s been waiting for permission to stop holding itself together.
My hands shake when I wash my hair, when I scrub the road off my skin, when I breathe in steam and pine-scented soap.
Maverick’s cabin is warm. Quiet. Solid.
Which should make me feel safe.
Instead, it makes my brain start doing cartwheels.
Because warm and solid is how you fall for things.
That is the problem.
I am not here to fall for anything.
I am here to disappear for a weekend, catch my breath, and figure out what to do next without my life exploding in my face.
Simple.
Except the man who bought me flowers is currently in the next room, and the only time anyone has bought me flowers in my entire life was when my fiancé did it after he messed up, like petals were a receipt that proved he didn’t mean it.
Maverick didn’t buy me flowers like that.
He bought them because every woman deserves flowers on Valentine’s Day.
Like it was a rule.
I keep replaying it in my head like it’s a song I don’t want to like.
Too reliable.
Too steady.
Too dangerous.
I rinse my hair and tilt my face into the water, letting it beat down on me until my thoughts blur at the edges.
This is a bad idea, Nova.
This is such a bad idea.
I turn the water off, shivering as cold air hits my skin, and reach for the towel.
It’s thick. Clean. Soft enough to make me want to cry, which is a dramatic reaction to cotton, but I’ve had a dramatic day.
I wrap it around myself and just stand there for a second, staring at the bathroom mirror.
My cheeks are flushed from the heat. My eyelashes are clumped from steam. My freckles look darker. My eyes look too big.
I look like a girl playing grown-up.
I look like someone who has no business buying a man at an auction and following him into his cabin.
My stomach flips.
I glance at the counter, at my purse.
I have not let it out of my sight since the ATM.
It’s stupid. I know it’s stupid. It’s just cash. It’s just paper.
But it’s also my future.
It’s also my escape plan.
It’s also the thing my ex will lose his mind over if he realizes what I did.
I pick the purse up immediately, hook the strap around my wrist like I’m handcuffing myself to it, and crack the bathroom door open.
Warm air from the cabin brushes my damp skin. The fireplace pops somewhere. Nugget’s little nails click across the wood floor.
And then I hear Maverick’s voice, low and rough, like it belongs to the cabin.
“Nova.”
My heart jumps.
I freeze in the doorway, towel tight around my chest, purse clutched like a weapon.
“Yeah?” I call back, trying to sound normal, like I’m not one kind gesture away from falling in love with him forever.
Which is not a thing.
It cannot be a thing.
His voice comes again. “Bedroom.”
I step out into the hall, moving carefully because I’m barefoot and the floor is warm under my feet, which is another detail my brain wants to cling to because it is soft and domestic and my life is not.
The bedroom door is open.
I hesitate at the threshold.
My whole body feels exposed in nothing but a towel, even though it’s wrapped tight and I’m covered. My skin prickles anyway, like I can feel him without even seeing him.
Then I walk in.
The room is… so male.
The walls are wood. The bedframe is solid, simple. The bedding is dark, neatly made, corners tucked like he’s either military or a psychopath. There’s a heavy dresser and a chair in the corner with a flannel draped over it like it was thrown there without thought.
The air smells faintly like cedar and smoke and soap.
My backpack sits by the bed.
My flowers are in water, set in a glass jar on the dresser like they belong there. Like he made space for them without making a big deal out of it.
My throat tightens.
Maverick stands near the foot of the bed, arms crossed like he’s trying to hold himself in place.
His gaze lands on me and it is not a quick check.
It drags.
There’s heat in his eyes like he’s starving and I’m the first real meal he’s seen in years. His throat works once, his jaw flexing like he’s biting back something he doesn’t want to let loose.
My skin tightens under the towel. My pulse stutters.
Then he forces his eyes away, like it costs him something
His gaze moves to my purse.
They pause.
Not long, but long enough.
His jaw tightens a fraction, like he clocks the weight of it, the grip I have on it, the way my knuckles are white around the strap.
He doesn’t say anything.
But I feel it.
He notices.
“Your stuff,” he says, voice rough. “I moved it in here. Figured you’d want it close.”
“Thank you,” I manage.
My voice comes out smaller than I want.
I clear my throat and step farther into the room, because standing in the doorway feels like standing on a ledge.
I set my purse down on the dresser beside the flowers.
The second I do, I feel lighter and more panicked at the same time.
Like I just took off armor and immediately regretted it.
Maverick’s eyes flick to where I put it, then back to my face.
Still no comment.
Still no questions.
Which is… strange.
Good strange.
My brain doesn’t trust it.
I swallow.
“I…” My words tangle. “This was probably a bad idea.”
His brows lift slightly. “The shower?”
I blink, then a laugh bursts out of me before I can stop it. It’s sharp and surprised, and it makes my chest ache.
“The everything,” I say.
He holds my gaze, expression unreadable, but his voice stays steady. “You’re safe here.”
The words hit me like a hand on my back, firm and warm.
Safe.
I hate how badly I want to believe him.
I shift my weight, suddenly too aware of the towel, the damp hair, the fact that I’m standing in his bedroom like I belong here.
I do not belong here.
I have never belonged anywhere.
That thought is a blade.
My eyes flick to the bed, the dark blankets, the neat corners.
“You made the bed,” I say stupidly, because my brain is trying to grab onto anything that isn’t how my pulse is sprinting.
He glances at the bed like it personally offended him. “I did.”
I bite my lip.
His gaze drops to my mouth again. Quick. Gone.
My skin warms.
I tell myself it’s just leftover shower heat.
Then there’s a blur of movement.
A soft thud.
A snort.
And Nugget barrels into the room like he owns it, tail wagging so hard his whole back end wiggles.
“Oh,” I say, startled.
Nugget skids on the wood floor, then launches himself at me with the enthusiasm of a creature who has never known fear or personal boundaries.
I squeak and step back.
His paws hit my thighs, and before I can react, he grabs the edge of my towel in his teeth.
No.
No, no, no.
“Nugget!” I hiss, hands flying to the towel.
The dog tugs like it’s a game.
The towel slips.
Time slows in the way it does right before disaster.
Maverick’s eyes go wide.
His body goes still.
And the towel drops.
I make a sound that might be a strangled gasp or the beginning of my soul leaving my body.
I snatch the towel up instantly, pressing it to my chest, trying to wrap it back around me with hands that suddenly don’t know how to be hands.
My face goes nuclear.
My whole body feels like it’s on fire.
I stare at the floor, because if I look at Maverick, I might actually combust.
“I’m sorry,” I blurt.
I don’t even know what I’m apologizing for. Existing. Having a dog commit towel theft. Being curvy. Having nipples. Being alive.
All of it.
Nugget barks once, proud of himself, then prances in a circle like he just won a prize.
Maverick makes a sound that is half growl, half strangled exhale.
When I risk a glance up, he looks… wrecked.
Not amused.
Not indifferent.
Famished is the only word that fits, and it punches me right in the gut.
His eyes are dark. His jaw is clenched. His hands are fisted at his sides like he’s trying not to touch anything, including air.
Then he turns away so fast it’s almost violent.
He faces the wall like it personally owes him an apology.
His voice comes out tight. “Nugget. Out.”
The puppy ignores him, because of course he does.
Maverick’s shoulders rise and fall once, controlled.
“Nugget,” he says again, and this time the command in it makes even my bones listen. “Out.”
Nugget pauses, tail still wagging, then trots out of the bedroom like nothing happened.
Like he didn’t just ruin my life.
I stand there, clutching the towel to my body, hair dripping down my neck, heart hammering so hard I can feel it in my throat.
I want to disappear.
I want to evaporate.
I want to crawl under the bed and live there forever.
But under the humiliation, something else flickers.
Shock.
Because Maverick’s reaction was not disgust.
It was not pity.
He looked like he wanted me.
Like my curves weren’t something to insult.
Like they were something he had to physically turn away from before his control snapped.
The thought makes my stomach swoop in a way that is deeply inconvenient.
My cheeks burn hotter.
Maverick doesn’t turn back around. He stays facing the wall like it’s a safe place.
His voice is rougher when he speaks. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
I swallow. Hard.
“I…” I try again, then stop, because my mouth is useless.
He exhales slowly, like he’s forcing air through his own body. “Get dressed,” he says, still not looking at me. “Come out when you’re ready. I’ll make dinner.”
Dinner.
Of course he makes it normal.
Of course he hands me a rope back from the edge.
I clutch the towel tighter. “Okay.”
He nods once, sharp, then steps out of the room without looking at me, like he’s afraid one glance will ruin him.
I stand there alone in his bedroom, the bed made for me, my backpack waiting, my flowers in water like they’ve always belonged here.
My pulse is still sprinting.
My skin is still hot.
I’m not sure what I’m more afraid of anymore.
That my past will find me.
Or that I might actually be safe enough to want something.
I grab my clothes from the backpack with shaking hands and yank them on like they’re armor.
And when I step back into the hall, the smell of something warm and savory drifts from the kitchen.
Maverick is cooking.
Like this is normal.
Like I didn’t just flash him in his own bedroom.
Like he didn’t look at me like a starving man.
I press my hand to my chest, trying to slow my breathing.
One kind gesture away, Nova, I think, dizzy.
One.
And I don’t know how to stop myself from falling.