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Her long, dark hair’s a little messy from sleep, falling out of a braid that didn’t survive the night. Her cheeks are still flushed from the cold, and there’s a crease on one side of her face where she must’ve pressed into the pillow.

And she’s still stunning.

“For what it’s worth, I think you made the right call,” I say.

She blinks once, then twice, like maybe she didn’t expect me to say that.

“I didn’t even leave with a plan,” she admits. “Just a bag and a stolen car and the hope that running would feel better than staying.”

“You’re still here,” I say. “Which tells me it is.”

She gives a slow nod. Then she looks down at her hands, working one thumb across the other. “I don’t know what comes next.”

“You don’t have to know,” I say gently.

She looks over again, this time with something close to belief in her eyes. Not trust. Not yet. But belief that maybe, for once, no one’s waiting to push her back into a neat and tidy box she doesn’t want to be in.

“You’re not the first to show up on this porch with your life burning down around you,” I say, kicking gently at a loose board on the step. “And you won’t be the last.”

Chapter 6

Ani

I’m starting to think that maybe my parents had the right idea. Maybe I shouldn’t be allowed to make decisions for myself. Not if they end up with me nearly burning to death and then blurting out that I’ve never had an orgasm to a stranger who offered me a place to stay for the night.

The second the words left my mouth, I wanted to crawl into the floorboards. I don’t know what possessed me to say it—some awful mix of sleep deprivation and panic and the kind of freedom that comes with realizing you’ve already lost everything.

I don’t even know his name! And now he knows intimate details about my life. This is a disaster.Iam a disaster.

I’ve been quiet my whole life. My family raised me to be polite, pleasant company. And the moment I find a small amount of freedom, I word vomit all over the poor man. He must think I’m unhinged.

But he’s been incredibly kind. He hasn’t shown any tight-lipped pity or used a patronizing tone I’ve heard a thousand times before.

We get up to go inside, and he just opens the door for me, as if this conversation was completely normal.

It doesn’t help the situation that he’s incredibly handsome and I think I’ve developed my first crush since I was a teenager. What the hell is wrong with me?

He has that kind of face that shouldn’t be allowed to belong to someone so kind. Boyish in a way, even though I’m guessing he’s at least forty. He sort of looks like the scowly one—I wonder if they’re related. His dark hair has just a few strands of gray in it and is cut short. He has a beard too, which is a little overgrown.

I follow him into the house, wishing I had at least brushed my hair this morning when I got up.

The cabin is warmer now. Jonah stands in the entryway, just a step into the main room, holding a mug. When he sees us, he offers it to me without a word. The steam curls toward my face as I take it, grateful for something warm to hold on to.

“Thank you,” I say.

Jonah gives a small nod, then gestures behind him to the kitchen. “We’d like to talk for a minute. If that’s okay.”

My chest tightens.

That tone—I know that tone. Neutral. Controlled. It always means something is about to be taken away. It’s the voice my father used when he told me I wouldn’t be going to Paris with my college friends after graduation. The voice my mother used when she told me the engagement had been finalized.

They’re going to ask me to leave.

I know they only offered me the night. It would be incredibly presumptuous of me to expect them to let me stay longer.

I just…have nowhere else to go. I have nothing and no car to take me somewhere else. And I don’t want to call anyone.

Panic rushes in. I shift the mug in my hands and try to breathe through the anxiety. I feel unsteady on my feet. I close my eyes.