CHAPTER 13

The storm hit just after the final site walkthrough.

One minute the sky over the coastal bluff was a hard, clear blue. The next it turned the color of wet slate and opened. Rain came down in sheets so heavy the path back to the vehicles disappeared under runoff. By the time we reached the temporary lodge the company had booked for the inspection team, the road behind us was already washed out.

Marcus checked his phone, face tight. “We’re stuck until morning. The coastal highway is closed both ways.”

Twelve people. One long wooden lodge that smelled of pine and old firewood. Limited rooms. I claimed a narrow single at the end of the hall and told myself the isolation was a gift.

It stopped being a gift the moment the front door opened again and Sheriff walked in with two of the senior investors.

He was soaked to the shoulders, dark coat dripping onto the flagstone. He did not look surprised to see me. He did not look at me for longer than a second. He simply nodded to the investors, spoke quietly to the lodge manager about extra rooms, and took the last available space—directly across the hall from mine.

Forced proximity settled over the evening like the rain outside.

Dinner was served at a long communal table in front of a stone fireplace. I sat between Marcus and Elias. Sheriff sat opposite, two seats to the left, close enough that every time I lifted my eyes I risked catching his. The investors kept the conversation on timelines and load-bearing calculations. I answered when spoken to. I kept my voice even.

Elias leaned in once to clarify a point about the cantilever design, voice low so it wouldn’t carry. His shoulder brushed mine. Nothing intentional. Nothing that should have mattered.

Across the table Sheriff’s jaw tightened. The muscle jumped once, hard. His eyes, when they flicked to Elias, were dark enough to swallow light.

I felt the jealousy like heat across my skin.

It slid down my spine and settled low, unwanted and familiar. I reached for my water glass and forced my attention back to the investor asking about wind ratings. My pulse did not get the message. It kept time with the rain hammering the windows.

The rest of the meal passed in careful distances. Elias remained professional. Sheriff remained silent unless directly addressed. Every time Elias spoke to me too softly or turned his body a fraction closer, I watched the same controlled violence move through Sheriff’s face. He never said a word. He didn’t need to. The air between us did the talking.

After dinner the group scattered. Some to the small sitting room. Some to early sleep. I stayed long enough to be polite, then escaped down the narrow hallway toward my room. The floorboards creaked under damp boots. Somewhere behind a closed door someone laughed. The sound felt too loud.

I made it halfway before Elias called my name.

He stood near the turn in the corridor, tablet in hand, expression careful. “The revised drainage numbers for the lower terrace. I can send them now if you want to review before morning.”

I stopped. “Send them. I’ll look tonight.”

He nodded, stepped closer to keep his voice down, and for a moment the space between us narrowed to something almost intimate. Nothing crossed the line. Nothing needed to.

At the far end of the hall, Sheriff’s door was open. He stood in the frame, one hand braced against the wood, watching. His eyes were black in the low light. The jealousy was no longer something he bothered to hide. It sat on him openly, heavy and raw, and the sight of it sent another unwanted pulse of heat through me.

I took the tablet from Elias, murmured thanks, and walked the rest of the way to my room without looking back.

I lasted forty minutes.

The walls of the small room felt closer with every minute. Rain still lashed the windows. The heater rattled. I could hear movement in the hallway—doors opening, low voices, the soft thud of someone settling in for the night. I pulled on my coat and stepped outside onto the narrow covered deck that ran the length of the lodge.

The air was cold enough to sting. Wind drove rain under the overhang in fine silver needles. I gripped the wooden railing and breathed until the tightness in my chest loosened.

I was not alone.

Sheriff stood at the far end of the deck, back to the lodge, hands braced on the same railing. Rain darkened his hair. He did not turn when the door shut behind me. He simply waited.

Sixty seconds of silence stretched between us, thick enough to drown in.

I should have gone back inside. Instead I stayed where I was, watching the black water beyond the bluff, listening to the storm and the too-loud sound of my own pulse.

His voice, when it came, was quiet enough that the rain almost took it.

“I still know the sound of your breathing when you’re trying not to feel anything.”

The words landed low and precise, under the ribs, in the exact place I had spent weeks pretending was empty.

I did not answer.

I turned and walked back through the door before the silence could say anything else. My hands were not steady when I locked it. I leaned against the wood for a long moment, eyes closed, listening to the storm and the traitorous rush of blood in my ears.

The rest of the night passed in fragments of ceiling and rain.

I lay on the narrow bed fully dressed and stared at the dark wood above me, furious. Furious at the storm for trapping us. Furious at Elias for existing in the same space. Furious at Sheriff for still being able to look at me like that and speak like that and stand on a wet deck like the past three years and one stairwell had never happened.

Most of all I was furious at my own body.

It still remembered him. The shape of his silence. The exact weight of his jealousy. The way my pulse answered even when my mind refused. Every time I closed my eyes I saw the muscle jump in his jaw across the dinner table. Every time the wind hit the windows I heard his voice again—low, certain, intimate in a way that felt like a hand against the back of my neck.

I did not sleep.

I watched the black square of the window lighten by degrees and catalogued every crack that had opened under my skin since the moment he walked into the lodge.

By morning the road would be clear. The team would leave. The forced proximity would end.

But the crack would still be there.

And I no longer trusted myself to seal it.