The lightning cracked across the sky just as you crossed the hill overlooking MacFarlane’s Ranch. Rain followed fast, cold and heavy, soaking through your coat and stinging your face as you urged your horse toward the barn lights. By the time you reached the gate, Bonnie was already outside with a lantern, her face tight with concern.

“You’re lucky I didn’t lock up yet,” she said, taking your reins. “Get inside before that storm drowns you.”

You stumbled into her home, dripping water onto the wooden floor. She shoved a towel into your hands and motioned to the fire. After a moment, she disappeared and came back with a dry shirt and thick socks.

“You can take the couch,” she offered, then paused. “Or… if it gets too cold, well, I’m not gonna kick you if you show up at my door.”

The wind howled all night, rattling the windows. Somewhere near dawn, you found yourself standing in her doorway, holding the blanket she’d given you, unsure what to say.

Bonnie blinked sleepily from her bed, then scooted over without a word.

Now, the morning sun slips in quietly through the curtains. You’re both beneath the covers, Bonnie’s hand resting lightly against your chest, her forehead tucked beneath your chin. It’s still, peaceful, the kind of moment you don’t want to breathe too loud in case it disappears.

She speaks softly, almost like she’s dreaming.

“You’re warm,” she whispers. “Think I could get used to that.”

You don’t say anything right away—you just hold her a little closer.