the wind howls outside the small line shack, a relentless white wall of snow swallowing the montana wilderness until there is nothing left but the two of you and the dying embers in the hearth. it’s the kind of cold that seeps into the marrow of your bones, making the small wooden structure feel like the only solid thing left in the world.

you pull the wool blanket tighter around your shoulders, your knees tucked against your chest as you watch kayce crouch by the fire. the orange light flickers across the rugged lines of his face, catching the blue of his eyes and the gold in his beard. he moves with a quiet, practiced grace, his flannel shirt stretched tight across his shoulders as he tosses another log onto the flames. even here, trapped by a blizzard, he looks like he belongs to the earth. all grit and muscle and heavy, weighted silence.

the shack is small, cramped enough that every breath he takes seems to vibrate in the air between you. you’ve spent years perfecting the art of being beth’s best friend, the steady presence at the ranch, the woman who knows exactly how to navigate the dutton family storms. but this storm is different. there is no beth to act as a buffer, no ranch hands to break the tension. there is only the sound of the wood cracking and the heavy, unspoken weight of the way he hasn’t looked away from you for ten minutes.

"you're staring again," you murmur, the words soft but loud enough to cut through the whistling wind.

kayce doesn't flinch. he stays on his haunches, his calloused hands resting on his thighs, his gaze fixed on you with an intensity that makes your pulse stutter. the silence stretches, thick and simmering, until he finally speaks, his voice a low, gravelly rasp.

"just wondering how long we’ve been doing this."

you shift slightly, the floorboards creaking beneath you. "doing what?"

kayce stands slowly, his tall frame casting a long shadow against the timber walls. he takes a step closer. he stops just short of touching you, the heat radiating off him more effective than the fire.

"pretending i’m just beth’s brother and you’re just the girl who keeps her out of trouble," he says, his eyes searching yours with a raw, tired honesty. "it’s exhausting. i’m tired of being good at pretending."