Inside, it smells like lemon cleaner and something faintly floral, warm light spilling over worn hardwood floors, and my chest pinches unexpectedly at the coziness of it all—at how much it feels like somewhere a person could exhale.
Meredith ushers me into the kitchen with the same brisk efficiency she’s applied to everything else this afternoon.“Soap and towels are there.Shower first, or food?Dinner will be a little while yet.”
I want to say neither, but I need both… just not right now.Sensing the indecision written all over me, Meredith cuts in before I can flounder.“Sit, dear.Both can wait.I’ll find you something comfortable to change into.”
“You really don’t?—”
“Grace.”She levels me with a look that makes arguing feel genuinely pointless.“Let me help.”
I nod and turn to the sink, scrubbing soot from my face and hands until the water runs clear, then raking my fingers through my hair and freeing clumps of ash that fall like gray snow into the basin.
I should shower, but my legs are still unsteady, and this counter is doing half the work of keeping me upright.Later.Once I’ve pulled myself together.
When I catch a warped reflection of myself in the stainless-steel microwave—hair wild, cheeks streaked, lashes stuck together—I almost laugh.I look like I’ve crawled out of a chimney.
Movement behind me causes me to glance up, expecting Meredith with a pile of clothes.
It’s Maddox.
He stops in the doorway like someone has knocked the air clean out of him, and for a heartbeat, neither of us moves.His eyes track slowly across what I can only imagine is the soot smudged along my jawline, the wet streak down my temple, and the browned tips of my hair.The concern that flits over his face is so fast and unguarded it sends butterflies into full riot in my stomach.
“Grace.”His voice comes out rough and thick.“What happened?”
“There was a fire at the inn.A small one, something to do with cooking equipment.I’m fine.”
He steps closer, gaze narrowing as he assesses every inch of me for damage.“You don’t look fine.”
“It was mostly smoke.”I brush a hand through my damp hair, aiming for casual.
“Smoke can kill you.”The rasp in his voice hooks somewhere deep inside me.“You could’ve been hurt.”
It shouldn’t affect me the way it does—his voice, the concern, the way he’s looking at me like I walked off a battlefield rather than out of a kitchen fire.
I curl my fingers into my sleeves and give myself a breath.“I wasn’t.Really.”
Meredith appears behind him with a stack of folded clothes.“Mads, don’t scold.She’s had enough for one day.”
“I’m not scolding.”He doesn’t take his eyes off me.
“Yes, you are.”She passes me a pair of joggers and a soft T-shirt.“These should fit.Guest room’s upstairs, second on the left.”
“Thank you.”My voice comes out softer than I intend, but right now, I’m grateful for the out—anything to step away from the intensity of his gaze.
When I return, dressed in borrowed clothes, smelling faintly of lavender detergent, Meredith’s in the living room, on the phone, gently but firmly orchestrating solutions for getting the displaced guests their luggage.
Maddox is still in the kitchen.
Of course he is.
He’s leaning against the counter, arms crossed, watching me like I’m a question he’s not sure he’s allowed to ask.“You shouldn’t have run into a fire.”
So, his mother filled him in.Great.“I didn’t run.”I fold my hands around the warm mug of tea he’s already set out for me.“It was more of a brisk jog.”
A flicker of amusement tugs at his mouth, unwilling but there.“You always this stubborn?”
“Only when someone tells me what I should and shouldn’t do.”
That earns me a real smile—slow, reluctant, and entirely unfair.“You’re impossible.”