Finally, he stepped back and opened the door wider. "Come in," he said. His tone was flat, but not unkind. Nolan's shoulders eased just slightly, though her face stayed composed. She stepped inside, scanning the room quickly, taking in the iron bed with its neatly folded blanket, the table cleared but worn, the shelf where a woman's apron still lay folded.
She noticed these things but kept silent. The air smelled faintly of lye and wood smoke. The marks of a house still maintained, but heavy with the absence of its former warmth. Reed moved toward the stove, reaching for the kettle. He didn't look at her as he spoke.
"There's a basin. I'll heat some water. Soap and towels are on the sideboard. " Nollin nodded once. The tension in her chest loosened enough for her to breathe deeply. She placed the three crumpled bills on the table.
Not as a gift, but as proof that she wanted no charity, only a chance. Reed glanced at them, but said nothing yet. His jaw worked slightly as he set the kettle to boil. For the first time in years, the house carried the sound of two people moving in it, and both of them knew something had shifted, though neither spoke of it. Reed carried his grief quietly.
Nollin carried her hunger and dust just as silently. Now, under the same roof, they both felt the weight of a decision that had brought them to this moment. Him to open the door, her to knock one last time. The kettle began to rattle on the stove, steam pushing at the lid, and Reed lifted it with a cloth and poured the water into the tin basin, then added a dipper of cold from the barrel to take the edge off the heat. The basin sat on a wooden table near the window where the light was still strong, showing every speck of dust floating in the air.
Reed's movements were deliberate, his hands steady, but his jaw tight, as if he were bracing against memories that threatened to rise. He placed a bar of lye soap and two towels beside the basin, then stepped back, unsure of what else to say. Nollin watched him quietly, her face unreadable, but her thoughts racing. The silence of the cabin was heavy, carrying not only the smell of wood smoke and boiled water, but also the faint presence of a woman who no longer lived there. She had seen the apron folded neatly on the shelf, the kind of thing a man would not keep unless it belonged to someone he still mourned.
She wanted to ask who the woman had been, but knew the question would cut too deep. Instead, she kept her focus on what she needed most, clean skin, a moment of relief, and a chance to hold on to her dignity in a town that had stripped her of it with every slammed door. She unpinned her hair, shaking out a curtain of black strands that spilled down past her shoulders, heavy with dust. She dipped her hands into the basin, the warm water clouding as she scrubbed her palms and face. The sting of the soap made her eyes water, but she did not stop.
Reed stood near the stove, arms crossed, watching the way she worked with quiet determination. He realized then that she wasn't just washing off dirt. She was fighting to reclaim something the road and the townsfolk had tried to take from her. When she reached her shoulders and could not bend her arms enough to reach her back, she turned slightly, her voice low and steady. "Could you help with this part? " Reed's body tensed, his hand hovering the air for a moment before he moved forward, taking the rough towel.