Caleb blinked. "Your kitchen?" The words had come out before she could stop them, and now they hung in the air between them, impossible to take back. Evelyn felt her face heat. "I didn't mean No, no, I like it."
Caleb grinned, wide and genuine. "Your kitchen has a nice ring to it. Means you're planning to stick around. I said I'd stay. That doesn't mean It means exactly that."
He set the preserves on the counter and leaned against it, studying her with an expression that was far too perceptive for someone who'd been awake for all of 10 minutes. You know what your problem is? I have a feeling you're about to tell me. You don't know how to let people be happy you're here. Someone says they're glad you stayed and you act like they just accused you of murder.
Evelyn's jaw tightened. I don't Yeah, you do. It's okay. We're all messed up in our own ways. He grabbed the preserves and a spoon and headed for the door.
But for what it's worth, I'm glad you stayed, even if you steal my kitchen. He disappeared before she could respond and Evelyn stood there alone, staring at the empty doorway and trying to figure out what the hell had just happened. The rest of the day passed in a blur of work. The storm had left damage everywhere and the brothers spent every waking hour trying to repair what they could before the next one hit. Evelyn kept the house running, cooking, cleaning, mending clothes that came back torn and frozen, and tried not to think about Caleb's words or the way they'd burrowed under her skin.
By evening, she was exhausted, not just physically, but mentally. The effort of being around people, of letting them see her, of pretending she belonged, it wore her down in ways the work never did. She was standing at the stove, stirring a pot of soup when Holden came in. He looked like he'd been dragged through hell backwards. His coat was crusted with ice.
His face was windburned and there was blood on his knuckles again. "You're hurt," Evelyn said. He glanced down at his hands like he'd forgotten they existed. "It's nothing." "Sit."
"I'm fine." "Holden, sit down." He hesitated, then obeyed, lowering himself into a chair with a wince that told her his injuries went beyond his hands. Evelyn grabbed the medical supplies and set to work cleaning the cuts and scrapes without bothering to ask permission. "You're stubborn."
She muttered. "Look who's talking." She almost smiled. Almost. "What happened out there?"
"Fence post snapped while I was trying to fix it. Cut my hands on the wire." "You should have been wearing gloves." "I was. They didn't help."
Evelyn wrapped his hands with practiced efficiency, her movements quick and sure. She could feel Holden watching her, could sense the question forming before he even opened his mouth. "Can I ask you something?" He said finally. "You can ask.