I ripped the door off her wrecked car in the middle of a whiteout and carried her half-frozen body straight into my bed.
She woke up wearing nothing but my shirt, eyes wide, mouth running a mile a minute like she could talk her way out of the storm still howling outside.
One week snowed in. No power. No escape. Just her soft curves against my chest every night and that yellow coat hanging by my door like a damn warning.
I don’t do people.
I don’t do talk.
But Stella?
She makes me want to burn the whole mountain down just to keep her warm.
When the roads finally clear, she might think the storm is over.
She’s wrong.
I’m keeping her here.
She’s not leaving my ridge… or my bed.
