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Because she feels it too.
I can see it.
The tension between us changes instantly after that.
No more pretending.
No more fake relationship bullshit.
Just truth.
Dangerous, consuming truth sitting between us while snow falls harder outside.
“You can’t say things like that,” she whispers.
“Too late.”
“You barely know me.”
“I know enough.”
“That’s not how this works.”
“Seems to be working exactly like this.”
Her breathing turns uneven again.
Mine’s not much better.
The cabin suddenly feels too small for both of us.
“You’re intense,” she mutters weakly.
“You like it.”
“That’s not the point.”
“It is to me.”
A frustrated sound leaves her throat as she turns away abruptly, pacing toward the kitchen like distance might save her now.
It won’t.
Not from this.
Not from me.
“Nora.”
She stops moving but doesn’t turn around.
“What?”
“You’re shaking.”
“I’m angry.”
“You’re affected.”
