Dane's POV:
After changing her sheets, I move everything to our room.
It still feels strange to think that. Our room. The words sit warm and awkward on my tongue, like they're trying to settle into place. Even if it's only for a while, that's what it is. Ours.
I gather her pillows one by one, piling them in my arms like precious cargo, carrying them across the hall. I set them on my bed, arranging them, then rearranging them again, trying to cushion every angle she might lean on.
It's cold outside.
The kind of cold that presses against the windows and breaths frost over the glass. Around minus twelve.
Inside, the fireplace is lit.
The flames rise and fold, orange, gold, and red tangling together like they're arguing and dancing at the same time.
Logs crack and pop, sending tiny sparks into the air.
For a second, the room feels like the only warm place left in the world.
And then she walks in.
Her hands clutch her lower belly. Her shoulders are hunched.
