Thick drifts pressed against the windows, and icicles hung from the roof like glass daggers. The farmhouse was quiet, save for the occasional creak of wood adjusting to the cold. Thomas stirred a pot of water over the wood-burning stove in the barn, his movements steady, and cracked.
The main house, he had explained, was under partial renovation, roofing issues that had left the upstairs rooms unusable for the season. The barn, however, was warm, insulated, and clean. Its loft transformed into a livable space for emergencies, though it rarely saw use.
Amelia stood stiffly near the open stall door, watching the steam rise. She wore the oversized clothes he had given her, flannel and fleece, a far cry from the designer winter coat and heels she had arrived in. Her sleek bun had loosened, leaving soft waves framing her face.
Thomas handed her a mug without a word. She took it, cautious but grateful. Thank you, she said after a pause.
He gave a Storms letting up. Roads might be clear by tomorrow. So I can leave, she said quietly, not sure if it was a statement or a question.
Thomas looked over his shoulder. If you want to. Silence hung for a while, broken only by the snorting of horses and the rustling of straw.
Amelia sipped the tea. It was strong, earthy, nothing like the imported blends she favored, and yet it was strangely comforting. I’ve never slept in a barn before, she said, trying to break the tension.
I figured. She glanced around. It’s cozy in a rustic way.
Thomas smirked faintly, but didn’t comment. They stood there, two people from different universes, bound together by snow and circumstance. The heat from the small stove spread slowly, wrapping the room in a hush that made Amelia oddly restless.
She crossed her arms. Do you live out here all alone? Yeah. No wife, family? Nope.
She hesitated. That’s a choice. Thomas leaned against the stall door, arms crossed.
Now, some people choose to build up, some choose to disappear. I guess I did both. Amelia tilted her head.
That’s cryptic. He shrugged. You’re not the only one with a story.
That stung a little. Excuse me? Thomas met her gaze, calm but direct. You walked in here last night like you owned the world, and maybe you do.
But out here, it doesn’t matter what kind of car you drive or what boardroom you command, she straightened. You think I’m just some spoiled heiress who got lost? I think, he said carefully, you’re not used to anyone not needing something from you. The words hit harder than she expected.
For a moment, she didn’t know what to say. He went back to tending the horses. Later that afternoon, while Thomas worked outside clearing snow from the barn path, Amelia wandered through the quiet stalls, tracing her fingers along the wooden beams.
The scent of hay and saddle oil clung to the air. She paused by a brown mare and leaned over the gate to stroke her nose. Through the half-closed stable door, she caught the sound of Thomas’s voice, soft, low, speaking to the animals.
She won’t stay, he said, brushing down the horse. Women like that, they always leave when the sun comes out. We don’t exist in their world.
Amelia froze. She’s beautiful, yeah, he continued. But that world? It’s nothing like ours.
She’ll forget this place before the ice melts. Something twisted in Amelia’s chest. She turned away, retreating quietly to the loft.
That night, she couldn’t sleep. The barn was warm, the blankets thick, but her mind spun with what she had overheard. She didn’t know why it bothered her so much.
Maybe because she didn’t want to be the woman who left and forgot. Maybe because for the first time in a long time, someone had looked at her and seen through the polish, the power, and into something raw beneath. And maybe, just maybe, she didn’t want to leave.
Not yet. Not before she knew what else was hiding in the quiet gaze of a man who had nothing to offer but shelter and sincerity. The wind howled again that night, rattling the barn doors like an unwelcome guest.
Snow lashed against the wooden walls as if winter was determined to reclaim the warmth Thomas had managed to trap inside. Amelia stirred in her sleep, curled beneath layers of thick blankets in the makeshift loft. Her face glistened with sweat, despite the chill in the air, and her breathing had grown uneven, shallow.
Thomas had been in the barn, checking on the horses one last time before turning in when he heard the coughing. Sharp, dry, persistent. He climbed the loft ladder in three quick steps.
Hey, he said, kneeling beside her. You OK? Amelia jolted awake, her eyes glassy with fever. Just a cold, she whispered, but her body trembled under the covers.
Thomas didn’t argue. He stood and disappeared down the ladder. Minutes later, he returned with a steaming mug and a folded cloth.
Drink this, he said, gently helping her sit up. What is it? She rasped. Elderberry and honey.
Works better than half the stuff you’ll find at a pharmacy. She took a cautious sip. The warmth soothed her throat almost instantly.
Thank you, she murmured, her voice barely audible. He nodded, then dabbed the cloth against her forehead. Your fever’s not too bad yet, but you need to rest.
She blinked at him, surprised at his gentleness. You always take care of strangers like this? He shrugged. Only the ones who might freeze to death in my barn.
A faint smile touched her lips. You’re kinder than you let on. Thomas looked away.
Don’t read too much into it, but something about the way her voice trembled, the way she held the mug with both hands as if anchoring herself to it. Something made him linger. I used to get sick a lot, she said suddenly.
He looked up. Yeah? She nodded, eyes distant now. When I was a kid, foster homes, group shelters, some were fine, some were… not.
Thomas stayed silent, letting her speak. I remember one winter, she continued, voice thin. I had strep throat and no one believed me.
Thought I was faking it to skip school. I lay in a storage closet for two days before a teacher found me. His hands clenched around the edge of the stool, jaw tight.
That’s… it’s fine, she cut in quickly, though her voice wavered. It’s just… sometimes the body remembers what the mind tries to forget. He didn’t know what to say.
He wasn’t used to people sharing this way, so open, so raw. I don’t usually tell people that, she added, glancing at him. He met her gaze.
Why me? She hesitated. Because you didn’t ask. That silenced him.
Outside, the wind picked up again. Inside, the air was filled with something quieter. He reached over and adjusted the blanket around her shoulders, more gently than he meant to.
You should rest. She nodded and laid back down, her breathing still uneven, but steadier now. Thomas remained there for a while, sitting beside her, listening to the rise and fall of her breath.
He wasn’t sure when it happened. Maybe it was the way the firelight danced across her face, softening the edges of someone who had built walls so high, even she forgot they were there. Or maybe it was the way her lips curved slightly in sleep.
The way she looked. Safe. He reached out, almost without thinking, and gently brushed a strand of hair from her cheek.
His hand froze in mid air. What was he doing? This woman was a stranger, a CEO, a force of nature from a world he had long sworn off. And yet, his fingers lightly grazed her hair, just once, before he pulled away, heart pounding.
He looked down at her and felt something he hadn’t felt in years. Something terrifying. Something warm.
Something real. She stirred slightly, but did not wake. He stood quietly, tucked the blanket tighter around her, and climbed down the ladder.