Elias watched her from the corner of his eye, not in a way that made her self-conscious, but in a way that made sure she was steady on her feet. They reached the fence together. Elias crouched to check a weakened post while she stood close enough to see what he was doing. You check fence every day? She asked.
Most days, he answered. Keeps cattle in. Keeps strangers out. She swallowed hard at the second part. When a cold wind pushed across the field, she stepped closer without thinking, her shoulder brushing his arm.
The contact made her freeze for half a second, unsure if she'd cross a line. But Elias didn't move away. He continued working, though he adjusted his stance slightly to give her more space to stand without losing warmth. That small allowance softened something in her. She stayed close until he finished securing the post.
When he stood, she followed him back toward the cabin, aware of the dog trailing behind them with an easy, loyal stride. The dog nudged her leg once and Nia's lips tightened in what might have been the beginning of a smile. The gesture surprised her as much as it surprised Elias. Inside, the warmth hit her face and she loosened the blanket a little. The neckline of her dress shifted again, exposing a curved line of skin before she tugged the blanket up sharply.
She exhaled with quiet frustration. Elias noticed her discomfort and set down his tools. I've got leather strips. Might help reinforce the stitching. She hesitated.
You fix again? I can try. She weighed the offer carefully, then nodded once. Elias prepared the table with thread and leather pieces while Nia sat across from him. She pulled the blanket aside just enough to expose the torn section.
Her movements were slow, intentional. She kept control over what he could see, and he respected that boundary without question. He stitched the leather backing into the fabric with deliberate care. She watched him the entire time, her fingers resting lightly on the edge of the blanket. Every so often, her gaze lifted to his face as if she were studying not just his actions, but what kind of man he was.
Your hands very steady, she said quietly. Used to repairing gear, he replied. And working with horses need steadiness for both. She nodded thoughtfully. Many men rush.
Break more things. Elias looked up just enough to meet her eyes. I don't rush things I care about. The words caught them both offg guard. Elias looked back down immediately, focusing on the next stitch as if his sentence had escaped him unintentionally.
Nia's expression changed, softer, almost vulnerable, but she didn't comment on it. When he finished, the dress had more structure. The neckline still dipped lower than a new garment would, but it no longer threatened to fall open. She tested it gently, letting the blanket fall back a few inches to see how it sat. The repaired fabric framed the upper curve of her cleavage more securely now, and though it revealed skin, it did so in a way that felt controlled.
She breathed out slowly. "Better!" Elias nodded. "You won't have to fight with it all day." The dog barked once outside the door, shaking the moment apart. Elias stood to check the yard. Na followed him instinctively, but he held up a hand in a small gesture.
"Stay here. It's fine," she obeyed, though her fingers clutched the blanket again. Elias stepped out, scanned the yard, and returned a minute later. "Just a rabbit," he said. Nia let out a breath she'd been holding.
Later in the afternoon, she helped him fold blankets and store supplies. The closeness between them had shifted quietly naturally. At one point, as they lifted a crate together, her hands slipped and brushed firmly against his wrist. She felt the warmth of his skin through the contact. Instead of pulling away, she left her hand there a heartbeat longer, testing his reaction.
Elias didn't move, didn't tense, didn't take advantage. He simply waited until she shifted her grip again. That patience anchored her more than anything. By evening, the cabin felt different. The routine of the day had formed a small bond.
Neither of them set allowed. There were still silences, but they held lighter edges. Now, when she laid down on the cot, she looked toward Elias, who was checking the lantern wick. "You always live alone?" she asked. "Mostly.
You want that?" He paused at the question, the quiet stretching just long enough to show it hit him somewhere he didn't expect. "No," he said finally. "Not always." She absorbed that answer, her eyes steady on him. Then she pulled the blanket over her shoulder, settled against the cot, and let her breath ease out. For the first time since arriving, she didn't fall asleep watching the door.
She fell asleep watching him. A heavy gray sky settled over the valley by the time morning reached the cabin. The air felt dense enough to slow every sound and a thin chill crawled through the cracks of the old wood. Elias added more logs to the stove before Nao woke, careful not to let the doorbang shut. The warmth spread slowly, but the cabin still held the kind of cold that made breath linger in front of one's face.
Nia stirred under the blanket, blinking through sleep before pushing herself upright with a faint groan. Her ribs weren't as swollen as before, but the soreness still made her sit in sections. First her elbows, then her shoulders, finally her back straightening against the wall. The repaired neckline of her dress held steady, though the fabric still dipped low enough that she adjusted it once before standing. Her eyes drifted to Elias, who was tying a rope around a bundle of wood.
He didn't turn, but he knew she was watching. "Cold morning," he said, voice rough from sleep. She wrapped the blanket tighter across her front. "Feels heavier today. It'll warm after midday," he replied.