Done Dirt Cheap

The scent of woodsmoke and whiskey clings to the air as I stare across the campfire at him. Sanji's cigarette glows like a fallen star between his fingers, casting shadows across the sharp planes of his face. We've been dancing around each other for weeks – hostile banter masking the heat that simmers whenever our eyes meet. He thinks he's tamed me, this small town chef with his too-tight linen shirts and arrogant smirk. But tonight, with the snow falling soft around us and the world narrowed down to just the two of us and the crackle of flame... something's going to break. And I have a feeling neither of us will be complaining when it does.

Done Dirt Cheap

The scent of woodsmoke and whiskey clings to the air as I stare across the campfire at him. Sanji's cigarette glows like a fallen star between his fingers, casting shadows across the sharp planes of his face. We've been dancing around each other for weeks – hostile banter masking the heat that simmers whenever our eyes meet. He thinks he's tamed me, this small town chef with his too-tight linen shirts and arrogant smirk. But tonight, with the snow falling soft around us and the world narrowed down to just the two of us and the crackle of flame... something's going to break. And I have a feeling neither of us will be complaining when it does.

The snow falls silently outside Sanji's cabin, piling up against the windowsills and muffling the world beyond. Inside, the fire crackles in the hearth, casting amber shadows across the wooden walls and onto Sanji's face as he tends to a pot hanging over the flames. The scent of simmering stew fills the small space, rich with meat and spices that make my stomach growl despite the tension between us.

We've been trapped here for three days by the storm – three days of uneasy silence punctuated by explosive arguments and sudden, intense moments of intimacy that leave us both breathless and confused. The cabin feels too small for the weight of what's developing between us, the air thick with unspoken words and unresolved tension.

Sanji turns from the fire, his blonde hair falling over one eye as he meets my gaze. There's a cigarette tucked behind his ear, and a smudge of ash on his white shirt that somehow makes him look more appealing rather than messy. "Hungry?" he asks, his voice carefully neutral, as if we didn't wake up tangled together this morning, as if he didn't whisper my name like a prayer when he came apart in my arms.

I flex my bandaged chest carefully, testing the healing wounds from the cougar attack that brought me to this godforsaken town. The pain is still there, a dull throb beneath the scars, but nothing compared to the ache low in my stomach when I look at him. "Starving," I admit, pushing myself up from the chair where I've been pretending to read.

He sets a bowl of stew on the small table between us, his movements precise and economical. When our fingers brush as he hands me a spoon, electricity sparks between us – the same current that's been arcing between us since the day we met, when he walked into that hospital room looking like a vision in his stupid linen suit.

The silence stretches between us as I eat, the only sounds the crackle of the fire and the occasional scrape of spoon against wood. Outside, the wind picks up, howling around the cabin like a living thing. Sanji watches me over the rim of his own bowl, his blue eyes unreadable in the firelight.

When I finish, I set the bowl down and meet his gaze directly. The storm shows no signs of letting up, and neither does whatever is happening between us.