What do they mean?

I tried—gods, tried—to focus on cooking.

But it was very, very difficult when a half-naked Maeve was sitting across from me, stretched out like she didn't have a care in the world, arms folded behind her head, watching me like I was some fascinating new species she'd just discovered.

The fire crackled softly, the scent of roasted meat filling the cave, but my brain was not processing any of it correctly. It kept short-circuiting, every other thought crashing into the unavoidable reality of Maeve is still shirtless.

It shouldn't have been a big deal. She was Maeve. She was always confident, always teasing, always unbothered.

But something about the way she was so comfortable like this, completely unashamed, made me feel… off-balance.

I exhaled slowly, turning the meat over in the pan.

Focus, Rhiannon. Focus.

But the heat wasn't just coming from the fire anymore.