Page 19

"What do you mean?" she asks, her head tilting slightly.

"For five years, I've been going through the motions. Doing my job, coming home to an empty cabin, repeating the cycle without really living." I set the mug down and move closer to her. "Tonight was different. For the first time, I found myself thinking about getting back safely. Not just for the mission, but for myself. For you."

Her eyes widen. "For me?"

"I had something to come back to." The admission feels like jumping off a cliff without a safety line. "Someone waiting."

She steps forward, closing the distance between us. "I was waiting. Worried, too."

I reach out slowly, giving her time to pull away if she wants. She doesn't. My hand cups her cheek, thumb tracing the curve of her lower lip. "I've been alone by choice for a long time. I'm not sure I remember how not to be."

"We could figure it out together," she suggests.

"Your book," I remind her. "Your deadline. You'll be leaving soon."

"Or I could stay here. With you." The words come out in a rush. "If you wanted that."

"I want that," I admit. "I want you to stay."

Relief and joy flood her expression. "Really?"

"Really." I pull her closer, our bodies fitting together naturally. "Fair warning, though. I'm not good at this. Relationships. Letting people in."

"Good thing I'm a writer," she says with a smile that lights up her entire face. "I'm excellent at working through difficult character development."

I can't help but chuckle, rusty from disuse but genuine. "Is that what I am? A difficult character?"

"The best kind," she assures me, rising on tiptoes to brush her lips against mine. "The kind with a complex backstory and hidden depths. The kind worth writing about."

nine

Sheryl

Twoweekshavepassedsince he asked me to stay. Two weeks of settling into a rhythm together, of learning each other's habits and quirks, of finding a balance between his orderly nature and my creative chaos. Two weeks of falling deeper into something I never expected to find in these mountains.

I wake before him, watching him sleep. He stirs, eyes opening to find me watching him.

"Morning, voyeur," he murmurs, voice rough with sleep.

"I prefer 'admirer,'" I counter, reaching out to trace the line of his jaw, enjoying the scratch of morning stubble against my fingertips. "You're ridiculously handsome when you sleep, you know."

"Only when I sleep?" He catches my hand, pressing a kiss to my palm.

"Well, you're not bad the rest of the time either." I shift closer, drawn to his warmth like a moth to flame. "Especially whenyou're chopping wood. Or climbing. Or basically anytime you're using those muscles."

"So I'm just eye candy to you? And here I thought you liked me for my sparkling personality."

"That too," I concede with mock seriousness. "Though your sparkling personality is significantly less visible through a shirt."

In one swift movement, he pulls me on top of him, my body sprawled across his chest, our faces inches apart. "Is this better?"

"Much," I agree, leaning down to press my lips to his.

What begins as a gentle good morning kiss quickly deepens into something more urgent. His hands slide under my sleep shirt, palms warm against my skin as they travel up my sides to cup my breasts.

I gasp against his mouth as his thumbs brush over my nipples, the simple touch sending sparks of pleasure through my body.

"Alex," I breathe as his mouth moves to my neck.