Page 4 of Bunker Down, Baby

Maple

“Exactly how does this work?” Evan asks.

He’s sitting on his very comfortable bed, toying with the restraint that’s fastened to the frame and not to him, because I’m a very trusting girlfriend.

I pop another fry into my mouth, lounging in the chair across from him. The fries are cold now, but still good. “You mean the part where I take care of you, keep you safe, and make sure you don’t have to work yourself to death in that disease-infested hospital?”

He gives me a look.

The are-you-fucking-serious kind. The kind that could be intimidating, except he’s clean, well-fed, and no longer chained to a bed, so honestly? He just looks like a very spoiled hostage.

“I’ll be missed,” he says.

I nod. “Of course you will. At work. And by that silly little neighbor you sleep with occasionally but don’t care enough about to commit to.”

His head jerks up so fast I almost laugh.

The shock on his face? Adorable.

God, I might actually miss that once he settles in.

“I.” His jaw tightens. “You don’t…how the fuck do you…”

I wave that off. We don’t have time for dumb questions.

“Work will replace you,” I say breezily. “That’s the thing about society. It barely appreciates the people keeping it running. You, for example, are tireless. Selfless. And, my god, so fucking good at what you do.”

His lips almost part, and for a single, fleeting second, he looks proud.

Like I just hand-fed his ego and it tasted amazing.

But then he catches himself, scowling again. “So you kidnapped me because you think the flu is gonna… what? Wipe out civilization? And I’ll just… what? Help you suture wounds in the wasteland?”

“You’ve heard of preppers?” I ask, reaching for another fry.

“Sure. Doomsday nuts.” He snorts. “No offense. As far as preppers go, you’re a cute little nutcase.”

I pause, chewing. “That’s rude, Evan.” I swallow. “And why I’m leaving the door to the main bunker locked tonight.”

He lets out a deep, exaggerated sigh. “Right. I lost my treat privileges.”

I point at him with my fry. “Exactly.”

He shakes his head, half-smirking. “Jesus Christ.”

“As I was saying,” I continue, stretching out my legs, “Some preppers are very short-sighted when it comes to supplies.”

He leans back against the headboard, watching me, still toying with the restraint. “And what, exactly, did you stock up on that they didn’t?”

I grin. “People.”

He laughs. Deep and warm and fucking distracting. “I’m a fucking supply?”

“Literally and figuratively, depending on our chemistry,” I say, winking. “Which, spoiler alert, seems to be pretty damn good.”

His eyes darken for half a second, flickering low before he shakes his head.

“You’re not random,” I continue, popping another fry into my mouth. “There will be others.”

He lifts a brow. “Oh, so you’re collecting men with benefits to ride out the apocalypse?”

I tilt my head. “Why do you sound jealous?”

His scowl deepens.

I grin.

“So you nabbed a handsome doctor.” He says then leans forward, eyes locking onto mine. “Sexy firefighter on your list?”

I narrow my eyes. “Keep it up, and I’ll cuff you again.”

His mouth quirks, but his voice lowers, a little too amused. A little too dangerous. “Oh, baby,” he murmurs. “That sounds like a fucking challenge.”

God, I love him.

I clear my throat, ignoring the way I want to accept that challenge. “I didn’t pick you, or anyone else, because of your looks.” I wave a hand. “You have skills. You’re useful. Like my dried goods, you are essential to survival.”

His smirk widens. “I’m a bag of lentils?”

I smile, slow and dangerous. “Oh, baby.” I reach out, trailing my fingers under his jaw, watching the way his throat bobs. “You’re my favorite bag of lentils.”

His breath catches. And for a single, dangerous second, I swear to god he likes it.

“Seriously,” Evan says, voice low, steady.

And when I glance up, he looks serious.

“Are there more like me here?” His eyes flick toward the locked door. “Now?”

Oh, he’s so cute. So curious. And still, I’m sure, one hundred percent looking for an exit.

I almost laugh.

Not because it’s funny, exactly. But because he’s so convinced he still needs to run, like I haven’t thought of everything.

Like he hasn’t realized how well I’m going to take care of him.

But that’s okay. He just needs more time. More hot showers and good meals and orgasms that blow his pretty doctor brain into next week. Then he’ll understand.

“Evan, baby.” I sigh, stretching my arms behind my head. “You’ve been working so hard. You haven’t even been watching the news, have you?”

His brows draw together. “I know the flu is bad.”

I hum, tapping my fingers against my thigh. “Sure. But did you hear about the death toll? The experimental vaccine they’re testing?”

He frowns. “I…”

I wave a hand. “You didn’t. Because you’re always so busy, running yourself ragged, patching up idiots who stab themselves in bar fights.”

His mouth presses into a thin line.

Because I’m right.

And that’s the problem with people like Evan.

They’re so in it, so tangled up in the madness of the world, that they never stop long enough to see how bad things are getting.

But I see it. I see everything.

And zombies can start from either.

A bad vaccine? A mutating virus?

Or maybe it won’t be that dramatic. Maybe it’ll just be a complete societal breakdown.

All I know is, the world is going to shit. And when it does, Evan’s going to realize I was right.

Until then, I have time. I have patience. And we don’t need a doctor just yet.

I did think he’d be my easiest, though.

Maybe even help with the others once he settled in. But I might have misjudged him just a little.

He’s harder to read than I expected.

Daddy warned me about that. Men don’t always show you what they’re thinking, baby girl. You watch their actions, not their words.

And Evan’s actions?

They say he’s not ready.

Which means I have to be extra careful about who I bring in next.

Because the last thing I need is two of them working together too soon, forming some rebellion before they’ve settled right.

Later? Of course I want them working together. But only once they understand how things are going to be.

Once they understand me.

“Maple?” Evan’s voice snaps me out of my thoughts.

I blink.

He’s watching me again. A little too closely.

“Are there more here?” His lips twitch. “More bags of lentils?”

I grin. “Not yet,” I say sweetly. “Soon.”

His jaw clenches.

And I can see it happening. The moment the realization clicks in his head.

That this wasn’t random.

That I have a plan.

That he’s not going to be the only one.

And God, I love watching him process it.

His eyes narrow, just a little. Not angry. Just... working through the implications like a man solving a puzzle that doesn’t make sense on paper but definitely does in a bunker built by a prepper girlfriend with questionable boundaries and excellent taste in mattresses.

“You gonna tell me what flavor the next lentil is?” he asks, voice low, casual, but there’s that edge. Like he’s trying not to care. Like it’s not killing him to imagine someone else down here.

I smile. “He’s a mechanic.”

Evan blinks. “Seriously?”

“Mm-hmm.” I pop the last fry into my mouth and wipe my fingers on a napkin. “Real good with his hands. Fixes up old engines, builds things from scratch, even rewired an entire house once.”

“Sounds useful,” Evan mutters, but he’s watching me too closely now. Like he’s looking for the catch.

“He’s very useful,” I say, just to see his jaw twitch. “Strong. Knows how to take things apart and put them back together again.”

Evan raises an eyebrow. “You gonna let him help me escape?”

I laugh. “You’re not a prisoner.”

He gives me a look.

I lean forward in the chair, resting my elbows on my knees, all casual, all warmth. “You’re an investment. And you’re going to be very well cared for.”

He eyes the plate and empty cup like Exhibit A.

“If you behave,” I continue, “And all else goes well, you’ll get company soon.”

His brow lifts. “If I behave?”

“You’re not the only one with standards, Doctor Wolfe,” I tease. “There’s a vetting process, you know. Just like you wouldn’t jump into surgery without scrubbing in, I’m not just tossing you boys into a pit and hoping for the best.”

“That’s… comforting?” he says, though he still looks like he hasn’t decided if I’m a cult leader or just a really proactive girlfriend.

I stand and stretch, deliberately slow. He watches. Of course he does. He’s still a man. And I’m still the woman who handpicked him, who’s going to feed him, fuck him, and keep him alive while the world falls apart.

“I’ll lock the door from the outside tonight,” I say, brushing my hands off. “But your bathroom is stocked, your water’s clean, and your clothes are folded on the chair. Tomorrow, if you’re good, you can spend some time in the main rooms.”

“Let me guess,” he says. “That’s when I earn sticker privileges?”

I grin. “No stickers. But maybe a tour. Maybe a movie.”

He watches me for a long second. Then he says, almost too quiet, “You really believe it’s coming, don’t you?”

I meet his gaze without blinking. “Oh, Evan. It’s already here.”

And for the first time since I brought him home, he doesn’t argue.

He just sits there, watching me. Quiet now. Like some corner of him is actually listening. Or maybe like he’s just waiting to see what kind of madness I pull next.

I cross the room slowly, flicking the lights to low. I like the glow it casts, dim, soft, almost romantic, if you squint past the industrial walls and the handcuff he was chained to a few hours ago.

“You need anything else before lights-out?” I ask, glancing back at him.

He’s still sitting on the bed, legs stretched out in front of him, one hand curled around the edge of the blanket like he’s not sure if he wants to pull it up or toss it off. Then he stands.

Just like that, he’s up, moving toward me, and my breath catches because… well, damn.

He’s clean now. Comfortable. Not cuffed.

And he’s looking at me like maybe he doesn’t hate this quite as much as he should.

“No more fries?” he asks.

I snort. “We just ate, don’t be greedy.”

He’s close now. Just a step away. His voice drops lower. “Bathroom’s fully stocked?”

“Everything you need.” My throat’s dry. “Your shampoo. Soap. Toothbrush. Ribbon floss. And a fresh pair of lounge pants.”

“Flannel?” he teases, mouth quirking.

“You know it,” I say.

He nods. “Then I guess I’m good.”

I’m about to turn away, about to do the responsible thing and leave, give him space and a locked door and exactly the distance that proves I’m trustworthy in a totally-you-can-absolutely-sleep-here-and-not-die way.

But he steps closer, and he says, voice so low it brushes along my nerves like silk, “Goodnight, Maple.”

And then he leans down, and kisses me.

Not wild. Not hungry. Just soft. Intentional. A warm press of lips that has absolutely no business being this intimate.

I freeze.

Not because I don’t want it, but because I do. So much. Too much.

And for one perfect second, I feel it.

I feel everything I’ve been working for, the plan, the prep, the thousands of ways I imagined this playing out, and it’s this. It’s him. Not fighting. Not yelling. Not panicking.

Just… kissing me goodnight.

When he pulls back, my heart is racing.

“Sweet dreams,” he murmurs, and then he turns, walks back to the bed, and climbs in like he didn’t just fry every single one of my neurons.

I stand there like a lunatic, blinking at the empty space he left behind.

I think I whisper “Sweet dreams” back, but I’m not totally sure, because my brain’s short-circuiting and I’m already halfway planning the wedding.

I make myself leave, hand shaking a little as I turn the lock from the outside.

Tomorrow I’m bringing home a mechanic.

But tonight I’m someone who just got kissed by her future husband in a secure underground love bunker.

And honestly?

I’ve never been happier.