Under the Northern Lights(25)

I stared at his shoes, just in case he could tell I was flushed. Then I peeked up at him. “Before you go . . . do you have a razor I could borrow?”

His expression morphed into one of confusion and intrigue. “A razor? Why do you . . . ?” His gaze drifted to my leg, still propped on the chair. Setting it on the ground, I slowly stood up.

I shrugged as I faced him. “I know it’s silly and frivolous, it’s just . . . everything in my life right now is so different. I want to hold on to some small shred of normalcy. I want to feel like I’m still me . . . like I’m still a woman.”

Homesickness swelled in me, making my voice warble and my vision hazy. I’d never felt this out of sorts on any of my trips before. But then again, before now, I’d always had the option of going home whenever I wanted. I’d never been stuck in a survivalist situation with a stranger before. And while Michael was attractive, sometimes alluringly mysterious, and exceedingly generous and gracious . . . he wasn’t family. He wasn’t home.

I was staring at the floor, but I could hear Michael’s footsteps as he approached me. In my fragile state, I was hyperaware of his nearness. The woodsy scent of pine on him, the way his breaths were smooth and even, the way his hand started lifting to me before dropping to his side. I wasn’t sure just what I wanted from him, but I suddenly didn’t want him to leave just yet.

His voice was soft when he finally spoke. “It’s not silly or frivolous.” I looked up to see him smiling warmly at me. “You didn’t ask for this life—not like I did. And while you’ve made the best of everything that’s been thrown at you, I don’t blame you for wanting a little piece of comfort. Why do you think I have the whiskey?” he added with a wink.

That familiar look of unease washed over him, but it quickly morphed into a regular, untroubled smile. “I’ll get you a razor and some soap, but you get to wash all the tiny hairs out of the tub when you’re done.”

He pointed at me with a playfully stern finger, and I laughed at the look of mock indignation on his face. “Deal.”

We stared at each other for a second then, and I was struck by an overwhelming urge to hug him; I even almost took a step toward him, but somehow, I knew that if I did, he would get uncomfortable and turn to leave, and I just wasn’t ready for the connection to end.

Eventually, though, I had to break the silence. “Thank you, Michael.”

Clearing his throat, he averted his eyes. “You thanked me already . . . but you’re welcome.” Looking back at me, he indicated the tub. “The water doesn’t stay warm for long—you should get in. I’ll get your stuff.”

Then he was gone, moving around the cabin, gathering supplies. He left them at the edge of the tub, then disappeared into the darkness of the night. The cabin felt colder without him in it, and a weary sigh escaped me. It was so odd to be holed up with a stranger, but . . . it had its moments too.

Shaking my head at the peculiarity of my life, I peeled off my clothes and then carefully stepped into the tub. And just as I’d predicted, it was heaven.





Chapter Nine

As time went on, Michael and I settled into a nice routine. He stayed busy shoring up our food supply, while I chopped an impressive amount of wood. My body was getting stronger every day. Actually, aside from my ribs, I felt pretty good. My ankle was fine, and my thigh didn’t even ache anymore. I almost felt normal, and it was wonderful to feel that way.

Things with Michael were getting better too. We were getting more and more comfortable around each other, not that that stopped the awkward, tense moments. We were just able to bounce back from them more quickly. Although bath nights were still strange for both of us.

It had been almost two weeks since the crash, a fact I still found hard to process sometimes. I should be packing up to go home, but instead, I was hunkering down for the winter with a man I barely knew. Getting through the homesickness was an hour-by-hour task at times. But there was a light at the end of the tunnel—Michael would eventually fix his plane, and I would eventually be able to get in it and go back to my pets, my friends, and my family. I just had to be patient, something that was difficult when there were few mental distractions during the day and even fewer distractions at night; home seemed to be on my mind twenty-four seven.

“You seem quieter than usual. Everything all right?” Michael asked. He was on his knees beside the metal basin we used as a sink and a tub, cleaning up our dishes from dinner. Whenever I saw the tub now, I pictured him in it, arms on the sides, head resting against the back. It was an image that stirred something inside me and made me incredibly uncomfortable, all at the same time.

“Yeah,” I said. I was doing my part to clean up for the night by sweeping a floor that didn’t seem to get any cleaner, no matter how many times I brushed it with the broom. “Just thinking about winter . . . about being here.” Not wanting him to feel offended by that in any way, I quickly added, “Does it get bad? Lots of snow?”

He paused in his cleaning to study me. “It can. The snow can come down so hard sometimes I can’t even go outside. I had to dig my way out once.” He said it with a smile, like it was funny. Being trapped, nearly buried alive by snow, didn’t sound humorous to me. Maybe realizing he was freaking me out, he raised his hands. “I’m sure it won’t be that bad this year. It was a pretty mild fall.”