Under the Northern Lights(33)

The mood between us had changed again, and I hated that it had; I’d been enjoying the flirty tension, and I thought Michael had been too. Wanting to bring some of that back, I picked up my stack of cards and playfully bumped his shoulder with mine. “I think the real question is . . . are you ready to lose?”

My teasing comment combined with physically connecting with him seemed to work. He tossed a grin my way. “I’m due for a win. It’s in the cards.”

He flicked his hand for emphasis, and a throaty laugh escaped me. “We’ll see about that.”

A half hour later, with my peg just two spots behind his, he crossed the finish line. “Yes!” he exclaimed, beaming like he’d just won the lottery. Guess he actually did have a competitive streak.

So did I. I shoved his shoulder away from me, making him laugh. And somehow, when he righted himself, he was even closer than before. Our shoulders were touching now, and I sank into his side with a contented sigh, resting my head on his shoulder. Maybe being housebound wasn’t so bad. I felt like I could stay here like this for eternity.

Michael stiffened as our bodies collided, but then he relaxed into it. While I rested against him, inhaling the manly scent of nature on him that I loved, he began idly shuffling the cards again. A comfortable silence settled between us. It was a blanket of contentment that I wanted to wrap around me every day, for surely nothing could keep me as warm as this feeling. Then I twisted so I could peer up at his face, and as his pale eyes flicked down to take me in, the contentment shifted into something else entirely.

While the delicious tension reignited, Michael’s gaze darted between the table and my face. He played with the cards, not really shuffling them, just moving them around. After nibbling on his lip for a second, he quietly said my name. “Mallory . . . I . . . I’m probably going to regret saying this . . . but it’s . . . it’s been nice . . . having you here. I think I might . . . I think I might miss this . . . when you’re gone.”

His voice was laced with pain by the end of his statement, and my heart squeezed for him. By the way he isolated himself, by the way he was reluctant to reach out to people, by the way he seemed almost disconnected from society, I knew his admission of missing me was huge. Possibly life changing. I mean, he’d been alone and content with being alone for five years, and here he was saying he’d be sad when I left. I couldn’t comprehend how hard that was for him to say. And as his eyes shifted to lock on to my face, I saw the struggle in his eyes . . . the regret, the embarrassment, and . . . the hope. The hope that maybe I’d feel the same way about him. He was reaching out for human contact. For me. I suddenly felt like the stove had kicked into overdrive and the room was blazing with heat.

“I . . . I think I . . .” I think I might miss you too.

Before I could properly string together the words, Michael quickly stood up. His chair screeched against the floor in his haste, and I lost balance as the support of his body was yanked away. “I shouldn’t have said that, Mallory. I’m sorry. I was out of line.” He ran a hand through his hair and turned around, looking for an escape. There wasn’t one, though. That was the problem.

The thought of him feeling bad for voicing his loneliness broke my heart. I hurried to my feet as well. Rushing to his side, I put my hand on his arm to stop him from searching for a way to flee. “It’s fine, Michael. I was just going to say I’ll miss you too . . . more than I ever thought I would. I regret crashing, but I’ll never regret meeting you. Being here with you . . . it’s been wonderful.”

His gaze snapped to where we were touching. A part of me wanted to pull my hand away, but I held firm. He should feel purposeful human contact; he’d gone far too long without it. Michael swallowed, then slowly slid his eyes up to mine. Maybe it was the alcohol, but my skin tingled everywhere his gaze lingered. When his eyes locked on mine, he opened his mouth, but no words came out. His silence made the room spin with anxious energy.

Feeling closer to him than I’d ever felt before, I slid my hand up his arm, wrapping it around his bicep. I felt his muscles flex, even under his thick shirt, and I instantly remembered how they looked, bare, casually slung over his tub. The visual did surprising things to my attention-starved body—my breath picked up, my heartbeat quickened, my lips parted in anticipation. I wasn’t sure what I wanted to happen, but at the moment, I felt up for anything: a hug, a kiss . . . or maybe more.

“Michael . . . do you . . . ?” Do you feel this energy, too, or am I in this alone? Maybe I was. Maybe the cabin fever had finally driven me over the edge.

Or maybe I wasn’t alone. Michael was still staring at me. His brows bunched, and he drew his bottom lip into his mouth like he was suffering from confliction. If I leaned forward, would he lower his lips to mine? “Do I what?” he murmured, looking lost.

Just when I felt bold enough to lean forward and test my theory, Michael took a step back. Inhaling a deep breath, he shook his head and slapped on a smile. “Do I want to get meat for dinner before it gets dark?” he asked. “Yes, yes I do. Good thinking.”

Grabbing his jacket, he swiftly opened the front door. Chill seeped into the room, instantly killing whatever mood had been building. A shiver went through me as I clutched my elbows to keep warm. “That wasn’t my question,” I muttered, but Michael was already closing the door behind him.

I watched from the window, helpless and embarrassed, as he clipped himself onto the yellow line leading to the shed. The white squall outside swallowed him up seconds later, and he was gone from my sight. Disappointment flooded me, but it was almost instantly replaced with relief. Michael was right to firmly stop the building tension between us, before we both made a mistake. I knew I’d fall for him if anything happened, and I just couldn’t fall for a guy who I’d probably never see again after the snow thawed.