Under the Northern Lights(35)

Smoothing whatever the sheets were stuffed with, Michael nodded. “Yeah. I know from experience that just sitting on that couch hurts after a while; I don’t know how you’ve managed to sleep on it for so long.”

I’d managed because I hadn’t had a choice. It was either the couch or the floor, and at least the couch was relatively clean. From the woodsy scent coming from the sheets, I was beginning to believe they were stuffed with a ton of moss. And I knew from experience that moss was a natural cushion, about the best, most comfortable thing you could find out here. I finally might be able to get the ever-present knot out of my back.

“Michael,” I said, running my hand over the mattress once he was done. “This is . . . the best thing ever. Thank you.”

Michael sighed and rolled his eyes at me, but he smiled the entire time. “You’re welcome, Mallory. Now when I watch you sleep, I won’t feel sympathy pains.”

“You watch me sleep?” I asked, surprised.

His eyes widened, and his expression grew uncomfortable. “Not watch . . . it’s just . . . I can see you from where I’m lying down, and sometimes you fall asleep first, and I’m not tired, and . . .” He held his hands up. “I’m not a crazy stalker or something. I promise.”

His comment made me laugh. “It’s okay. I didn’t think you were either crazy or a stalker. I just didn’t know . . . you noticed.”

A smile softened his face. “I always notice you.” He looked away again, like the words had come from someone else.

“Come on,” I said, easing his discomfort. “We should bring in some wood before it gets dark.”

Clearly grateful for the escape, Michael’s eyes returned to my face. “Good idea.”

It was lightly snowing when we stepped outside, and the untouched woods around us made for a perfect winter wonderland. I had to concede that maybe Michael was right in letting his “yard” remain as intact as possible. It was always a sight to behold when there was fresh snow on the ground; it made me miss my camera.

“I wish I could capture all this,” I murmured as we made our way to the wood stack.

“Capture it?” Michael asked, turning his head my way.

“With my camera,” I said, nodding. “It’s just so beautiful here. I’d love a memento of it, something to help me remember it forever.”

I stopped walking to take it all in, and Michael stopped with me. “Yeah . . . you could always . . . come back? You said once this was an annual trip for you? You could spend a couple weeks here taking your pictures.”

His voice grew softer the longer he talked, and I shifted my gaze to look up at him. The snow was speckling his hat and beard with light white frost, making him seem a natural part of the environment. His eyes were darting everywhere as he waited for me to say something in response to his suggestion. I knew this was another big admission for him—asking me to return, even if it were only for a couple of weeks. I couldn’t deny the appeal, staying in a cabin instead of the woods, having someone nearby to help with chores, or just another set of eyes to look for tracks and keep an ear out for bears. It was definitely an attractive thought.

“I think I’d like that. Thank—” I stopped myself from saying the oft-repeated words and laughed instead.

Michael’s smile widened as he gazed at me, and his eyes were blazing with joy. “Good . . . it’s a date then.” The smile fell from his lips, and his eyes widened in embarrassment. “Not date-date, just . . . it’s a plan.”

I laughed harder at his awkward stumble, and Michael’s smile finally returned. “You have a great laugh,” he told me.

His cheeks flushed with color, and I could tell he was mortified that he’d said that. Not wanting him to feel weird or awkward for complimenting me, I quickly returned his sentiment with one of my own. “You have a great smile.”

He instantly smiled, then studied the ground as a small laugh escaped him. It was adorable, and it made me want to compliment him about everything I liked—his eyes, his strong hands, the solid chin I could just make out under his scruffy beard . . .

It took me a second to realize that our eyes had locked, and we were silently staring at each other while the snow softly fell around us. The minute I became aware of it, my heart started racing, and every inch of me became hyperaware of our proximity. Fearful that he’d break the connection if I moved, I stayed as still as possible.

The chill was beginning to seep inside me, but I didn’t care. I’d get frostbite if it meant Michael didn’t run away, if it meant this buzz between us could keep going. My eyes were the first to break formation as they drifted along his nose to the full lips nestled between the frozen beard and mustache he used as an extra layer of defense from the cold. The puff of my breaths started increasing as his mouth became my sole focus. I nearly gasped in delight when his lips parted and his tongue darted out to run over his bottom one. If I leaned forward, would he press his lips against mine?

I was too scared to move to test my theory. Waiting was working: he hadn’t run yet, hadn’t gotten all awkward and made an excuse to leave. And the breaths escaping his lips were just as quick as mine; he was feeling this too.

Anticipation rose inside me, filling me with need—a need for something, anything to happen. Standing still was no longer an option. I needed to move before I combusted. All I did was angle my head and tilt my chin up, but it was enough to snap Michael out of the spell holding him in place. He let out a long exhale and looked away, toward the cabin. “I . . . uh . . . I’m sorry. I don’t know what . . .”