Under the Northern Lights(38)

Studying Michael helped keep me grounded in the present. The way his lips moved when he talked, the way the candlelight flickered in his pale-blue eyes, the way he ran his hand through his scraggly beard . . . a beard I was dying to cut.

Disarmed by my errant thought, I asked him a question I probably shouldn’t have, since it had nothing to do with the moment we were currently experiencing. “Will you let me cut that when the weather warms?”

Michael’s eyes widened in alarm. “My beard? You want to cut this work of art?”

I nodded as fervently as I could. “Yes, yes, and yes.”

He frowned, then laughed. “I usually cut it in the spring. My hair too . . . so I guess that’s fine. It will save me a trip to the barber.”

A barber. A town. An impending goodbye. It all hit me so fast I sucked in a breath like I’d been punched. “I’ll do the dishes tonight,” I murmured, rising from my chair.

Reaching out, Michael grabbed my hand as I walked by. The contact instantly sizzled my skin with comforting heat. “Mallory?” he asked, searching my face.

Feeling melancholy enter our happy place, I made myself smile. “I’m fine. I just . . . want to help.”

He searched me a second more, then released my hand; I instantly missed the contact. “Okay . . . let me know if you change your mind.” He flashed me a grin that made my heart beat faster. That smile could unfreeze the Arctic, I was sure.

After I was done with the dishes, Michael and I killed time by playing a few rounds of cribbage. Just when I was yawning so hard I never thought I’d stop, Michael indicated the door. “It should be getting close to time. Want to go outside?”

Nodding enthusiastically, I started getting on all my extra layers. It was nice and toasty in here with the stove, but it was downright frigid out there. When we were both bundled up, we headed outside. I scanned the skies right away, expecting to see a vibrant display of color. But all I saw was a beautiful speckling of stars. Not bad, but not what I’d been wanting to see.

Michael didn’t look surprised when he joined me. “Shouldn’t be too much longer,” he said, sounding confident, like he was wearing an aurora borealis watch.

I smiled up at his presumptuous answer, then stepped closer to his side. Our shoulders touched, and even through our thick jackets, it was a delightful feeling. My gloved hands were dangling close to his, tantalizingly close. I wanted to reach out and share that connection with him, but I didn’t want to scare him away either.

Wanting to do something but not being able to do it was maddening, and the feeling only worsened as time went on. I was just about to say Screw it and grab his hand when I suddenly felt his gloved fingers wrap around mine. A smile I couldn’t contain lit up my face, but I made sure I didn’t twist my head to make eye contact. He might change his mind and run if I pointed out what he was doing. All I allowed myself to do was squeeze his hand and lean into his side; another contented sigh escaped me. I could stay like this forever.

And then, as if to make the moment even more picture perfect, a faint greenish-white light brushed the sky. I held my breath and gripped Michael’s hand tight as the light grew wider and more pronounced. As the curtain of color intensified, it began undulating, deforming, turning into arcs and spirals. It was the most amazing thing I’d ever seen, better than any New Year’s fireworks show.

Blown away by the beauty of nature and wishing once again that I had my camera, I finally looked up at Michael. He looked down at me when he felt my eyes on him, but he didn’t break contact, didn’t go running back into the cabin. He just gazed at me with warmth in his eyes.

“Happy New Year, Michael,” I whispered, my heart in my voice.

“Happy New Year, Mallory,” he answered. Then, inexplicably, his lips started lowering to mine.

I thought I was dreaming. I was so certain that I nearly pulled off my glove to pinch myself. Because there was no way Michael was about to kiss me. He could barely touch me without pulling away. But I wasn’t asleep, and he was making a move.

My heart was pounding now as his face inched closer and closer. It was hard to stay still as he made his slow descent. I wanted to reach up and pull him into me. Yes . . . please kiss me.

He was so close I could feel his light breath on my face. I closed my eyes in preparation; my every nerve ending was on fire, waiting for the moment. And then his cool lips pressed . . . against my cheek.

Surprise shot my eyes open, and I could see him quickly pulling away in the moonlight. “Michael?” I asked, unsure what that had meant.

“We missed midnight,” he explained, his eyes darting back and forth from my eyes to the ground. His breath was harder, his voice shaky, like he was embarrassed . . . or like he was struggling to resist me.

“Oh . . .” I swallowed in a vain attempt to dislodge the rush of desire that had begun to sweep over me. Michael’s eyes flashed to my lips, making it even more of a challenge to subdue the feeling. “I thought maybe you wanted . . .”

I stopped talking as embarrassment washed over me. Mentioning my misunderstanding would only make this moment even more mortifying. Thinking I should let go of him now, I eased my hold on his hand. Michael’s eyes were still glued on my face, though, and his grip on my hand hadn’t changed any. If anything, he clasped on tighter when I let go.

“Michael?” I asked again, confused.