Under the Northern Lights(45)

After a few more soft kisses, the tightness of the space forced me to move. That tiny adjustment broke the spell, and Michael turned his lips away from my reach. “We should . . . rest . . . try and get some sleep. It won’t be easy . . . like this . . . but the more energy we conserve, the better off we’ll be.”

I wasn’t sure if he was talking about our current situation . . . or the long run. And I didn’t want to think about it, didn’t want to piece together the hidden message. I just wanted to enjoy the fact that we were stuck together in this close proximity, and neither one of us could flee from it.

Telling him, “Okay,” I scooted even closer and laid my head on his chest.

He sighed again, then removed my hat so he could run his hand through my hair. I fell asleep with the sound of his heart in my ear, the feel of his touch on my head, and the memory of his taste on my lips.





Chapter Sixteen

Everything ached when I woke up the next morning. Every muscle was sore; every tendon was tight. I wanted to stretch out more than anything, and I began straightening my legs before I remembered where I was and why I was scrunched up like a sardine. Fear instantly replaced the need to move. I had no idea how much it had snowed last night. I had no idea if it was still snowing. All I did know was I was buried inside a drift . . . buried alive.

Panic started clawing at my body, begging for release. Keeping it at bay took a tremendous amount of willpower, and I think I was only able to do it because I felt Michael’s warm body snug against my side. I wasn’t alone in my misery. And that made all the difference.

“Michael,” I choked out, stress making my voice tight. “Are you awake?”

He stirred in the small space allowed to him and let out an equally pained grunting noise. “Yeah.” Thoughts of last night tried lifting to the surface, but anxiety beat them back. Now wasn’t the time to dwell on the memory of his lips.

“What do we do?” I whispered. We couldn’t stay here forever. It was morning, I had needs that had to be met. And as soon as my anxieties melted away, I was going to have to move. It wasn’t optional at this point.

Michael tapped his foot against the opening that we’d crawled through last night. It looked like a solid sheet of snow, but it gave away at his touch. Just seeing a sliver of daylight made a rush of relief go through me. We weren’t buried alive, not truly. We had a way out.

As Michael cleared more of the snow away, I listened for the telltale signs of a still-raging storm. Everything seemed quiet, though. Peaceful. “I think it’s stopped. I think we can go home.”

Home. Nothing had ever sounded quite so wonderful. When it became obvious that the storm had indeed stopped, Michael began attacking the entrance with abandon. I reached out with my legs to help him, and it felt so good to finally get some blood flowing to my limbs. Once the opening was clear, Michael shimmied his way out; then he reached back inside the cave to help me. I was partially blinded from the glaring sunlight when I got all the way out, and when I could see, I was stunned. The amount of snow that had fallen last night was astounding. If we hadn’t made a cave, we most certainly would have frozen to death lumbering through the steep banks. For what felt like the millionth time, I owed Michael my life.

Before I could truly think about what I was doing, I wrapped my arms around him in a gigantic hug. He staggered back from the force. “You saved us, Michael. Thank you.”

He seemed unsure what to do in response to my fierce grip, and thoughts of our heated moment last night filled my brain. Wondering how he felt about that kiss, I looked up at him. “Are you . . . ?” Was he what? Okay? Physically, he was fine; emotionally, I was sure he was just as much of a wreck as I was. Maybe more of one. He was still grieving, after all. Pulling back, I felt like I should apologize. I’d gone too far again, and almost directly after he’d asked me not to.

Like he understood my expression, Michael sighed as he took a step back. “It’s okay, Mallory. We made it, and we’re both . . . okay.”

I wanted to ask him if we were more than okay, if we were more than . . . more . . . but I had a feeling I knew exactly what he would say if I asked, so I dropped my arms, stepped away, and didn’t bother asking.

When it became obvious that I wasn’t about to start an awkward conversation about what had happened between us, Michael visibly relaxed. He looked around us with the eyes of a hunter, and I knew he was searching for clarity—some sign that would magically tell him where we were in relation to the cabin. It all looked like one giant cloud of white to me, so I hoped his years of exploration helped him successfully sift through the oneness.

And it seemed to. With a smile, he tilted his head and studied a pair of trees leaning toward each other like lovers embracing. Looking back at me, he confidently said, “It’s this way.” Since I was completely lost, I took his word for it.

After unburying our stuff, I followed Michael as closely in his footsteps as I could. The entire trek home, my mind was on the kiss we’d shared in the dark. Once again, it was the best kiss I’d received in my entire life. The softness of his lips, the tightness of the space, nothing but the sound of our quiet breaths filling my ears, the way my heart had pounded in my chest. Even though the situation had been completely wrong, the moment had felt so right. It made me ache for more. I just wanted to feel his tender embrace, to be consumed by this feeling for him that was growing steadily stronger. But he didn’t want that. And we weren’t meant to last anyway. But still . . . I wanted it. Desires weren’t easily shut off, especially not by logic.