Under the Northern Lights(48)

Chapter Seventeen

I was nervous when I woke up the next morning. Nervous that Michael would say he was wrong and try to take it all back. Nervous that he would say we had to keep our distance. For our own good. But I didn’t want to keep a distance between us. I meant what I’d said: I was going to have a romance with him regardless, and I’d rather act on our feelings, encourage the fondness to grow, than stomp it in the mud and try to destroy it.

As I looked around and noticed that Michael wasn’t in the cabin, my nerves tripled. Was he ignoring me again? Would he go back to how he’d been after that brutally honest conversation regarding his beliefs? Would the awkwardness return? I’d really hoped we’d finally moved past that.

With a sigh, I tossed off the warm covers and stepped onto the chilly floor. I was just slipping on my boots when the front door banged open. I startled in surprise, then smiled when Michael walked inside. He was covered in a light dusting of snow, and I wondered if we were in for another snow day. God, what would that be like, now that our relationship had shifted? Or had it? Was he still on board, or were we back at square one?

I tried to gauge his mood as he shut the door, but with his back to me, it was hard to tell anything. “Good morning,” I tentatively began. “How . . . are you?”

He twisted to look at me, and a smile instantly erupted on his face. I let out a relieved sigh at seeing it. “I’m . . . okay . . . I think.” With a laugh, he shook his head and set some meat for breakfast on the table. “I honestly don’t know, and I’m trying not to think too hard about . . . things, but . . . I feel good, and that’s something.”

Yes, that was everything. Pure joy radiated through me at the thought that I’d made him happy—genuinely happy. Standing, I practically skipped over and tossed my arms around his neck. He stepped backward like I’d caught him off guard, but then he put his arms around my waist, and his smile stayed constant.

Not truly sure if I was still allowed to do this or not, I leaned up and lightly pressed my lips to his. He stiffened in my arms but then softly returned my affections. “Are you okay with this?” I asked between tender kisses.

Michael paused, then pulled away from me. His expression changed, grew confused, troubled, like he’d just remembered all the reasons we shouldn’t allow this momentary happiness to continue. My heart began to surge as I studied his face. Had I pushed him too far? I wanted to tell him it was okay, that we could do this, that we could have this, and it would be all right, but he spoke before I could. “Yeah,” he said, his face softening, “I’m okay . . . with this small . . . your company means the world to me, Mallory.”

While he was being vague with his words, his message was as clear as if he were shouting: Friendship and these small kisses are all we can have. There would never be more between us. Ever. My heart squeezed in sadness with the truth of that, but I chose to accept it, the same as he was accepting this. We could never be more than we were right now; it just wasn’t possible. But “now” was enough, and I vowed to do my best to never ask him for anything more.

Even though I wanted the oh-so-soft kisses to continue, I let Michael go and took a step away from him. It thrilled me to no end when he stumbled toward me like he wasn’t ready to give up our connection. “We should get started on our chores,” I murmured, putting on my most sultry expression.

Michael’s gaze turned heated as he stared at me; then he swallowed and looked away. “Yes . . . you’re right.” Running his hand through his hair melted the remaining flakes sticking to the unkempt mess. “We’ll have breakfast before we go,” he said, pointing to the meat he’d brought in from the shed. Almost as an afterthought, he turned to me and said, “When you’re out gathering water, could you get some extra for me? I’d like to take a bath.”

Right after he said it, he looked away, seemingly embarrassed. We hadn’t bathed since our newfound agreement—since we’d decided to accept the physical part of our relationship. Bath days had always been awkward before, with the person not in the tub always escaping to the outside, but now they seemed especially . . . tense. Like a sexually charged bomb had been set, and it would go off the minute one of us stepped foot in the water.

I swallowed a hard lump. “Yeah . . . sure. Maybe I’ll finally cut that beard,” I added with a smirk.

He smiled at my oft-repeated attempt to tame his mane. “Yeah . . . maybe I’ll finally let you.” I wasn’t sure how that would work with the chemistry bouncing between us, how I would be able to peek into the tub at all his naked glory, and not get . . . carried away . . . but if he was willing to try . . . then I would try too. And I’d pray for strength the entire time.

After breakfast, Michael went his way, and I went mine. The snow had eased up, and only small, light flakes were falling from the sky. Thank God we weren’t going to be stuck inside all day with this bottled spark between us. Just thinking about the bath later had me on edge.

I thought about it the entire time I was doing my chores. Pictured that the water droplets rolling down the side of the bucket were sliding down his skin instead, fantasized about the satisfied sounds he would make when the steaming water eased every ache in his body, imagined the look on his face when he rolled his head to the side of the tub and gazed at me. Remembered words filtered through my brain, heating my skin even though the air was chilled: Your company means the world to me. It was a sentiment I strongly shared; being with him meant the world to me too.