Under the Northern Lights(54)

Michael’s eyes shifted from the fire to my face. A small, sad smile crossed his lips. “Yes, I think Kelly would have liked you a lot.” His brows creased together, and his smile curved into a frown. “That’s the first time I’ve said her name in . . . a really long time. I’m not sure if that’s a good thing . . . or a really bad thing.”

He looked up at me like somehow I might have the answer to that very complicated question. I didn’t. Not really. “I think it’s a . . . normal thing. You’re not physically interacting with her every day, so I think it’s natural for you to not say her . . .”

Michael had looked away from me while I’d been talking, so I stopped. His expression was darker now, sadder. Only wanting him to feel joy, I put my hand on his knee. “I didn’t mean to bring you down. I’m sorry.”

He nodded, then sighed. “Is it weird that I still miss her so much I can hardly breathe sometimes?”

Weird, no. Painful, yes.

“I suppose not. You loved her . . . very much.”

Michael’s eyes flashed to my face, and his expression turned apologetic. “That was insensitive of me. I’m sorry. You’re such a good friend—sometimes I forget that you’re not just . . . a friend.” His gaze drifted to the ground, but I saw the guilt there before he hid his eyes.

Inhaling a big breath, I leaned forward until I caught his eye. “I am your friend, first and foremost, and that means you can tell me anything. Anything.” And I would find a way to deal with it, because that was what friends did.

He smiled at me, and for the first time since our conversation had begun, only happiness was evident in the grin. “You’re pretty amazing—do you know that?”

Leaning back in the chair, I huffed on my nails and rubbed them on my shirt. “Yep, I know.”

Michael laughed, and the sound was just as untroubled as his smile. He suddenly disrupted the peace by slapping his hands on his knees and exclaiming, “As nice as this has been, resting time is over. It’s time for my bath.”

“And your haircut,” I quickly added. He’d been putting that off for far too long now. Both of his mops were getting taken care of. Tonight.

He let out a playful groan as he rolled his eyes, but I wasn’t caving tonight or letting him distract me from my goal.

Michael prepared the water while I searched for scissors. “They’re in that one,” he said with a laugh, pointing at one under the counter.

“How long were you going to let me look?” I asked him, mock annoyance on my face.

He shrugged, still grinning with amusement, then went back to his water. When the tub was full, he faced me. “Do you want to step outside for this part . . . or stay?” There was a look in his eyes, a heated expression that told me he’d be okay if I stayed.

A part of me wanted to give him his privacy and leave the cabin for a few minutes. A part of me wanted to blatantly stare at all of his glory being revealed inch by inch. I decided to compromise. I stayed but turned around so my back was to him. I heard Michael laugh; then I heard the sound of rustling clothes. It was extremely difficult to not peek. I curled my hands into fists, then pressed my fists against my legs. Even still, my head wanted to swivel, and it was only by constantly reinforcing my willpower that I kept it in place. It was a relief when I heard clear sounds of Michael entering the water.

Once the sound of rippling water subsided and a long, satisfied exhale left Michael, I risked turning around to look. With his legs hanging off one end, his head leaning back on the other, and his arms resting along the sides, he was the very picture of peace. He looked over at me with a calm smile, and my heart fluttered against my rib cage. God, he was everything I’d ever wanted in a man. If only he’d agree to come back with me, I was sure we’d have an amazing life together. Just as amazing as what he had up here. If he’d only give us a chance . . .

Maybe seeing the sadness sweeping over my face, Michael lifted his head and frowned. “What is it?”

Slapping on my carefree smile, I shook my head. “Nothing. I’m going to . . . read . . . until you’re ready for me.” Will you ever be ready for me?

Grabbing one of the books I’d breezed through at least twice already, I sat on my bed and waited. I tried to read, I really did, but watching Michael bathe was too fascinating. The tub wasn’t large enough for all of him, so he had to wash himself in pieces. One leg, then the other, his chest, and then eventually, his head. He used a cup to help rinse off the soap and did a pretty decent job of getting most of the water to stay in the tub. When he was dripping wet, hair and beard soaked, he looked over my way and crooked a finger at me.

I’d been watching him for so long that it took me a moment to realize just what he was telling me. I startled in surprise, then smiled. My turn. Grabbing my scissors and a comb, I headed his way. His eyes followed me the entire time, and my heart started pounding. When I approached the side of the tub, my eyes glanced inside before I could stop them. Michael was covering all of the important bits with his hands. Seeing that he’d been prepared for me to sneak a peek made heat rush over my cheeks, and I instantly glued my eyes to his. He was peacefully smiling at me like he hadn’t just caught me looking.

Opening and closing the scissors, I blurted out, “Ready?”

Facing front, he nodded. “Yep. Do your worst.”