Lies You Never Told Me(52)

“It’s gorgeous up here during the day,” he says. “Sorry your first glimpse is at night.”

Inside, he snaps on a lamp to reveal a small, cozy space. There’s a woodstove and a worn rag rug, and the windows are covered with hand-sewn curtains. A single queen-sized bed sits in the middle of the room. The air is cold and smells like the woods.

I suddenly realize Aiden’s studying my face. He hangs back a little, frowning. “You’re freaked out. I shouldn’t have sprung this on you.” He takes my hands in his. “Listen, I didn’t bring you up here to pressure you into anything you don’t want. I just wanted to be alone with you for a little while, so we could spend some time together without worrying about getting caught.” He nods toward a ladder in the corner. “See, there’s a loft. I’ll sleep up there tonight, and you can have the bed. I just thought we could come out here and talk. Maybe go hiking tomorrow.”

I draw closer to him and slide my arms around his waist. “I’m not freaked out. I trust you, Aiden.”

It’s mostly true. It’s not that I think I’m in any kind of danger. But I’ve never been alone in a room with a bed with a boy—with a man—that I liked before.

He strokes a lock of hair away from my forehead. “You sure? Because I can take you back home.”

“No!” My arms tighten at his waist. “God, no.”

He kisses me softly. Then he pulls away. “Then I’d better get the stove going, or we’ll freeze.”

I sit on the edge of the bed and watch him start the fire. I’ve never had the chance to do anything very outdoorsy before—I never camped or went hiking as a kid—so I wouldn’t know how to get a fire going if my life depended on it. It’s kind of sexy, watching him crouched there with his sleeves rolled up, building a perfect little nest of paper and wood to catch the flame. Usually he doesn’t strike me as particularly rugged, but out here, in the chill mountain air, I can see his survivalist roots.

While the cabin’s warming he shows me everything he’s brought. Plates of fruit and cheese; pecans and strawberries and figs; a tray of chocolates. Delicate tartlets filled with mascarpone and apricot. I rest against the pillows on the bed and he sits a few inches away, a platter of food between us.

“This is amazing.” I look around the little space, marveling at how cozy and warm it feels now that the woodstove is going. “Let’s run away and live up here. No one will ever bother us again. We’ll live off the land.”

He grins. “As easy as that, huh?”

“Yup.” I pop a truffle in my mouth. “We’ll forage for food and chop wood for the stove.”

“Hm. There’s not a lot of chocolate or brie that grows in this region,” he says. “We’ll have to make do with tree bark and moss.”

“Delicious,” I proclaim. “And we’ll tame the squirrels to come be our pets.”

“They’ll eat all our tree bark and moss!” he says.

“And we’ll go without shoes or clothes. Just . . . wander naked through the woods.”

“Okay, I’m listening,” he says. We both laugh. My nerves are starting to evaporate.

“Sometimes I wish we could,” I say softly. “Just . . . pack up and leave. Start a new life somewhere. I mean . . . things are getting better with my mom. But I feel like I’ve been trapped here for so long. It’d almost be a relief to get a fresh start, without all the baggage.”

He nods. “I know. I think about it, too.”

I picture it. Maybe we couldn’t go off the grid and hide in the woods, but we could go someplace and blend into the crowd—New York or Chicago or L.A. Get our own little apartment, with a record player and a coffeepot and a cat. Sprawl on the floor reading novels; get under-the-table jobs washing dishes or fixing leaky faucets. Go on a few auditions, maybe.

And we’d finally be alone. We’d finally be together, without anyone judging us.

“What’re you thinking about?” he asks. He’s watching me, his eyes almost blazingly bright.

“Oh, I don’t know. Just daydreaming.” I look down, suddenly unable to meet the intensity of his gaze. “I can’t leave. Not really. Not while my mom needs me.”

“I know.” His voice is wistful.

“But . . . but this is amazing,” I say quickly. “Being here, with you.”

He shifts the plate out of the way, leans toward me. The kiss is soft and slow. A kiss that has all the time in the world.

“Elyse,” he murmurs. “I love you.”

My heart thumps against my sternum. “Aiden . . .”

“You’re the only future I can picture. The only thing I can think about.” He touches my chin.

I close my eyes. “I love you too.”

We kiss again. Less soft, less slow. A kiss that’s breathless with longing. His hands stroke my hair, my shoulders. I toy with the buttons on his shirt; I start to undo them, one at a time, until I can see the flat plane of his stomach, hard and muscular. His skin is so warm, so soft. His lips brush my earlobe and I moan, tilting my head back.

“I should go upstairs. It’s getting late,” he says.

I lean back against the pillows and pull him toward me.

“Stay,” I whisper.