Page 9 of Out on a Limb

The wooden spatula clatters against the counter, and Jana covers her face with a groan. In the pan, the omelet sizzles, and I pick up the spatula and prod at the edges.I was already hungrier than a bear waking up from hibernation, and you’d better believe I’m gonna eat this meal made for me by my future wife. Gonna eat every bite then lick the plate.

“Blood sugar,” Jana announces, dropping her hands and snatching the spatula back. “This is a blood sugar thing. You’ll eat, you’ll sleep, and you’ll regret this offer in the morning.”

…That’s not a no.

Jana slides the omelet onto a plate, grabs a fork, and thrusts the whole thing at my chest. I take it, inhaling deeply before cutting out the first bite with the edge of my fork. Already, the is the best meal I’ve ever had.

“And if I don’t regret it?” I blow on the piping hot chunk of omelet, watching my squatter closely. There’s this tingly feeling I get sometimes when I’m close to victory—when the mountain peak is in sight or I’ve just successfully scared off a predator—and I’m getting those tingles now. “If I still want to make this deal in the morning. What then, Jana Kumara?”

Her lips press together. She clutches the edge of the counter, like she’s hanging on for balance, and she addresses the wall in front of her.

“Then… shit. I’ll think about it.”

I punch the air.

Six

Jana

I’ll think about it.

I’ll think about it.

I’ll think about it.

My words circle around my brain all night, an unrelenting chorus that keeps me awake until dawn. Stig crashes out on the sofa barely two minutes after finishing his omelet, one arm tossed over his face and a tiny speck of toothpaste at the corner of his mouth. Surprisingly, he doesn’t snore—but his soft breaths are still deafening compared to my previously empty cabin. It’s a constant reminder that I’m not alone; that everything has changed.

Several times in the night, I sit up in bed and squint at the adventurer’s sprawled form in the darkness. Can’t see any details in the gloom, but I can make out his long limbs, his broad chest, and the power in that frame as he dwarfs the sofa…

I swallow, throat dry, and flop back down to the pillows for the fourth time. Pale pre-dawn light seeps around the edge of the curtains, and I still haven’t slept a wink.

Get it together, Jana.

Because… this guy’s a trainwreck. Right? That’s the smart conclusion here. Stig Hansen hiked home after leaving his cabin empty for so long that everyone in town thought he was dead. Then, upon finding the locks changed and a squatter sleeping in his bed, did this man yell and rage and chase me out? Did he respond like he had every right to?

No. He proposed marriage.

I’ll think about it.

Well, if Stig is certifiable, I’m just as bad. Because I don’t spend the rest of the night staring wide-eyed at the ceiling, trying to figure out a way out of this mess—no, I lay awake wondering if we could actually make this work. If his offer makes a strange kind of sense. God, why does this feel so right?

Grimacing, I roll onto my left side, mashing my cheek into the pillow.

I mean, the adventurer doesn’t seem dangerously mad. More like… eccentric. Driven. A man who knows exactly what he wants when he sees it, and who chases after it with the power of a thousand suns.

And for some reason, he wants me—on paper, anyway.

His wife of convenience.

Is it crazy that I’m tempted? It would solve my homelessness problem, that’s for sure. But… it’s more than that, isn’t it? It’s more than a logistical win. And even though I’d never confess this in the bright light of day, I can admit it to myself in the privacy of night.

Tossing, turning, kicking Stig’s cotton sheets off me then yanking them back up, I let myself acknowledge the truth: I like him. I like the adventurer, with his teasing voice and weather-beaten tan; I like how tall he is, looming over me, and I like the sturdy muscles that shift beneath his skin when he moves.

Whenever his frosty blue eyes met mine earlier tonight, fireworks exploded in my belly. Every time he inched closer, my hands itched with the need to reach for him, to drag him near, to scurry up him like a squirrel up a tree.

It’s not just physical, either. When that man grinned at me, my own lips tugged up automatically in response. Whenever he laughed, my chest glowed warm. Kinship. That’s what it felt like, for the first time in my life.

So here’s the truth: I want Stig Hansen too. But not just on paper. If there’s a real train wreck in this cabin, it’s me, because I want the adventurer for real.

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