Page 10 of Out on a Limb

To have and to hold.

On paper, yes, but also in this very bed.

…This is a bad, bad idea.

* * *

“I have some conditions,” I announce the next morning when Stig steps out onto the deck. His dark blond hair is damp from the shower, and he’s dressed in a red plaid shirt and jeans, the sleeves rolled to his elbows. Two mugs of coffee steam in his hands, the wisps curling toward the pink-tinged sky. “If you still want to… um. You know.”

“Marry you?” White teeth flash as Stig grins, and he hands me one of the coffees before settling into the chair opposite mine. The wood creaks beneath his weight, and he shifts to get comfy, his gaze on me the whole time. Assessing, admiring. “I definitely do.”

Woof. Okay.

Birds sing out all around us, flitting from branch to branch in the canopy. A gentle breeze whistles through the small glade.

It’s a cold morning. Fall is well and truly here, the forest reddening in patches, and when I crept out here just before sunrise, a layer of frost sparkled on the deck railing and the wooden chairs. Just another reminder of what waits for me if I can’t get a roof over my head and need to retreat back to that campsite outside town—AKA daily risk of frostbite.

Because sure, I could crash in the backroom at work if there was a real emergency, or on my friend Tess’s couch. But Tess and her new guy already hosted me for several weeks over the summer, and though he’s a good boss, Flint’s patience only goes so far. I don’t want to burn those bridges, damn it—I want to stand on my own two feet.

And this… this is a solution. Of sorts. It would keep me sheltered through the winter, anyway, and without putting a burden on any of my friends. And if I have private extra reasons for wanting to keep Stig Hansen close, if I’m secretly drawn to the idea of playing house with such a daring, handsome man…

Sue me. I never claimed to be smart.

“Number one,” I say, raising the thumb on my free hand. The other hand clutches the coffee close to my chest, steam rising to tickle my chin. Unlike Stig, I’m not dressed for an adult discussion—I’m still in my pajamas, and bundled in a thick blanket I dug out from the top shelf of the closet, with spiky bedhead hair—but it’s too late to back down now. “No using me as a maid. I’ll do my share of cooking and cleaning, but I’m not gonna pick up your dirty socks.”

Stig laughs, the sound rich and delighted, and settles further into his chair. “I’d never ask you to. I’m a grown man, Jana.”

I’ve noticed. God damn it, I’ve noticed.

Okay.

“Number two.” My pointer finger spears up toward the sky, where the pink tinge from sunrise is fading to chalky white. The birds chatter together in the trees, like they’re gossiping at how nuts this is. “I want your guarantee that as long as we’re married, I can stay in this cabin. If you can’t give me that promise, I need to walk away from this nonsense and find somewhere to live for the winter.”

Stig sips his coffee and draws a cross over his heart. “I solemnly swear.”

“You can live here too.” My cheeks burn hot at that statement, but I push forward anyway, because I’m not gonna make this man sleep among the trees when it’s his damn cabin. I’m not a monster. “I’ll sleep on the sofa.”

Stig snorts and shakes his head. “I’ll sleep on the sofa. Give me some credit, Jana.”

Fine. Whatever. So he’s a gentleman too? I’m not rattled.

Taking my first sip of coffee, I choke back a moan as the fluid spreads over my tongue. It’s so hot, so rich, so nutty with a hint of sweetness. Orgasmic levels of deliciousness. Swallowing carefully, I place the mug down on the deck where it can’t distract me again.

“Number three.” My middle finger sticks out with the others. Stig is still watching closely, smiling like I’m the most fascinating creature alive. He’s somehow even more handsome in the pale morning light, his skin freshly scrubbed and his hair curling and damp. “I want to live together for a month first before we rush in and tie the knot. Let’s not be crazier about this than we’re already being. I don’t know why you need a wife—”

“Secret, manly reasons.” Stig winks.

“—But whatever the reason, this will help us sell the whole thing. A month’s engagement will be more convincing to other people. And if it turns out we’re making a huge mistake… it won’t be too late to cut and run.”

Even as I say the words, they taste sour on my tongue. Cut and run? Leave this teasing, bold man and his cozy cabin? Abandon the make-believe life I already can’t wait to inhabit?

It feels jarring and wrong to even think it, but hey—it needs to be said. For all I know, this is Stig Hansen dialing up the charm, and the actual man could be very different.

Or something else could go wrong. One of us could develop real feelings, for example.

Don’t even go there, a warning voice whispers in my head.

Snatching up my mug, I sip hot coffee and wait for the adventurer’s rebuttal. Beneath my baggy pajama shirt, my heart is going crazy, tapping out a rapid rhythm on the inside of my ribs, and my stomach is a writhing mass of nerves.

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