Page 15 of Wooded Bliss

Just as our lips are about to meet, I’m pulled out of my fantasy by movement in the tree line. I have to blink a few times to clear away the reverberations of Thatcher’s touch and how I imagine it would feel to be in his arms. It feels like I’ve just woken up from a long night of sleep. I don’t want to leave my fantasy world, but it dissolves to nothing around me.

I get the feeling something or someone is watching me, but it’s so dark outside I can’t see anything. Even when I move closer to the windows, the darkness of the tree line obscures everything. Still, the feeling persists and only grows stronger.

The longer I sit still and look, searching for something, anything, to explain this feeling, the more I feel like I need to go outside. It doesn’t make any sense, but it’s as if I can’t ignore the need to go out and investigate what is going on.

It’s probably a stupid thing to do, but my feet are moving before I even realize what is happening. When I step outside, I’m glad I prefer curling up in my reading nook with a chunky sweater on because it cooled down after the sun set.

I stand at the edge of my back porch steps and try to spot any movement. There isn’t any though, but something in my gut is tugging me toward the trees.

“Don’t investigate the strange feeling at night, Birdie,” I mumble to myself.

But I don’t go back inside. It’s like I can’t.

The strangest thing about feeling like I need to walk down the steps and move toward the forest is that I’m not afraid. Not even a little bit. Instead, warmth unfurls in my chest. It makes no sense.

When I take a step, and then another, I can’t seem to stop. They’re cautious at first but then pick up speed.

I’m standing feet away from the tree line before I even realize what I’m doing. I look up at the sky and can’t help but smile at the way the moon shines down on me as the stars twinkle. Even though I’m trying to find what pulled my attention in the dark, it doesn’t feel like I’m alone.

It’s kind of strange, not feeling alone when I am. This afternoon I felt lonely even when I was standing right in front of Thatcher. The realization makes my heart clench.

Clearly, I built him up in my mind for far too long. He was rude and gruff when he didn’t need to be.

I mean, I was bringing him flowers. Who can be grumpy when they’re getting flowers delivered to them?

Thatcher Bosch, that’s who.

What a shame.

The sound of a twig snapping and leaves rustling on the forest floor has my attention snapping toward the sound. I squint, as if it will help matters, and stare into the space between the trees. The forest isn’t overly dense right at the edge of my property, but there are definitely places someone could hide.

When I’m about to call out, I bite my lip and stop myself. It’s one thing to come out here and try to figure out what caught my attention. It’s another to go and call out for a serail killer, or whoever is out here, like a foghorn.

No, thank you.

I might not watch horror movies, but I know enough about them to know calling attention to myself would be a stupid move.

I’m about to turn away when I hear a chuffing sound and freeze. For a second, I don’t even breathe.

And then I suck in a breath as a giant brown bear steps out from between the trees, his dark eyes locked on me. My mind races as I try and remember what you’re supposed to do when faced with a bear.

But there’s nothing. I don’t have a single thought in my head, at least not a helpful one. Remembering, randomly, how to make a frittata is the last thing I need to be recalling. And yet it’sblaring in my mind like I’m about to host a damn cooking show about brunch instead of being mauled by a giant bear.

I doubt that the fact that I’m standing on my property and haven’t breached the forest line is going to do a damn thing to save me right now.

Do I raise my arms and try to appear as big and threatening as possible? Do I just turn and run like I’m not standing in front of a predator who has a prey drive?

I want to curl up in a ball and weep, but I don’t. it’s not bravery holding me in place, it’s sheer fucking fear.

My breathing becomes choppy as I pant and wheeze a little. I swear the bear’s eyes turn concerned, which doesn’t make any sense. How could a bear possibly feel empathy or concern?

It’s not like we speak the same language or anything. The bear in front of me is a wild animal driven by primal instincts. I’m an idiot who left the warmth and security of my home because something caught my attention out of the corner of my eye.

The bear takes a deep breath and lets out a low rumble. It’s not a warning and it doesn’t make me want to run. How fucking strange.

As we stand there, facing each other and taking each other in, my body starts to relax and my fight or flight instinct evolves to include calming the fuck down and staying put, but not to fight. How fucking strange.

Maybe I’m still fantasizing about Thatcher and none of this is real. If only.

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