Page 10 of Shelter Me, Sawyer

But my heart isn't listening to logic anymore.

Careful not to wake him, I ease out of bed. I find my clothes—now dry—folded neatly on a chair. Of course he folded them. He’s so thoughtful. So…perfect.

I slip outside to the front porch, wrapping myself in one of his flannel shirts that hangs by the door. The morning air is crisp and clean. Birds are singing in the trees like they're celebrating the storm's passing.

I sit on the steps, knees pulled to my chest, trying to make sense of the tangle of emotions in my head. Trying to figure out what comes next.

I don't hear him approach, but I feel him. The way the air shifts. The way my skin suddenly aches to be touched.

Sawyer settles beside me on the step, barefoot and shirtless, holding two steaming mugs of coffee. He hands me one without a word, and I wrap my fingers around the ceramic, grateful for the warmth.

We sit like that for a while, watching the mist rise from the valley below. Just... being.

He clears his throat. "You thinking about leaving?"

The question hangs between us, loaded with everything we haven't said. Everything we're both afraid to voice.

I stare at the steam curling off my coffee, searching for the right words. "I don't know."

He nods like he expected that answer. "I live alone for a reason, Scarlett," he says quietly. "I didn't think I needed anything else."

I glance at him sideways. His jaw is tight, eyes fixed on the horizon like he's trying to see the future written in the tree line.

"But then you showed up," he continues. "And I started thinking maybe the mountain knew something I didn't."

"The mountain?"

He turns to look at me fully then, and the intensity in his gaze steals my breath.

"There's an old saying around here," he says. "The locals believe the mountain has its own code. Its own way of doing things."

"What kind of code?"

"You stay alone," he says slowly, "until the mountain sends you… what you need."

I swallow hard. "You think it sent me?"

He shrugs, but there's nothing casual about the gesture. "You think you found me by accident? That the trail washed out exactly where it needed to, and the storm hit exactly when it did? You ended up exactly where you were supposed to be."

The logic is insane. Completely irrational.

And yet...

"I wasn't looking for you," I whisper.

"I know."

"I came up here to find some peace. Some quiet. Some space to figure out my life."

"And did you? Find what you were looking for?"

I look at him. At the strong line of his jaw. At the careful way he's holding himself, like he's preparing for me to break his heart.

"I found something," I admit. "I'm just not sure it's what I came looking for."

"But?"

"But maybe it's what I needed."

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