Page 11 of Shelter Me, Sawyer

Something shifts in his expression. Hope, maybe? Or fear? Maybe a little of both?

"I know this is crazy," I continue, the words tumbling out before I can stop them. "I know it doesn't make sense. We barely know each other. This is moving way too fast. I have a life there, responsibilities..."

"But?"

I reach for his hand, threading our fingers together. His grip is strong, certain, like a buoy in choppy water.

"But I've never felt anything like this before," I say. "Like I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be. With exactly who I'm supposed to be with."

His thumb traces across my knuckles, sending shivers up my arm.

"You don't have to decide today," he says. "Storm's passed, but there'll be others. Winter's coming. I won’t lie, it gets hard up here when the snow hits."

"Are you trying to scare me away?"

"I'm trying to be honest." He meets my eyes. "I'm not easy, Scarlett. I don't talk much. I don't like many people. I've built my whole life around being alone."

"But?"

A slow smile stretches across his face—the first real smile I've seen from him.

"But now that I’ve met you, I never want to be alone again."

My heart does that fluttering thing again, like it's trying to escape my chest and fly straight to him.

"What would that look like?" I ask.

"I don't know," he admits. "We'd figure it out as we go."

I think about my apartment in the city. My job that pays well but leaves me feeling empty. My friends who wouldn't understand this choice in a million years. The life I've built that looks perfect on paper but feels like a cage.

Then I think about waking up in Sawyer's arms. About the peace I felt in his cabin. About the way he looks at me like I'm something precious.

"I'm scared," I whisper.

"You never have to be scared with me.”

I lean into his warmth, and he wraps his arm around me, pulling me close.

"Stay," he says against my hair. "At least for a while. See how it feels."

And looking out at the mountains, breathing in the clean air, feeling more alive than I have in years...

“Okay.”

Seven

Sawyer

Threeweekslater,I'mchopping wood behind the cabin when I hear her laughing.

The sound stops me mid-swing, axe suspended in the air, heart skipping a beat in my chest. Because Scarlett's laughter has become my favorite sound in the world—better than morning birdsong, better than rain on the roof, better than the crackling of a fire on a cold night.

She's on the phone with someone from her old life. Her sister, maybe, or a friend trying to talk sense into her. I can only hear one side of the conversation, but her responses tell me everything I need to know.

"No, I'm fine. Better than fine, actually."

"I know it sounds crazy, but—"

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