Page 5 of Shelter Me, Sawyer

The thought comes unbidden, selfish and certain. I should feel guilty about it. Should be planning how to get her back to civilization as soon as the weather breaks. Instead, I find myself moving around the cabin like I'm preparing for her to stay.

Truth is, I've been living like a ghost up here for a long damn time. I made peace with the quiet years ago. With the loneliness that felt more like freedom than isolation.

Now, I find myself straightening the books on the shelf, making tea I don't drink, and stoking the fire just to keep her warm.

And when she stirs in her sleep with a little whimper that sounds almost like pain, I'm already moving. Already crossing the room to crouch beside her, brushing a curl away from her cheek before I can think better of it.

Her skin is warm and soft under my rough fingertips.

Her eyes flutter open, dazed and wide in the firelight.

"Hey," she whispers, voice thick with sleep. "Did I fall asleep?"

"Yeah." My voice comes out rougher than I intended.

"Did I…" She touches her mouth self-consciously. "Drool?"

I fight a smile, losing the battle. "Little bit."

She groans and flops back against the cushion. "Kill me now."

"Storm's getting worse," I say instead, because the alternative is telling her how beautiful she looks rumpled and sleepy in my living room. "You’ll have to stay the night.”

"I figured." She sits up slowly, tugging the quilt closer around her shoulders. Her eyes catch mine, something soft and unguarded flickering in them. Trust, maybe. Or curiosity. Or something more dangerous than both.

"Where should I sleep?" she asks.

The question hangs in the air between us, loaded with possibilities. I hesitate, weighing options. "Take the bed," I say. "I'll stay out here."

She shakes her head immediately. "No way. I'm not kicking you out of your own bed. I'm fine here, really."

"You're not kicking me out," I mutter. "Wasn't gonna sleep anyway."

It's true. Sleep's been elusive lately, even before she arrived. Too many thoughts. Too much awareness of everything I've been missing without realizing it.

Thunder rolls overhead, closer this time, and she flinches. A small movement, quickly controlled, but I notice.

"You scared of storms?" I ask.

She lifts one shoulder in a shrug. "It's just… everything feels louder up here. More intense."

It does. The mountain amplifies everything. Sound. Silence. Longing.

I don't say anything. Just move toward the bedroom, grab the extra quilt from the cedar chest, and spread it on the floor by the fireplace.

"What are you doing?" she asks.

"I’ll sleep here. Floor's closer to the heat.”

She looks at the makeshift bed I'm creating. At the dancing flames. Then at me, something shifting in her expression.

"I don't mind sharing the bed," she says softly. "If you don't."

My jaw clenches. My body responds before my brain can stop it—blood heating, pulse quickening, every nerve ending suddenly awake.

I should say no. Should maintain boundaries. Should remember that she's a stranger who stumbled into my world without meaning to.

Should keep in mind that I’m a warm-blooded man who’s dying to touch her… to claim her.

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