Sawyer raises an eyebrow. “Does this mean you’re not going to kill me anymore?”

“Who knows? The night is still young,” I tell him with a shrug. “But first, we need to figure out how to survive the next ten to twelve hours without freezing to death or going insane.”

“How cold does it get in here at night?”

I look around the windowless room, trying to remember if there are any heating vents. “I honestly don’t know. I’ve never spent the night in here before, surprisingly enough.”

“Well, there’s a first time for everything.” He starts moving boxes around, creating a small clearing near the back wall. “At least we’ve got shelter.”

“Shelter surrounded by dead things staring at us.”

“It helps to think of them as very quiet roommates.”

I sigh. “You’re ridiculous.”

“But I’m growing on you, right?” he asks with a charming grin.

I ignore that question and start looking through the boxes, hoping to find something useful. “Are you hungry? I think I have some granola bars in my desk, but obviously that’s not happening.”

“I’m fine for now. What about you?”

“I could eat.” My stomach chooses that moment to growl loudly, as if to emphasize the point. “I was planning to heat up leftover Pad Thai when I got home.”

“Pad Thai sounds amazing right now.”

“Ha!” I say triumphantly, pulling out what looks like a large rolled-up hide. It’s some kind of animal skin rug, a display piece for one of the historical exhibits. It’s thick and surprisingly soft.

Sawyer lights up at the sight of the hide. “Great find, Reese!”

I shake it out. It’s large enough for both of us, but only barely.

“We are going to share that, right?” Sawyer asks, narrowing his eyes at me when he sees me hesitate.

“I don’t know. That seems awfully intimate.”

“Would you rather I freeze?” He shakes his head. “You know what, don’t answer that.”

“I’ll give you a spot on this rug only when the situation gets dire, okay?”

I don’t want to be rude, but come on. Sharing the thing with Sawyer could lead to… I don’t know. A brush of our fingers or something. I’m not ready for that. I think.

I spread out the soft rug and settle onto it, pulling the edges around myself like a fortress.

“So,” I say, trying to lead the attention away from the fact that I’m hogging the only warm thing in here, “tell me about this moose situation.”

He grins. “You really want to know?”

“We’ve got time.”

“Fair point.” He leans back against the wall. “It was last spring, during a solo hike up near Mount Hartley. I was taking pictures of this waterfall when I heard this crashing sound through the trees. Figured it was just a deer or something, so I kept going. Then, this bull moose comes charging out of the underbrush, scaring me to death. I barely had time to scramble up the nearest tree before he started pacing around underneath it like he was planning to wait me out.”

“How long did he stay?”

“Six hours. I timed it.” Sawyer shakes his head. “I kept thinking he’d get bored and wander off, but this moose had nothing better to do with his day than keep me prisoner. First, I got bored out of my mind. Then, I ate my entire day’s worth of trail mix, took approximately two hundred photos of tree bark, and had a very one-sided conversation with my new moose friend about the weather. I called him Maurice the moose.”

I can’t help but laugh at the mental image. Something about the way he tells the story, with genuine humor instead of tryingto make himself sound heroic, makes me see him differently. Most guys would have embellished it, made themselves the hero who outsmarted the dangerous wildlife. But Sawyer makes it funny.

“What about you?” he asks. “Any wildlife encounters that didn’t end with you safely behind a desk?”