Page 119 of Fire and Silk
The words settle in my chest, heavy and warm. I swallow.
Then he says, “Sing something.”
I laugh against his neck. “My voice is horrible.”
“How horrible?”
I hum low, then croak out the start of a tune. It breaks in the middle. He laughs. I laugh harder. My chest shakes against his back, my breath fogging the space between us.
“You weren’t lying,” he says.
“Shut up,” I grin, and start again, louder . It’s worse. A note veers sideways and dies.
He stumbles on purpose, like it wounded him.
****
His fingers are warm in mine as he guides me over the uneven path. Our steps sink softly into the leaf-covered floor, branches shifting above us, parting just enough to let scattered light spill down.
We step into a clearing.
It opens slowly, like a breath. The trees pull back. The sky, pale blue now, watches from above. Ferns edge the perimeter, and the earth is dry underfoot—damp at the edges but solid here.
He lets go of my hand.
“We’re in the safe part now,” he says quietly. “No cliffs. No animals we can’t hear coming.”
I exhale, the tension in my back softening just slightly. “What now?”
“Tomorrow,” he says, scanning the edges of the trees, “I’ll find a way out. There’s a gravel path about an hour south. I’ll take us through it when the light comes back.”
I nod . “I trust you.”
He turns toward a log near the edge of the clearing and pats it gently. “Sit.”
I do.
He shrugs off his suit jacket and steps closer, draping it over my shoulders with a softness that makes my throat tighten. His fingers brush my collarbone as he adjusts it, then he moves away, crouching down near the edge of the clearing.
“What are you looking for?” I ask.
“Stones,” he says without looking back. “I’m going to start a fire.”
I wrap the jacket tighter around myself and watch.
He moves methodically, picking through the underbrush, gathering small stones with a sharp eye. Then dry twigs. Splintered wood. He builds the fire slowly, arranging the materials in a careful pattern, his hands sure even as dusk thickens around us.
The click of stone against stone breaks the quiet.
Then a spark.
It catches. The fire flickers to life, low and crackling. He leans back on his heels and watches it grow until the warmth spreads far enough to touch my knees.
He sits beside me.
Without a word, I lean into him. My arms fold around his waist, and his wrap over my shoulders. I press my cheek against the base of his neck.
“How do you know all this?” I ask.
