Micah rises in one fluid motion, still not looking at me.
He disappears into the bathroom, the door closing with quiet finality. I stare at the ceiling, my body still tingling from his touch, my heart aching with confused longing.
What is wrong with me? The man has given me shelter, protection, a chance at survival and I’m jeopardizing it all with inappropriate feelings?
Feelings.The word settles like lead in my stomach. Because that’s what these are, aren’t they? Not just physical attraction, not just gratitude for his kindness. Somewhere in these days of shared space and gentle consideration, I’ve begun to develop real feelings for Micah Hunt.
The realization terrifies me more than any threat of violence.
Feelings are dangerous.
Feelings make you vulnerable.
Feelings make you take risks, make you trust when you shouldn’t.
Feelings are what got me trapped with Lucas in the first place.
But this is different, isn’t it? Micah has never tried to control me, never raised his voice or his hand. He treats me with consistent respect, considers my comfort, protects me without demanding anything in return. Even now, when desire clearly burned in his eyes, he pulled away instead of taking advantage.
The bathroom door opens, and Micah emerges. He moves to the kitchen area without looking at me, his movements precise and controlled as he starts the coffee maker. The distance he’s putting between us feels both physical and emotional.
I sit up slowly, drawing the quilt around myself like armor. Powder jumps onto the bed, butting her head against my hand in greeting. I scratch behind her ears, grateful for the simple affection.
“I should check the perimeter.” Micah’s voice sounds forced. “Make sure the snow hasn’t damaged any of the security sensors.”
I nod, not trusting my voice. He grabs a flannel shirt and puts it on before slipping into his coat and boots. He strides to the door, his need to escape almost palpable. The door closes behind him with a quiet click that somehow hurts more than any slam.
Alone in the cabin, I press my face into my hands and try to steady my breathing. Everything feels wrong now—the bed too empty, the air too still, my skin too cold.
What have I done?
The coffee maker gurgles, oblivious to my distress. Outside, snow falls in lazy flakes, adding another layer of isolation to our already secluded sanctuary. My fingers trace my lips, remembering how close we came to crossing that final line.
Would it have been so terrible? To let him kiss me? To explore this connection that’s been building between us? But even as I think it, I know the answer. We’re in an impossible situation—hiding from the law, from the consequences of Lucas’s death. The last thing we need is to complicate it further with whatever this is between us.
Besides, Micah clearly regrets the moment of weakness. He’s probably out there right now, cursing himself for nearly kissing his dead son’s wife. The thought sends a fresh wave of pain through my chest.
I force myself to get up, to go through the motions of my morning routine. The bathroom still smells faintly of Micah—pine and leather, the scent that’s become synonymous with safety in my mind. I avoid looking in the mirror as I brush my teeth, not wanting to see the confusion and longing I know shows on my face.
When I emerge, dressed in another of his oversized flannel shirts and a pair of leggings, Micah has returned—the fire stoked and fresh logs added. He stands at the kitchen counter, pouring coffee into two mugs. His movements give nothing away of his thoughts.
“Thank you,” I murmur as he hands me a mug, careful not to let our fingers brush.
He nods once, then moves to the armchair with his own coffee. Message received. Whatever almost happened this morning won’t be happening again.
I curl up on the bed crisscross style, wrapping both hands around my mug for warmth. Powder appears and settles in my lap, purring contentedly. At least someone isn’t uncomfortable with showing me affection.
I take a sip of coffee, letting the bitter warmth ground me in reality. This is fine. It’s better this way. Micah pulled back before we made a mistake we couldn’t take back. I should be grateful.
So why does my heart feel like it’s breaking?
A log shifts in the fireplace, sending sparks dancing upward. The flames cast flickering shadows across Micah’s face as he stares into the fire, lost in his own thoughts. Even now, even with this new awkwardness between us, I can’t help admiring the strong lines of his profile, the silver threading through his dark hair, the quiet strength he radiates.
Stop it.He’s made his position clear.
But my traitorous heart won’t listen. It keeps remembering the tenderness in his touch, the way his eyes darkened when theyfell to my lips, how safe I felt in his arms. Memories I should lock away but can’t seem to let go of.
The snow continues to fall outside the cabin windows. Each snowflake whispers possibilities—both beautiful and dangerous. Like the almost-kiss we shared, like the feelings growing in my heart, like the way Micah’s presence makes me feel both more and less than I am.