Which maybe it does.
Because here’s the thing about almost dying that nobody tells you in your safety training.
It makes you really fucking aware of being alive.
Every nerve ending in my body is screaming and I need to feel something other than terror, need to taste something other than fear.
He makes this sound against my mouth. Surprise mixed with hunger and something darker that makes everything inside me clench.
His arms come around me, one hand fisting in my hair, the other gripping my hip through all the layers of thermal wear and his jacket and my coat.
We stumble backward. My butt hits the arm of the sectional couch hard enough to hurt but I don’t care because his hands are everywhere, pulling me closer, and--
Oh god this is happening.
“I was so worried about you,” he breathes against my mouth. “The cougar. Your hands--”
I kiss him harder to shut him up because I can’t think about that right now. Can’t think about what would have happened if the cougar had decided to attack instead of just watching. Can’t think about the fact that we have to go back outside eventually to clear that stupid satellite dish on the stupid roof while that thing is still prowling around.
Can’t think about anything except the way he tastes like coffee and something uniquely him and the way his stubble scrapes against my jaw and the way he’s holding me like I’m precious and breakable and his all at once.
When we finally break apart, we’re both gasping for air like we just ran a marathon. Which, given the thigh-deep snow we just waded through, isn’t so far from the truth.
His forehead drops to mine. His hands are still gripping my hips, thumbs tracing circles through the fabric and making me absolutely insane.
“I thought--” He stops. Starts again. Opens his mouth like he’s going to say something, then closes it.
I recognize that look. It’s the same one I’ve been wearing for days now. Well, since last night, specifically. Since that bathroom when I realized I was head over heels in love with him and decided not to say it out loud because words make things terrifying and real.
It’s the look of someone carrying around a truth that’s too big to speak. Like he’s standing on a cliff edge deciding whether to jump.
“I don’t know when it happened,” he says finally, voice cracking slightly. “Maybe when you steadied my hands fixing the generator. Maybe when you refused to let me go alone today. Maybe the first time you hummed while reading.”
Oh god.
Oh god, he’s going to say it.
Those three words...
He takes a breath. “Look, what I’m trying to say is... this matters.Youmatter. More than anything has in years.”
The words hang between us, heavy with everything he’s not saying.
I can feel it in how he’s holding me like I’m precious.
Can see it in his devastated expression.
The actual words areright friggin’ there, hovering just beneath the surface.
I love you.
I’m in love with you.
But he doesn’t say them.
And I’m not sure how I feel about that.
I don’t say them either, of course.
