Then I see the laptop sitting on the side table.
My fingers itch to open it. I've been thinking about my book, I started a few days ago. The words have been coming easier than I expected, like they've been building up inside me for years, just waiting for the chance to get out.
I sit back down, pull the laptop onto my knees, and open it. The document loads, and I read over the last paragraph I wrote. It's not my life, but there's pieces of my pain woven through it. The betrayal, the feeling of being trapped, the desperation.
But I'm transforming it into something else. Something I control. Which is what I didn't have when I was in that field. Taking control of my life is what I've been doing since the moment I stepped into this cabin. It's given me the safety to do what I'm doing now.
I start typing.
The words flow, and I lose myself in the story. Emma is running through a dark forest, chased by someone she thought she could trust. The tension is thick, the fear palpable. I can feel her heart racing, hear her gasping breaths, see the shadows closing in around her, as I type out the scenario.
I'm so deep in the scene that when the door suddenly flies open, I scream.
Chase screams too, his hand going to his chest.
Biscuit, startled by both of us, shoots off the couch and dives under it, her tail puffed up and fanned out.
For a second, we just stare at each other, both of us wide-eyed and breathing hard.
Then Chase starts laughing. "Jesus Christ, Paisley. I thought something was wrong."
"I was writing," I say, my heart still pounding. "You scared me."
"You scared me too." He pulls off his hat, running his hand through his hair. Snow is melting on his shoulders. "I heard you scream and thought..."
He doesn't finish the sentence, but I know what he thought. I set the laptop aside and stand, crossing to him.
"I'm okay," I tell him. "I was just really into the scene I was writing."
His eyes search mine. "How did you do? Being alone?"
I take a breath, and then I tell him the truth. "I was nervous at first. But then I realized something. I never wanted to kill myself, Chase. What I wanted was out of the situation I was in. And I'm out now. I'm here. With you. And while I'm still really upset about losing my baby, I can see that I'm in a better place. Both mentally and physically."
Something in his face softens. "Yeah?"
"Yeah." I reach up and touch his cold cheek. "I'm glad you trusted me to stay here by myself."
"I'm glad I did too." He pulls me into his arms, and I go willingly, pressing my face against his chest. He smells like cold air and horse and leather.
When he tips my chin up and kisses me, it's different than before. There's relief in it, and gratitude, and a feeling deeper that neither of us has named yet.
But we will. Eventually.
For now, this is enough.
Twenty
Chase
Christmas
The cabin smells like vanilla and cinnamon, and I'm pretty sure I have flour in places flour should never be.
"How did you get it in your hair?" Paisley asks, laughing as she reaches up to brush it out.
"I don't know. It just happened." I look down at the counter, which is covered in cookie cutouts and icing in about six different colors. "I thought cookies were supposed to be simple."
"They are simple. You're just..." she pauses, grinning, "special."
