"Actually," he says when he catches his breath, "I brought you here because you mentioned wanting to photograph the Milky Way. But now that you mention it..."
He pulls me closer, and I go willingly, settling against his side as his arm wraps around me. I tilt my face up for his kiss, but first take a moment to capture a few shots of him looking up at the stars, his profile strong against the starlit sky.
When I review the images later, I know they'll be among my favorites—not just because they're technically good, but because they capture something true about him, and about this moment.
As I set my camera aside and curl into him, I'm struck by a sudden realization: it's been less than twenty-four hours since I stumbled, lost and afraid, into his territory. One day. And yet I feel like a completely different person than the anxious, people-pleasing girl who was terrified of disappointing anyone.
Here, under the vast sky with Wyatt's steady heartbeat beneath my ear, I feel like myself. Not the self I've been pretending to be, but someone real and alive and present. I gaze up suddenly feeling like I could reach up and grab myself a star.
It should scare me, how quickly everything has changed. Instead, I feel like I've finally found solid ground after years of drifting.
One day with him, and something fundamental has shifted inside me.
I wonder what tomorrow will bring.
4
WYATT
Five Days Later
I've always lived by the seasons. Spring for planting, summer for building, autumn for harvesting, winter for repairing. My life flows in predictable cycles that I've come to appreciate for their regularity. But now, watching Emma sleep beside me, her blonde hair fanned across my pillow, her breathing deep and even in the pre-dawn light, I realize I've entered a season I've never experienced before.
Five days. She's been here five days, and already the cabin feels different. Feels like something I never knew was missing has slotted into place. The sensation terrifies me.
I ease out of bed, careful not to wake her. She mumbles something, reaching for the warm space I've vacated, and I place my hand gently on her head until she settles. This small gesture of comfort feels as natural as breathing, though I've never done anything like it before.
Outside, I split wood, trying to work through the knot of anxiety forming in my chest. I find myself glancing back at the cabin every few minutes, checking for movement at the windows. This constant awareness of her whereabouts is new and unsettling. Before Emma stumbled into my life, I could go entire days without speaking to another human. Now I can't go five minutes without wondering where she is, what she's doing.
I'm becoming tethered to her, and that thought sends a spike of fear through me.
She won't stay. She can't. She's young—over a decade my junior—with her whole life ahead of her. A college education, a career in photography if she's brave enough to pursue it. And she is brave, braver than she knows. She doesn't belong in these mountains, isolated from the world with a man who's chosen to leave it all behind.
The axe bites deep into a log, splitting it cleanly. I wipe sweat from my forehead and look up at the cabin again. Emma stands at the window, watching me, a mug of coffee in her hands. When our eyes meet, she smiles—that unguarded, genuine smile that transforms her entire face—and raises the mug in greeting.
Something lurches in my chest. Damn!
I'll make memories, I decide. Store them up like firewood for the winter. When she leaves—and she will leave—I'll have enough to last me the rest of my life.
"I'm going fishing,"I tell her after breakfast. Emma looks up from where she's examining her camera settings at the table, a slight furrow between her brows.
"Can I come?"
Part of me—a surprisingly large part—wants to say yes. But I need space to think, to get my head straight about what's happening between us.
"Not today. The trail's too steep, and we need protein for dinner." I soften the refusal by pressing my lips to the top of her head as I pass behind her chair. "Take some pictures while I'm gone. The light's good today, a little cloudy”
She leans back against me for a moment, tilting her head to meet my eyes. "Bring back something impressive, mountain man. I'm hungry."
The casual way she touches me, speaks to me—as if we've been doing this for years instead of days—nearly breaks my resolve to leave. I tug a strand of her hair gently. "I'll see what I can do."
The familiar routine of gathering my fishing gear steadies me. This is what I know—practical tasks with clear purposes. Not this messy tangle of feelings that Emma has awakened.
At the door, I pause. "Stay close to the cabin."
"Yes, sir." She salutes, then breaks into that laugh I'm becoming addicted to.
I hesitate, then cross the room in three strides, tilt her face up, and kiss her thoroughly. When I pull back, her eyes are wide and dark.
