"Hard to forget." I turn my head to catch his eye, finding warmth and mischief there. "You carried me through a blizzard and then—"
"And then you turned my whole world upside down."
The words are simple, matter-of-fact, but they hit me with the same force they did two years ago.
Joel doesn't make grand declarations. When he says something, he means it completely, and the quiet certainty in his voice makes my chest tight with emotion.
"Good upside down or bad upside down?" I ask, though I already know the answer.
"The best kind." His arms tighten around me, and I feel his lips brush against my temple. "The kind that makes a man realize he was only half alive before."
We sit in comfortable silence, watching the rain transform the familiar landscape. The trees look darker, more mysterious in the gray light. The creek that runs behind the cabin has swollen to twice its normal size, the sound of rushing water audible even from here.
"I never thought I'd love rain this much," I admit. "Growing up in Arizona, rain was this rare, special thing. Here, it's just part of the rhythm."
"Everything's part of the rhythm here. Rain, snow, seasons changing, wildlife moving through their cycles." Joel's hand finds mine, fingers intertwining. "You've become part of it too."
"Have I?"
"From that first day. The mountain claimed you just as much as I did."
The possessiveness in his tone sends familiar heat spiraling through me. Two years, and he still talks about claiming me like it's the most natural thing in the world. Like I belong to him as surely as this land does, as surely as he belongs to me.
"Joel?"
"Mmm?"
"The rain's getting heavier."
"It is." But he makes no move to go inside, seemingly content to hold me while the storm intensifies around us.
Thunder rolls across the valley, closer this time, and fat drops of rain begin to splash onto the porch despite the overhang. The temperature has dropped, and I shiver slightly in just the flannel shirt.
"Now we go inside," Joel says, standing and pulling me with him.
The cabin feels almost tropical after the cool dampness of the porch. Joel closes the door and turns to find me watching him, suddenly hyperaware of the way his pajama pants sit on his hips, the way his hair has gotten slightly damp from the mist.
"Better?" he asks, stepping closer.
"Much." But my voice comes out breathier than I intended, and I see the moment Joel notices the change in my tone.
His eyes darken, that familiar predatory focus settling over his features. "You cold?"
I shake my head, unable to look away from his mouth.
"Then why are you shivering?"
He knows exactly why I'm shivering. Can probably see it in the way I'm looking at him, the way my breathing has gone shallow. Joel has always been able to read my body like terrain, mapping every response and cataloguing it for future reference.
"Maybe because you're looking at me like that," I whisper.
"Like what?" But he's moving closer as he asks, backing me toward the wall with deliberate steps.
"Like you're thinking about doing something that has nothing to do with coffee or photography or fixing frames."
"Smart woman." His hands settle on my hips, thumbs stroking over the soft flannel. "What gave it away?"
"The fact that you've been watching me all morning like I'm something you want to devour."
