"Stop." The word comes out cracked.
"I won't." He cups my face in his hands, forcing me to look at him. "You need to hear this. You're not too much. You could never be too much. I spent three years in silence and I never once thought I was missing anything until you showed up andstarted talking at me nonstop about algorithms and woodpile aesthetics and the superiority of oatmeal."
A wet laugh escapes me. "I never said oatmeal was superior."
"You implied it." His thumbs brush away the tears I couldn't stop from falling. "I'm not going anywhere, Sadie. Not unless you tell me to. And even then, I might put up a fight."
"I have a life in San Diego." I'm grasping at straws now, throwing up obstacles to see if any of them stick. "A career. Responsibilities. I can't just abandon everything because I met a mountain man with pretty eyes."
"I'm not asking you to abandon anything."
"Then what are you asking?"
"I'm asking you to stay. Not forever. Not right now. Just... don't run." He rests his forehead against mine. "Figure out what you want. Take whatever time you need. But don't leave because you're scared. Leave because you've decided this isn't what you want. There's a difference."
I close my eyes. His breath is warm on my face. His hands are steady on my cheeks. He's solid and certain and everything I've never had, and it terrifies me.
"I don't know how to do this," I whisper.
"Neither do I."
"That's not reassuring."
"It's honest." He pulls back enough to meet my eyes. "I don't have a roadmap. I don't have a plan. All I know is that when I imagine tomorrow, you're in it. And the day after that. And the day after that. For the first time in three years, I can imagine a future, and you're the reason."
My heart is pounding so hard I can feel it in my throat.
"What if it doesn't work?" My voice is small. "What if we try and it falls apart and we both end up hurt?"
"Then we'll be hurt. But at least we'll have tried." His grip tightens slightly. "I'd rather have you for a month and lose you than never have you at all. Wouldn't you?"
The question cuts through all my defenses. All my carefully constructed walls and logical objections and fear-driven excuses.
Would I rather have him and risk the pain, or protect myself and never know what we could have been?
The answer is obvious. It's been obvious since he carried me out of that snowbank.
"Yes," I whisper. "I'd rather have you."
"Then stay." Simple. Direct. A request, not a demand. "Stay and let's figure this out together."
I don't answer with words. I kiss him instead, pouring everything I can't say into the press of my lips against his. He responds immediately, one hand sliding into my hair, the other wrapping around my waist, pulling me against him like he's afraid I'll disappear.
When we finally break apart, we're both breathing hard.
"I'm still scared," I admit.
"I know. Me too."
"And I still don't know how to cook rabbit."
He laughs, a low rumble that I feel in my chest. "I'll teach you."
"I'm probably going to be bad at it."
"Probably."
"And I'm going to keep talking too much and making your cabin chaotic and generally disrupting your hermit lifestyle."
