“Do you mind if we stay out here?” Micah asks, gesturing toward the bench. “That breeze feels good right now.”
It does feel good, and the camper is often stuffy. I go in to grab the first aid supplies and return to sit on the bench beside him.
His big body and bare skin make me want to touch them. Not as much in a sexy way as in a tender way.
I really don’t like that.
It’s not like me at all.
I’ve got to stop.
“I’ll leave as soon as you fix me up,” Micah says hoarsely. He’s staring straight ahead at the pile of pine branches. He’s tense in a way he rarely is.
“What?”
“I’ll leave. I was supposed to leave this morning. I was supposed to leave weeks ago. You’re obviously uncomfortable around me now. I can feel it coming off you in waves.”
“I’m not uncomfortable!” The objection is ridiculous. Nonsense. Of course I’m uncomfortable, and it’s no surprise that Micah sensed it.
But this is the thing—I’m not uncomfortable for the reasons he believes.
“I told you last night that I’d let you know if you need to leave in the morning,” I say at last. “Did I tell you to leave?”
“No. But there was a crisis, and the crisis is over now.”
I’ve finally pulled off the old wet and bloodied bandages, and I’m relieved to see that, though a piece of the scab has broken open, the wound is still healing clean. “Yeah, but it’s already midafternoon, and you really need to take it easy on this wound. You can stay for today.”
“And leave tomorrow?”
I have absolutely no idea how to answer that.
I don’t want him to leave, but it feels like I should.
“I’ll tell you in the morning.”
13
We restand recover from our work until dinnertime. Then we make a stew for dinner since that’s the way to make our meat and vegetables go the farthest. I add a can of scavenged beans into the mix, and the result is quite tasty.
The sun is setting in a weird, muted orange sky. The light filters through the branches of the surrounding trees, leading to dappled light on our campsite. Molly begged for dinner as usual and then disappeared into the woods for her nightly routine. Micah and I are still sitting beside the firepit.
“How does it feel?” I ask, gesturing toward his side. He put a T-shirt on over the bandages, and he looks perfectly normal and well right now.
Strong and real and handsome and familiar.
Human in a way that makes my belly twist.
“What? Oh, it’s fine. It hurt a little earlier, but I think it’s just because it broke open some. It’s fine now. No major damage.”
“That’s good.”
“Yeah.”
Our eyes meet across the firepit.
His eyes are dark but still recognizably blue, even in this light.
I don’t know why I like the looks of him so much, even after the secret he was keeping from me.
