We stare at each other. My brain is so blank I don’t think I could come up with words if I had to, and Gideon looks at me like I’m an animal he’s trying to classify. He runs one thumb over my lips, leans in, kisses me again. We kiss like that until we’re on our sides with no space between us, huddled on this twin mattress. He hasn’t removed his shirt and I haven’t put one on, but I like it. It makes me feel delicate, adored, like I’m being carefully displayed.
Gideon pulls the sleeping bag and blankets over us. He rests one hand on the naked skin of my waist as we kiss again, but doesn’t move it further.
I don’t know when we stop kissing and fall asleep, but we do.
* * *
I wake up alone,still topless, and under a mountain of blankets, the bright white light of snow-covered winter filtering through the curtains that look onto the front porch. Gideon’s sleeping bag is still crumpled at one end of the couch, and I blink at it a couple of times, trying to process several thoughts at once but instead they all get snarled into a big lump in my brain.
I settle for staring at the ceiling for a few minutes. It’s wood paneling, or maybe just wood, like everything else in this decidedly 1970s-feeling cabin. I wonder how old the cabin is, whether it was built then or if that was the last time someone redecorated. Was it always owned by the Forest Service? Did it originally belong to someone trying to make a living up here? Or maybe some grumpy loner who decided to be done with people and come live on a mountain?
There’s a faintclankas Gideon sets something on the stove, and I reflect for a minute on thatgrumpylonerthing. I guess I ruined his solitude, but based on the events of yesterday, I’m going to take a wild guess that he doesn’t mind too much.
I lay there for a few more minutes until I smell coffee, which I consider my cue to get up and look for my shirt. That’s too far for me to reach while still under the blankets, but Gideon’s sweater is pretty close, so I grab that just as Gideon walks into the room.
He stops when he sees I’m awake. I’ve got the blankets up over my chest, but my shoulders are out, arms already through his sweater sleeves.
“Oh,” he says, his voice quiet in the still morning. “You’re awake.”
“What time is it?” I ask, as if it matters, but I need to say something.
“Almost eight,” he says. “I figured we’d have some breakfast and then head back out for more grouse.”
I pull his sweater over my head, which might flash some boob. I don’t know. I’m pretty sure it doesn’t matter at this point.
“Do I smell coffee?” I ask, pulling my braid out of his sweater, then pulling it down around me as I shove the rest of the blankets off. I’ve still got two pairs of pants on—leggings and sweats—and between the woodstove and the blankets and the sweater, I’m a million degrees.
“I made some,” he says. “Figured I’d fry up the last of the bacon before it goes bad.”
“Bacon takes forever to go bad.”
“Then I’ll fry it up for no reason.”
“Because you want someis reason enough, you know,” I tell him, kicking blankets away and standing. Gideon just shrugs and almost smiles, all gruff and adorable and I remember the way he kissed the inside of my wrist last night, in the near-dark.
“Am I correct in assuming you’d also like some?” he asks.
I reach my arms overhead, stretch, and yawn. It makes a noise like a chupacabra crossed with a demon bat, probably, and Gideon goes faintly pink across his cheekbones, hands stuffed into his pockets.
“Yes, of course,” I say, and hook my thumbs in the waistband of my top layer of pants. “You know my position on—”
I pull the sweatpants down. Gideon turns away and walks into the doorframe.
“Ow,fuck,” he mutters, and before I can ask if he’s okay, he’s back in the kitchen and I’ve got sweatpants around my ankles, staring after him. For half a second, I consider being offended, but that seems dumb, so I settle on being… charmed, I think.
“I’m wearing leggings,” I say as I walk into the kitchen a minute later, the smell of bacon already wafting through the cabin.
He glances at me, then back at the stove.
“I know,” he says, cheeks and ears still pink, and you know what? Fuck it. Fuck letting him be uncertain and awkward about whateverthisis, this thing where we make out and then act like we didn’t and then get half-naked and act like we didn’t. Time to do what I want and deal with the consequences.
I walk over and wrap my arms around his waist from behind, hooking my chin over his shoulder. Gideon freezes. I almost apologize and pull away because clearly this isn’t it, clearly he hates this, but then he relaxes into me.
Tentatively, so tentatively I’m not sure it’s happening at first, he puts one hand over mine. My heartflutters. I press my luck and give him a quick kiss behind his ear, and Gideon squirms.
“Smells good,” I say.
“It’sbacon,” he says, and I roll my eyes even though he can’t see me.
