Fuck.Please tell me someone is here.
"Hello?" I call out, as if yelling will make a difference. The silence that answers has me thumping my forehead against the wood. I pinch my eyes shut and consider waiting it out. If the owner is somewhere else, they'll have to come back eventually.
Or—what if this is one of those places for hikers to crash at? Maybe the lights are left on to help guide people like me?
I'm desperate enough to believe something so silly. That's what has me reaching for the handle, hoping it'll be unlocked.
A gasp leaves my lips when the door pops open.
Am I actually onto something here?
I push the door open, too desperate to seek protection, so I don't weigh my decision as I should. The smell of cedar and woodsmoke hits me like a hug I didn't know I needed. It’s so pleasant; more tears are brought to the corners of my eyes. These are out of pure relief.
This is going to be wrong on so many levels, but I can’t help it. I’ll give whoever whatever they want if it means I can survive through the night out of the storm.
Stumbling inside, the first thing I do is kick off my shoes. They're muddied and soaked all the way through, and compared to the other two pairs of thick, massive boots lined neatly, they stick out like a sore thumb. Sliding my backpack off, it falls with a heavy thump.
Clutching my soaked socks in my grip to avoid leaving too much of a wet trail, I limp deeper into the cabin, my eyes darting to every corner. The cabin is dead silent, save for the crackle of the hearth. By the time the fireplace snags my attention, the flames are barely flickering, reduced to a bed of glowing, angry red coals.
I hesitate, then grab a heavy log, throwing it in and watching the flames lick greedily up the wood. The heat bakes against my shins, but my clothes are still glued to my skin, heavy and ice-cold.
I look around once more, my eyes snagging on the few different doorways, then down at my dripping outfit. I need to get cleaned up. And I need to get out of these clothes right now, even if it means risking a run-in with a giant whomight not appreciate finding a soaking-wet stranger invading his sanctuary.
Testing my weight on my ankle, I hiss through my teeth and hobble toward the nearest hallway, aiming for what I pray is a bathroom.
The hallway is narrow and dark, soon filled with light after the switch is flipped. I'm actively trying not to leave a puddle, but my eyes are drawn to a small cluster of dark wooden frames hanging on the timber wall.
I freeze when I notice all four of them contain the same man.
Oh. Oh, no.
One sunlit photograph is a man who looks like he was sculpted out of the very mountain I’m currently dying on. He’s smiling at the lens, his hand occupied with a water bottle.
He’s massive. Even in a still frame, his broad shoulders and thick chest dominate the space, making his hiking gear look far too small. He’s laughing at something off-camera, his jawline sharp enough to cut glass and covered in a layer of stubble.
I swallow thickly as I look at another one. Below, the same man, a little older, stands with a woman, his near-twin. The same thick, messy black hair covers both of their heads. He’s got her picked up beneath one arm.
My throat goes completely dry.
I was expecting a hermit, not a model I’d find on the cover of a nature magazine. Oh, I think I’ve made a mistake.
Suddenly, my heart is doing a frantic, panicked stutter in my chest. I glance down at myself. I’m a freaking mess through and through.
If he walks through that door right now, I won't just look like a criminal—I'll look like a bridge troll who crawled out of the swamp to haunt him.
As pitiful as I look, it may help me in the long run; I should clean up a little before he appears. By the time that rolls around,maybe I'll have my story straight. Otherwise, I'm going to sound like a stuttering fool. The last thing I'll need is to add another reason to embarrass myself in front of a man way out of my league.
Chapter two
Dawson
There's a stranger inside my home. It's easy to see with the muddied sneaker and sack at the entrance.
Must've forgotten to lock my cabin in the rush of getting to Emily. Leaving to deal with my little sister's power outage has earned me a burglar in return.
Silently shutting the door behind me and trapping the sounds of the storm outside, I reach behind me out of habit, frowning when I realize my gun isn't on me.
Didn't think I'd need it when Emily called, panicking. Now I'm worried someone else may have found it.
