I should text him.
But what would I say?I have our blankets ready.
Ugh. I toss the phone across the floor.
All evening, I’ve wavered between fearing Axle would show up tonight and being even more worried that he wouldn’t.
If he does, then we have to figure out what last night means.
If he doesn’t …
Shit.
I don’t want to think about that.
The narrator on television is describing forensic evidence when a knock sounds at my door.
My heart launches into a full sprint as I scramble to my feet so fast that I nearly trip over the blankets.
“Coming,” I call, my voice cracking.
I rush across the cabin and stop with my hand on the doorknob. For a terrifying second, I wonder if it’s Cabe, coming to check on me again.
I take a deep breath and crack the door open. Relief crashes through me so hard that my knees almost buckle.
Axle.
He’s standing on my porch, wearing a faded black T-shirt and jeans, one hand holding a to-go container.
“Doc.” He lifts the plate slightly. “I thought you might be hungry.”
That’s all it takes. Every ounce of tension that’s been coiled inside me since this morning releases, and I throw the door open.
His eyes widen.
And before he can react, I’m launching myself at him.
“Whoa—”
His free arm wraps around me automatically. I cling to him as I bury my face in his neck.
“I was worried you wouldn’t come.” The confession slips out before I can stop it.
His grip tightens slightly.
A pause.
“Okay …”
That earns a much longer silence, and I’m afraid he’s rethinking showing up. Instead, he adjusts his hold on me and steps inside.
He kicks the door shut with his foot and carries me to the kitchen. He carefully sets the food container down, and then he settles me onto the island beside it.
His hands linger at my waist for a second.
My pulse races wildly.
We’re standing close enough that I can feel the heat radiating off him.
