Chapter 4 #2
By the time evening falls, we've migrated back to the bedroom with the fire and blankets. The temperature is dropping again, and the bedroom is the only room worth occupying.
"This is very Little House on the Prairie," Madison observes, huddled under a quilt. "Minus the prairie. And the little house."
"And the family of seven or whatever they had."
"You've read the books?"
"I've seen the show. Does that count?"
"Barely."
She throws a pillow at me. It's becoming a pattern.
"What do you usually do in the evenings?" she asks. "When you're not trapped with strangers?"
"Read. Work. Go to the bar in town sometimes."
"Very exciting."
"I didn't move here for excitement."
"What did you move here for?"
I consider the question. "Quiet. Space. Something that felt real."
"And you found it?"
"Most days."
She's quiet for a moment, studying me. The firelight makes her eyes look darker than they are.
"I can see it," she says finally. "Why you'd choose this over whatever you had before."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. There's something about this place. Like the noise gets turned down. Like you can actually hear yourself think."
"That's either a compliment or an insult to Wylde Mountain's entertainment options."
"It's an observation." She pulls the blanket tighter. "I don't usually notice things like that. I'm always moving, always planning the next stop. Quiet makes me nervous."
"And now?"
"And now..." She trails off, looking at the fire. "Now I'm snowed in on a mountain with a stranger and I don't actually mind. Which is odd."
"Should I be offended that you expected to mind?"
"You should be flattered that I don't."
I almost smile. "I'll take it."
The storm howls outside. The fire crackles. Madison yawns, and it's contagious—I feel the exhaustion of the day settling into my bones.
"We should sleep," I say.
"Probably."
Neither of us moves.
"Same arrangement as last night?" she asks. "Except I don't want to wake up wrapped around you again. That was..."
"Awkward?"
"Mortifying."
"I've had worse wake-up calls."
"That's not comforting." But she's smiling. "Okay. Same arrangement. And if I start cuddling in my sleep—"
"I'll push you off the bed."
"Perfect. Boundaries established."
She slips under the covers, and I add another log to the fire before settling on top of the quilt with my own blanket.
The careful distance between us feels like a joke now.
I can feel the warmth of her through the layers: the quilt, the sheets, whatever thin barrier is supposed to keep this platonic.
She's maybe eight inches away. Close enough that I can smell her shampoo, something vanilla and warm that's been driving me slowly insane since last night.
She shifts, getting comfortable, and her foot brushes against my calf through the covers.
"Sorry," she says again.
"Stop apologizing."
"Stop being so close."
"You want me to sleep on the floor?"
"No." She says it quickly. Too quickly. Then, softer: "No. This is fine."
Fine. Right.
I stare at the ceiling and listen to her breathing. It's not steady. Not the slow, even rhythm of someone drifting off to sleep. She's awake. Aware. Just like I am.
"Jake?"
"Yeah."
"This is weird, right? This whole situation?"
"I suppose."
"I don't usually..." She trails off. "I don't usually feel comfortable with people this fast. It takes me a while to warm up."
"You seem plenty warm to me."
I mean the temperature. I do. But the words land differently in the dark, and I hear her breath catch.
"That's not what I—"
"I know what you meant."
Silence. The fire crackles. The storm throws itself against the windows like it's trying to get in.
"I can't sleep," she admits.
"No?"
"Too wired. My brain won't shut off."
"What's it doing?"
"Overthinking. It's a specialty of mine."
"What are you overthinking about?"
She doesn't answer right away. When she does, her voice is quieter. "You, mostly."
The honesty catches me off guard. Madison doesn't seem like the type to play games, but this is direct even for her.
"What about me?"
"I'm trying to figure you out." She turns on her side, facing me, and I make the mistake of looking at her. The firelight catches her face, her eyes, the curve of her mouth. "You're not what I expected."
"What did you expect?"
"I don't know. Someone smoother, maybe. More polished. Harper made you sound like this... I don't know. Charming heartbreaker type."
"And instead?"
"Instead you're..." She searches for the word. "Real. Annoyingly real."
"Annoyingly?"
"It would be easier if you weren't."
I know what she means. It would be easier if she were less interesting. Less funny. Less likely to say exactly what she's thinking without any of the usual filters.
It would be easier if I didn't want to close the distance between us and find out what she tastes like.
This is a bad idea. She's sleeping in my bed because she has nowhere else to go, and taking advantage of that would make me exactly the kind of guy people think I am.
But she's looking at me like she's thinking the same things I'm thinking. Like she's running the same calculations and coming up short on reasons to stop.
"Jake." My name sounds different when she says it. Softer. "What are you thinking about?"
"Nothing good."
"Define good."
"Smart. Sensible. The kind of thing I should be thinking about."
"And what should you be thinking about?"
"Sleep. The storm. How to get your truck out of the snow."
"But instead?"
Instead I'm thinking about how easy it would be to roll over and pin her beneath me. How she'd gasp, probably. That little intake of breath she does when she's surprised. How her hands would feel in my hair if I kissed my way down her neck.
"Instead I'm thinking about you," I say. "Which is inconvenient."
"Inconvenient." She laughs, low and quiet. "That's flattering."
"It's honest."
"Your honesty needs work."
"My honesty is fine. My timing is the problem."
She shifts closer. Not much, an inch, maybe two. But enough that I can feel the movement through the mattress. Enough that the space between us shrinks to something that feels more like an invitation than a boundary.
My hand is moving before I can stop it, reaching across the space between us to touch her jaw. Her skin is soft. Warm. She goes perfectly still, her breath catching as my fingers trace the line of her cheekbone.
"Jake?" Her voice is barely a whisper.
"I'm trying to talk myself out of something," I say.
"Is it working?"
"No."
My thumb brushes across her lower lip. She shivers, not from cold, and her eyes flutter half-closed.
"This is a bad idea," she whispers.
"I know."
"We barely know each other."
"I know."
"I'm leaving as soon as the storm clears."
"I know that too." Her hand comes up to take my wrist. She doesn’t move it, just holds on. Keeps it there like she doesn’t want me to let go.
"We should sleep," I say. My voice is unsteady. "We should... we need to sleep."
"Yeah."
I roll onto my back, flexing my hand as I stare at the ceiling. Every nerve in my body is screaming at me to close the distance, to finish what I started. But she deserves better than a guy who takes advantage of a snowstorm.
"Good night, Madison."
"Good night, Jake."