6. Jana
Six
Jana
I ’ll think about it.
I’ll think about it.
I’ll think about it.
My words circle around my brain all night, an unrelenting chorus that keeps me awake until dawn. Stig crashes out on the sofa barely two minutes after finishing his omelet, one arm tossed over his face and a tiny speck of toothpaste at the corner of his mouth. Surprisingly, he doesn’t snore—but his soft breaths are still deafening compared to my previously empty cabin. It’s a constant reminder that I’m not alone; that everything has changed.
Several times in the night, I sit up in bed and squint at the adventurer’s sprawled form in the darkness. Can’t see any details in the gloom, but I can make out his long limbs, his broad chest, and the power in that frame as he dwarfs the sofa…
I swallow, throat dry, and flop back down to the pillows for the fourth time. Pale pre-dawn light seeps around the edge of the curtains, and I still haven’t slept a wink.
Get it together, Jana.
Because… this guy’s a trainwreck. Right? That’s the smart conclusion here. Stig Hansen hiked home after leaving his cabin empty for so long that everyone in town thought he was dead. Then, upon finding the locks changed and a squatter sleeping in his bed, did this man yell and rage and chase me out? Did he respond like he had every right to?
No. He proposed marriage.
I’ll think about it.
Well, if Stig is certifiable, I’m just as bad. Because I don’t spend the rest of the night staring wide-eyed at the ceiling, trying to figure out a way out of this mess—no, I lay awake wondering if we could actually make this work. If his offer makes a strange kind of sense. God, why does this feel so right?
Grimacing, I roll onto my left side, mashing my cheek into the pillow.
I mean, the adventurer doesn’t seem dangerously mad. More like… eccentric. Driven. A man who knows exactly what he wants when he sees it, and who chases after it with the power of a thousand suns.
And for some reason, he wants me —on paper, anyway.
His wife of convenience.
Is it crazy that I’m tempted? It would solve my homelessness problem, that’s for sure. But… it’s more than that, isn’t it? It’s more than a logistical win. And even though I’d never confess this in the bright light of day, I can admit it to myself in the privacy of night.
Tossing, turning, kicking Stig’s cotton sheets off me then yanking them back up, I let myself acknowledge the truth: I like him. I like the adventurer, with his teasing voice and weather-beaten tan; I like how tall he is, looming over me, and I like the sturdy muscles that shift beneath his skin when he moves.
Whenever his frosty blue eyes met mine earlier tonight, fireworks exploded in my belly. Every time he inched closer, my hands itched with the need to reach for him, to drag him near, to scurry up him like a squirrel up a tree.
It’s not just physical, either. When that man grinned at me, my own lips tugged up automatically in response. Whenever he laughed, my chest glowed warm. Kinship. That’s what it felt like, for the first time in my life.
So here’s the truth: I want Stig Hansen too. But not just on paper. If there’s a real train wreck in this cabin, it’s me, because I want the adventurer for real.
To have and to hold.
On paper, yes, but also in this very bed.
…This is a bad, bad idea.
* * *
“I have some conditions,” I announce the next morning when Stig steps out onto the deck. His dark blond hair is damp from the shower, and he’s dressed in a red plaid shirt and jeans, the sleeves rolled to his elbows. Two mugs of coffee steam in his hands, the wisps curling toward the pink-tinged sky. “If you still want to… um. You know.”
“Marry you?” White teeth flash as Stig grins, and he hands me one of the coffees before settling into the chair opposite mine. The wood creaks beneath his weight, and he shifts to get comfy, his gaze on me the whole time. Assessing, admiring. “I definitely do.”
Woof. Okay.
Birds sing out all around us, flitting from branch to branch in the canopy. A gentle breeze whistles through the small glade.
It’s a cold morning. Fall is well and truly here, the forest reddening in patches, and when I crept out here just before sunrise, a layer of frost sparkled on the deck railing and the wooden chairs. Just another reminder of what waits for me if I can’t get a roof over my head and need to retreat back to that campsite outside town—AKA daily risk of frostbite.
Because sure, I could crash in the backroom at work if there was a real emergency, or on my friend Tess’s couch. But Tess and her new guy already hosted me for several weeks over the summer, and though he’s a good boss, Flint’s patience only goes so far. I don’t want to burn those bridges, damn it—I want to stand on my own two feet.
And this… this is a solution. Of sorts. It would keep me sheltered through the winter, anyway, and without putting a burden on any of my friends. And if I have private extra reasons for wanting to keep Stig Hansen close, if I’m secretly drawn to the idea of playing house with such a daring, handsome man…
Sue me. I never claimed to be smart.
“Number one,” I say, raising the thumb on my free hand. The other hand clutches the coffee close to my chest, steam rising to tickle my chin. Unlike Stig, I’m not dressed for an adult discussion—I’m still in my pajamas, and bundled in a thick blanket I dug out from the top shelf of the closet, with spiky bedhead hair—but it’s too late to back down now. “No using me as a maid. I’ll do my share of cooking and cleaning, but I’m not gonna pick up your dirty socks.”
Stig laughs, the sound rich and delighted, and settles further into his chair. “I’d never ask you to. I’m a grown man, Jana.”
I’ve noticed. God damn it, I’ve noticed.
Okay.
“Number two.” My pointer finger spears up toward the sky, where the pink tinge from sunrise is fading to chalky white. The birds chatter together in the trees, like they’re gossiping at how nuts this is. “I want your guarantee that as long as we’re married, I can stay in this cabin. If you can’t give me that promise, I need to walk away from this nonsense and find somewhere to live for the winter.”
Stig sips his coffee and draws a cross over his heart. “I solemnly swear.”
“You can live here too.” My cheeks burn hot at that statement, but I push forward anyway, because I’m not gonna make this man sleep among the trees when it’s his damn cabin. I’m not a monster. “I’ll sleep on the sofa.”
Stig snorts and shakes his head. “ I’ll sleep on the sofa. Give me some credit, Jana.”
Fine. Whatever. So he’s a gentleman too? I’m not rattled.
Taking my first sip of coffee, I choke back a moan as the fluid spreads over my tongue. It’s so hot, so rich, so nutty with a hint of sweetness. Orgasmic levels of deliciousness. Swallowing carefully, I place the mug down on the deck where it can’t distract me again.
“Number three.” My middle finger sticks out with the others. Stig is still watching closely, smiling like I’m the most fascinating creature alive. He’s somehow even more handsome in the pale morning light, his skin freshly scrubbed and his hair curling and damp. “I want to live together for a month first before we rush in and tie the knot. Let’s not be crazier about this than we’re already being. I don’t know why you need a wife—”
“Secret, manly reasons.” Stig winks.
“—But whatever the reason, this will help us sell the whole thing. A month’s engagement will be more convincing to other people. And if it turns out we’re making a huge mistake… it won’t be too late to cut and run.”
Even as I say the words, they taste sour on my tongue. Cut and run? Leave this teasing, bold man and his cozy cabin? Abandon the make-believe life I already can’t wait to inhabit?
It feels jarring and wrong to even think it, but hey—it needs to be said. For all I know, this is Stig Hansen dialing up the charm, and the actual man could be very different.
Or something else could go wrong. One of us could develop real feelings, for example.
Don’t even go there , a warning voice whispers in my head.
Snatching up my mug, I sip hot coffee and wait for the adventurer’s rebuttal. Beneath my baggy pajama shirt, my heart is going crazy, tapping out a rapid rhythm on the inside of my ribs, and my stomach is a writhing mass of nerves.
What if he says no? What if he can sniff out my secret crush? Or what if Stig woke up this morning ready to make the deal, then took one look at my bedhead and changed his mind?
What if this whole thing is a joke? What if he’s just humoring me?
What if, what if, what if.
When Stig sniffs and places his mug on the deck, I brace myself for rejection. At the very least, I figure he must have conditions of his own; non-negotiables that he needs from his fake wife. Because let’s face it: Stig Hansen can afford to be picky. With a face and body like that, the adventurer could wander into Flint’s or any other bar in town and have his selection of local women. They wouldn’t even need a glimpse of his humor or gentleness or the daring spark that fuels him up those mountains; this man is a bonafide snack.
But Stig doesn’t list his own demands. He doesn’t say anything at all. He clears his throat, pushes to stand, and strides back inside the cabin.
Suddenly alone on the deck, I gape at the empty doorway. When the cold breeze washes over me and tousles my hair, I wrap the blanket tighter around myself. Leaves rustle and branches sway.
Muffled footsteps echo inside the cabin, and there’s the sound of a drawer rattling open and closed. Is Stig finally calling the cops? My gut sinks, but I stay huddled on the carved seat, ready to face my fate.
Can’t blame him, really.
I did break and enter, and he offered me a way out. Then I went and made a list of demands.
Still, surely this is better than entering an insane fake marriage without negotiating at all. Raising my chin, I square my shoulders and wait for Stig to come back, staring out at the trees.
I’m not sorry.
I mean—I am sorry for changing the locks and squatting in his cabin. That is well and truly my bad. But I’m not sorry for listing those conditions just now. A girl’s gotta have some pride.
When Stig steps back out onto the deck, probably only a minute or two has passed, but I’ve gone through all the stages of grief. I’m already at acceptance, solemnly watching the squirrels and wondering what the food is like in prison. I’m guessing not great. Definitely no orgasmic coffees in there.
“Here.”
Stig kneels in front of me on the deck, and pops a little faded velvet box open. Inside, a sapphire ring sparkles on a tiny cushion.
“What,” I say stupidly, staring at the ring. My mouth is suddenly bone dry. “How did you have that ready?”
“It’s a family heirloom.” Stig ducks his head, trying to meet my eye, his forehead creased in concern. “I know it’s not especially big or fancy, but it was my grandmother’s, and… wait, are you crying ?”
“No!” Swiping the blanket beneath my eyes, I glare at the adventurer kneeling before me. Even kneeling down, he’s still an inch or two taller. “I—you took me by surprise! And I haven’t slept. Then you made me that coffee, and then you went inside, and I thought—you didn’t—then that ring , and it’s so pretty—”
Stig’s mouth twitches, like he’s fighting back a laugh. A wave of emotion rises up inside me, and I’m not sure whether I want to burst out laughing or curse like a sailor or punch this man in the shoulder. Maybe all three.
I’m losing my mind.
“Put it on.” Thrusting my hand out of the folds of blanket, I waggle my hand a few inches below Stig’s face. He catches it with a huff of amusement, and slides the ring carefully over my fourth finger. “Put it on before I melt down over nothing again. This is crazy, but we’re doing this.”
“Yes, we are.” A bristly mouth brushes my knuckles before my hand drops back to my lap, and it takes me a moment to realize that the adventurer kissed the back of my fingers. The skin there tingles. “So. Breakfast?”
My stomach rumbles louder than an earthquake in answer. Stig booms with laughter and stands up, ruffling my messy head on his way back inside.
Clangs and thumps drift out to the deck—cupboards opening and closing; the thud of a knife against a chopping board—but I barely hear it at all.
I’m too busy staring down at the sapphire ring sparkling on my finger, a nervous glow spreading through my insides.