3. June
June
T he fire crackles low in the hearth as Elias steps out of the other room, holding out a bundle of fabric.
“Here. It’s the only dress I have. Should fit you.”
“Thanks,” I mutter, snatching it from his hands and brushing past him into the room for privacy.
Not that he hasn’t already seen it all.
He did catch me naked in the river…
And honestly? I still wouldn’t put it past him to have something to do with my missing clothes.
Sure, he threw me his coat and played the reluctant gentleman—but something about this whole setup feels off . The jacket, the way he talks, this weirdly authentic frontier cabin?
I’m not falling for it.
Not yet.
The room is simple. Sparse.
A basin under the window. A single bed with a leather-bound book on the half-folded blankets. Rain patters against the glass, thunder rumbling deep enough to rattle my teeth.
I shrug off the coat and slip the dress over my head. The pale green fabric is surprisingly soft, but as I reach back for a zipper?—
Nothing.
Just buttons. All the way down.
Of course. Period-authentic and inconvenient.
Just like everything else around here.
Why the hell would a man living alone have a woman’s dress that fits me?
I glance at the book. His confusion about phones and online maps wasn’t fake. It couldn’t have been. And when I surfaced from that river…
The air tasted different.
I shoot a look at the door, then snatch the book and flip it open.
The pages are yellowed, covered in slanted scrawl. Dated entries. The kind that don’t feel like props. I scan to the top of the latest one.
November 27th… 1853.
My breath catches.
No.
No way.
I must be reading it wrong.
I flip to other pages—same handwriting. Same dates. All of them decades before the turn of the last century.
I run a trembling finger over the page, half expecting it to flicker and vanish like some hallucination. But it doesn’t.
It’s real.
The ink.
The book.
The date.
Whatever delusion I’ve been clinging to—whatever hope that I just wandered into a LARP camp or some immersive experience—that illusion shatters.
I’m not in 2025 anymore.
I don’t know how I got here.
And I sure as hell don’t know how to get back.
My palms are sweating. My heartbeat won’t slow. I carefully replace the book on the bed and try to breathe through the lightning flash outside.
Think, June.
You’ve survived worse. Mom dying. Leaving everything. Living in a van alone. You built a life from nothing. This is just a new kind of nothing. A scary, batshit time-travel kind of nothing.
You’ll figure it out.
Maybe I’ll even write about it—if I ever get back.
A knock hits the door.
“I’m coming!” I call, voice a little too high. I smooth the skirt and paste on a calm I definitely don’t feel.
Fake it, babe.
He’s standing by the fire, ladling something steaming into two wooden bowls.
He holds one out.
“What’s that?”
“Stew. You looked like you could use something warm.”
I hesitate, but take it. I have to act like I belong here. He sets his bowl down at a small table and sits in a creaky wooden chair.
It smells… good.
Better than it looks.
I sip. It’s hearty. Rich. Real.
“So you live out here alone?” I ask, casually.
He nods. “Yes, I do.”
“In the middle of nowhere?”
“There’s good trappin’ in these parts,” he says.
I wrinkle my nose. “Trapping?”
“Fur trapping,” he clarifies, giving me a look.
“Right, of course.” I scramble. “Just didn’t, uh… recognize the word in your accent.”
His brow arches. “You’re not from around here, are you?”
“You could say that.”
I stare into my bowl like it holds answers.
The dress flares around my legs, heavier than I expected, but not uncomfortable. I’ll need shoes eventually. But I’ll figure that out later.
If I’m not just dreaming.
A thought strikes me. I look up.
“Why do you have a woman’s dress here? If it’s just you?”
His eyes flick away—fast.
That hits a nerve.
“Hey, no judgment,” I joke, trying to cover. “If you like throwing on a gown in the evenings, I support that.”
His gaze snaps back to me. Not amused.
“What are you trying to say?”
“Nothing! Just… kidding.”
The look he gives me shuts me up fast.
My eyes flick to the fireplace. A few rabbits hang above it. I’m not squeamish, but I’m definitely not used to seeing my dinner still wearing its fur.
“You got a problem with my trapping?” he asks.
“No, it’s just…” I fumble. “I haven’t seen anyone live off it before.”
He narrows his eyes. “How’d you manage that?”
“What?”
“Everyone in these parts lives off the land. Trapping. Hunting.”
“Well, not everyone .”
“Too good for it, huh?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to,” he smirks.
That smirk—the same one he wore when he first saw me in the river. Like he’s imagining stripping me down all over again.
I change the subject.
“You think I’d show up here with no idea where I was?”
“Seems like it.”
“You don’t know anything?—”
Another rumble cuts me off. He rises, peering out the window.
“It’s going to snow tonight,” he says.
I frown. “It’s been sunny all day?—”
“I know this place. It’s going to snow.”
His eyes lock on mine.
“You’ll have to stay.”
“Oh, will I now?” I stand, arms crossed, thinking how what I really want is to get out of here. And get back home. “Because I’m not going to?—”
“No other cabins for miles,” he cuts in, gaze dropping to my bare feet. “Unless you feel like hikin’ through the forest shoeless, I’d advise you stay put.”
“Here? With you?”
He smirks. “Unless there’s some other bathing girls you want to come join us.”
I shift, uncomfortable.
I don’t know him.
I don’t know anything .
But he clothed me. Fed me. Gave me shelter.
And if I really am in 1853… I don’t exactly have options.
“There’s only one bed,” I say.
“You can have it. I’ll take the floor.”
No hesitation. Like it should’ve been obvious.
I fake a yawn. “Then I’m going to bed.”
He nods, heading toward the bedroom.
“Where are you going?” I follow him. “I thought you said you’d sleep on the floor.”
“I will. In here. Snow gets in around the edges of the doors—I can’t sleep in the cold.”
It’s said plainly. No room for debate.
He grabs a blanket from under the bed and lays it on the floor. I perch on the edge of the mattress, not bothering to undress.
He’s already seen more than enough of me.
I lay back, staring at the ceiling, the dress still buttoned tight around me.
“You sure you’re comfortable like that?” he asks, incredulous.
I glance over—he’s shirtless. Muscles cut like stone, flexing as he settles down.
“I’m fine.”
“If you say so.”
He doesn’t press. Thank God.
I turn my back and try to sleep. My brain is fried. I’m exhausted.
The wind rattles outside. The fire pops low.
And slowly, I drift off.
Sometime in the night, I stir.
Something…
Someone…
He’s touching me.
I freeze.
The blanket has slipped off me, my bare leg exposed. His fingers graze my skin—rough, but gentle.
Does he even know he’s doing it?
I don’t move. Don’t breathe.
Just lay there, warm under his touch, caught in this strange, impossible world…
And not quite ready to escape it.