Chapter Thirty-Four
Cabin Fever
Crew
Lunch is torture.
Not the food—Emmie made sandwiches with some kind of fancy aioli, and they’re incredible. The torture is sitting across from her at the small kitchen table, with Foster and Sadie on either side of us, pretending I don’t want to drag her back to the bedroom and finish what we started.
She’s not helping.
Every time Foster looks away, her foot finds mine under the table. A brush of her ankle against my calf. A press of her toes against my shin. When I pass her the chips, her fingers linger on mine a beat too long.
“So,” Sadie says, grinning like the cat who caught the canary. “You two seem… better.”
“We’re fine,” Emmie says, the picture of innocence.
“Fine. Sure.” Sadie exchanges a look with Foster. “You were in that bedroom for twenty minutes.”
“The dresser was heavy.”
“Uh-huh.”
Under the table, Emmie’s hand lands on my thigh. I choke on my sandwich.
“You okay there, Jensen?” Foster asks, not even trying to hide his amusement.
“Fine,” I manage. “Went down the wrong pipe.”
Emmie squeezes my thigh. I’m going to kill her. Right after I kiss her again.
After lunch, Foster suggests a card game.
I suggest he take a long walk off a short pier, but only in my head. Out loud, I say “sure” like a man who isn’t slowly losing his mind.
We play poker. I’m usually good at poker—reading people, calculating odds, maintaining a neutral expression. Today I can barely remember what beats what because Emmie is sitting next to me, close enough that our shoulders brush every time she reaches for her cards.
“I’ll raise.” She tosses chips into the center, then turns to look at me with those big hazel eyes. “You in?”
In what? I want to ask. The game? Your bed? The rest of your life?
“I’m in.”
She smiles. It’s devastating.
I lose three hands in a row.
“You’re off your game today,” Foster observes. “Wonder why.”
“Shut up.”
Emmie laughs, and the sound makes my chest ache. I’ve missed that laugh. I’ve missed everything about her.
I fold my hand and stand abruptly. “I need some air.”
“I’ll come with you,” Emmie says, already rising.
“Oh, I bet you will,” Sadie mutters, and Emmie throws a poker chip at her head.
The porch offers approximately forty-five seconds of privacy.
I pull her around the corner of the cabin, press her against the log wall, and kiss her like I’ve been wanting to all afternoon. She melts into me immediately, her hands fisting in my flannel, a small moan escaping her throat.
“We have to stop,” she breathes against my mouth.
“I know.”
“They’re right inside.”
“I know.”
“Crew—”
I kiss her again. Slower this time. Savoring. Her lips are soft, and she tastes like the lemonade she had with lunch, and I want to stay here forever.
“Hey, lovebirds!” Foster’s voice comes from the porch. “Sadie’s dealing you in whether you’re here or not!”
Emmie drops her head to my chest, laughing. “I’m going to murder them both.”
“I’ll help you hide the bodies.”
“Deal.”
The afternoon drags on.
We take a walk down to the creek—all four of us, because apparently we’re not allowed to be alone for more than thirty seconds. I find excuses to touch her: a hand on her lower back as we navigate the rocky path, steadying her elbow when she stumbles, brushing a leaf from her hair.
Each touch is a spark. Each touch makes me want more.
By the time we get back to the cabin, I’m wound so tight I could snap.
“I’m going to split more wood,” I announce.
“You split wood this morning,” Foster points out.
“We need more.”
“We have enough for a week.”
“We need more.”
Emmie catches my eye as I grab the axe. The look she gives me—half sympathy, half heat—does not help.
I split wood until my arms ache and my shirt is soaked with sweat. It doesn’t do a damn thing for the tension coiled in my body.
Dinner is worse.
Emmie makes pasta—something with garlic and tomatoes and fresh herbs that fills the cabin with the most incredible smell.
She moves around the kitchen like she belongs there, and I can’t stop watching her.
The way she hums while she stirs. The way she tastes the sauce off the wooden spoon.
The way she bends over to check something in the oven and those jeans—
“You’re staring,” Foster says quietly.
“I’m aware.”
“It’s kind of pathetic.”
“I’m aware of that too.”
He claps me on the shoulder. “Hang in there, buddy.”
We eat at the small table, knees bumping, elbows brushing. Emmie’s foot finds mine again and doesn’t leave. I eat with one hand so I can rest the other on her thigh, hidden beneath the table.
She shifts in her seat. Presses her leg against my palm.
I take a very long drink of water.
“This is delicious,” Sadie says. “Em, you’ve outdone yourself.”
“Thanks. I was inspired.”
Her eyes flick to mine. I nearly choke again.
Cleanup is an exercise in restraint.
I wash. She dries. Every time she reaches past me to put something away, her body brushes mine. Every time I hand her a dish, our fingers touch.
“You’re doing this on purpose,” I murmur.
“Doing what?” Innocent. Too innocent.
“Driving me insane.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” She takes the pot from my hands, her thumb tracing across my knuckles. “I’m just drying dishes.”
“Emmie.”
“Crew.”
I glance over my shoulder. Foster and Sadie are on the couch, arguing about what movie to watch. If I’m quick—
I spin her around and kiss her, fast and hard. She squeaks in surprise, then sinks into it, her damp hands gripping my shirt.
“Subtle,” she whispers when I pull back.
“I’m past subtle.”
“I noticed.” She’s flushed, breathing fast. “How much longer do we have to—”
“Hey!” Sadie calls from the couch. “We’re thinking a night hike. That trail you mentioned, the one that loops around the property? Foster wants to see it.”
“I do?” Foster says, then grunts like someone elbowed him. “I mean—yes. I do. Love a good night hike. Very outdoorsy.”
Emmie and I exchange a look.
“You two should stay here,” Sadie continues, her voice dripping with fake innocence. “Someone should keep the fire going. Watch the cabin. Make sure no bears get in.”
“There aren’t any bears here,” I say.
“Better safe than sorry.” She’s already up, hauling Foster to his feet. “We’ll be at least an hour. You kids have fun!”
“Subtle,” I mutter, echoing Emmie.
“You’re welcome!” Sadie sings as she drags Foster out the door.
The cabin goes quiet.
Emmie and I stand there, dish towel still in her hand, looking at each other.
“So,” she says.
“So.”
“We’re alone.”
“We are.”
A beat of silence.
Then we’re crashing together.
I lift her onto the counter, and she wraps her legs around my waist, and pulls me in.
The kiss is hungry, messy, all the pent-up want from the entire day finally spilling over.
Her hands are in my hair, tugging. My hands are everywhere—her waist, her hips, sliding under the hem of her shirt to find warm skin.
“Been thinking about this all day,” she gasps between kisses.
“All day?”
“All month.” She bites my lower lip, and I groan. “Do you know how hard it’s been, living with you, wanting you, pretending I didn’t—”
I kiss her again just to shut her up. Just because I can.
We migrate to the couch without breaking contact, a tangle of limbs and gasping breaths. I end up on my back with her straddling me, her hair falling around us like a curtain. She rolls her hips experimentally, and my hands clamp down on her thighs.
“Emmie—”
“Too much?”
“Not enough.” I pull her down for another kiss. “Never enough.”
Her mouth opens under mine, and I take full advantage, tasting her, learning the shape of her all over again. She makes a sound—half sigh, half whimper—and shifts against me in a way that makes my brain go fuzzy.
“Wait.” I pull back, breathing hard. “Not here.”
“What?”
“The loft. It’s more—” I glance at the front door. “Private.”
She follows my gaze, then grins. “Lead the way.”
The ladder to the loft is not designed for two people in a hurry. I go first, and she follows close behind, her hand grabbing my ass halfway up.
“Emmie.”
“What? It was right there.”
The loft is small—just enough room for the air mattress and a reading lamp. The ceiling slopes so low I have to duck. It’s not exactly romantic.
She climbs up after me and surveys the space. “Cozy.”
“That’s one word for it.”
“Maybe a better word is ‘intimate.’” She crawls onto the air mattress, and it wobbles dramatically, making her laugh. “Oh, this is going to be interesting.”
I follow her down, and the mattress dips and sways beneath us like a waterbed. She rolls toward me involuntarily, colliding with my chest. I roll us until she’s underneath me and then prop myself on my elbows above her.
“Hi,” I murmur.
“Hi.” Her expression is filled with wonder and a little amusement.
Something loosens in my chest. Because of course she does. Of course Emmie Marshall would find joy in an awkward makeout session on a wobbly air mattress in a cramped loft. That’s who she is. That’s why I—
“Stop thinking,” she murmurs, pulling me back down. “I can hear it from here.”
“I wasn’t—”
“You were.” She cups my face, holding me still. “Just be here. With me.”
I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. “Okay.”
“Okay.”
This time when I kiss her, I don’t overthink it. I just… feel.
The give of the mattress beneath us as I settle my weight between her thighs. The hitch in her breath when my hand slides under her shirt. The softness of her stomach, the curve of her waist, the lace edge of her bra under my fingertips.
“Missed this,” I whisper against her throat.
“Me too.”
I kiss my way down her neck, finding that spot below her ear that makes her gasp. Her back arches off the mattress—which makes the whole thing wobble again—and her legs wrap around my hips, pulling me closer.
“Crew—”
I rock against her, and we both groan. The friction is maddening, layers of denim between us, not nearly enough and way too much at the same time.
“I missed you,” she breathes. “Even when you were right there, I missed you.”
“I know.” I prop myself up to look at her—flushed cheeks, swollen lips, hair spread across my pillow. “I missed you too. Every single day.”
“Don’t do that again.” Her fingers trace my jaw. “The pushing away thing.”
“I won’t.”
“Even when it gets scary.”
“Even then.” I lift her hand, press a kiss to her palm. “I promise.”
She pulls me down again, and this time the kiss is slower. Deeper. The kind of kiss that feels like a conversation. Her hands slide under my shirt, palms flat against my back, and I shiver at the contact.
“Cold?” she whispers.
“Opposite.”
She smiles against my mouth. “Good.”
We stay like that—trading kisses, learning each other again, the air mattress squeaking beneath us every time one of us moves. At some point, her sweater comes off. My flannel disappears. We’re skin to skin from the waist up, and the feel of her pressed against me is almost too much.
“We should stop,” I manage. “They’ll be back soon.”
“I know.”
Neither of us moves.
“Five more minutes,” she says.
“Five more minutes,” I agree.
It turns into ten. Then twenty. Her head ends up on my chest, my arm wrapped around her, both of us breathing hard and staring at the sloped ceiling.
“Your air mattress sucks,” she says.
“I’m aware.”
“Next time we’re using an actual bed.”
Next time. The words settle into my chest, warm and bright.
“Deal.”
Her fingers trace lazy patterns on my stomach, and I feel something I haven’t felt in months.
Peace.
“Crew?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m really glad you didn’t go to Alaska.”
I pull her closer, press a kiss to the top of her head. “Me too.”
* * *
Foster and Sadie return shortly after. We’re back on opposite ends of the couch by then—presentable, if slightly rumpled. Emmie’s lips are swollen. My hair is a disaster. We’re not fooling anyone.
“Good hike?” Emmie asks, the picture of innocence.
“Lovely.” Sadie flops into an armchair, grinning. “See any bears?”
“Not a single one.”
“Shame.” Her eyes dart between us. “You two look… relaxed.”
“We had a very quiet evening,” I say flatly.
Foster snorts. “Sure you did.”
Emmie kicks me under the blanket, and I have to fight to keep a straight face.
Later, after everyone’s gone to bed—Emmie and Sadie in the bedroom, Foster on the couch and me on the air mattress—I lie awake, staring at the ceiling.
My lips are still tingling. I can still smell the scent of her shampoo on my pillow.
Tomorrow we go back to Dallas. Back to the apartment. Back to real life.
But something’s different now. Something’s shifted.
She’s mine. Or she will be if I don’t screw this up.
I’m not going to screw this up.
For the first time in a long time, I fall asleep smiling.