7. Corbin
seven
Corbin
I've spent years seeking solitude, learning the language of the mountain, and finding peace in the absence of human voices. Yet, in the three days since Tessa left, silence has become my enemy.
The cabin feels wrong without her laughter. I find myself turning to share observations with someone who isn't there. Small discoveries feel hollow when kept to myself.
I've tried reverting to my old routines: checking traplines, gathering herbs, and splitting wood. But purpose has drained from these activities, leaving only mechanical motion. I sleep poorly, reaching across my bed for warmth that isn't there.
This morning, I stand at my window watching mist curl through the valley and finally admit the truth I've been avoiding: I miss her with an intensity that borders on physical pain.
She might not come back. She's probably reacclimatized to civilization by now—hot showers, restaurants, people who speak in complete sentences. The memory of our connection likely fading with each passing day.
But what if she hasn't forgotten? What if she's waiting for something I'm too stubborn or scared to offer?
The decision crystallizes with unexpected clarity. I need to find her.
I bathe thoroughly to look less wild and put on the cleanest clothes I own. Looking in the small mirror above my basin, I barely recognize myself. Is this man presentable enough for someone like her?
The hike to town takes nearly two hours. With each step closer to civilization, my resolve wavers. What exactly am I planning to do? The absurdity of my mission begins to dawn on me, but I keep walking.
Darkmore feels overwhelming after so long away. Too many colors. Too many sounds. Too many people moving with the artificial urgency of modern life. How many months has it been since I hiked down here for supplies? Even this small town is too much for me.
I pause outside Old Jimmy's General Store, gathering courage. This is the most logical place to start—Old Jimmy knows everyone and everything that happens in this valley. That happens when you have nearly one hundred years of life experience.
Taking a deep breath, I push open the door, the bell jingling overhead. I'm so focused on preparing what to say that I don't notice the customer turning from the counter with arms full of supplies. We collide, sending her purchases scattering across the floor.
"I'm sorry, I wasn't—" I begin automatically, crouching to help.
"Corbin?"
That voice. It stops my heart, then restarts it at double speed. I look up slowly, certain I'm hallucinating.
But she's real. Tessa kneels opposite me, her eyes wide with disbelief that surely mirrors my own. She looks different somehow—wearing practical hiking clothes, not the fashionable but impractical outfit she had on the mountain. She looks like she belongs here.
"You're here," I say stupidly, unable to form a more coherent thought.
"So are you." Her smile blooms slowly. "I was buying supplies before heading up to look for you."
The realization hits me with physical force: she came back. For me.
We both rise, forgotten items still scattered at our feet. I'm vaguely aware of Old Jimmy, his great-nephew, and a few customers watching us with undisguised curiosity. The reclusive mountain man and this beautiful stranger staring at each other like nothing else exists.
"I thought you might have forgotten," I admit, my voice rougher than I intend.
Tessa shakes her head, stepping closer. "I couldn't forget if I tried. The city felt wrong. Empty."
"My cabin, too," I confess, the words coming easier than expected. "Without you there."
Someone behind us makes a small sound of surprise. I've lived in this area for years, and these people have never heard me string together more than necessary words for transactions.
Tessa notices my discomfort with our audience. "Maybe we should continue this somewhere else?"
Relief washes through me. "Yes. My place isn't far."
This is a lie—it's a two-hour hike—but distance has a different meaning on the mountain. Willow quietly rings up Tessa's supplies without interrupting our moment.
Outside, in the clear mountain air, I finally feel like I can breathe again. Tessa stands before me, real and solid and somehow more beautiful than my memory had preserved.
"I quit my job," she says suddenly. "Packed what mattered and left. Two days was all I could stand."
The sacrifice she's made hits me with sobering clarity. "Tessa, your whole life—"
"Was waiting to begin," she interrupts, stepping closer. "I've never felt more myself than I did with you on that mountain. Even when I was cold, hungry, and terrified, I felt... alive."
Her words echo my own experience so perfectly that for a moment, I can't respond. Instead, I reach for her hand, twining our fingers together.
"Let's go home," I say simply.
The hike back to my cabin passes in comfortable conversation, punctuated by comfortable silences. I show her landmarks along the way, pleased by her genuine interest and quick observations.
"I had your directions memorized," she says proudly. "I was going to find your lightning-struck pine tomorrow."
"I'm glad we found each other before that," I admit. "The directions weren't exactly Google Maps-friendly."
She laughs, the sound carrying through the forest like music. "You gave me just enough information that someone who didn't belong here couldn't find you, but someone determined enough might."
The insight surprises me. She understands me better than I realized.
When we crest the final ridge, and my cabin comes into view, I watch her reaction carefully. It's larger than the cave where we sheltered, certainly, but still modest by modern standards—a solidly built two-room structure with a covered porch with smoke curling from the stone chimney.
"You left it burning?" she asks, noticing the smoke.
"Banked the coals this morning. Old habit for cold nights."
Her smile is warm and understanding. "It's perfect, Corbin. Exactly how I imagined."
Inside, her appreciation seems genuine as she explores the space. Her fingers trace the bookshelves built into the walls, packed with well-worn volumes. She examines the solar setup, the rainwater filtration system, and the wood stove.
"You built all this yourself?" she asks, wonder in her voice.
"Most of it. Had help with the roof. The family that runs the hardware store is more than a little handy." I watch her move through my space, suddenly seeing it through her eyes—the simple comfort of it, the functionality, the care I've put into every detail.
"It's beautiful," she says softly, turning to me. "Like something out of a dream."
The late afternoon sun slants through the windows, painting her in golden light. I move toward her slowly, giving her time to retreat if she wants, but she steps forward to meet me halfway. When our lips finally meet, it feels like coming home after a long journey.
There's a new gentleness to our kiss, different from the desperate passion of the cave. We have time now. No rescue helicopter approaching to rip her away, and no storm threatening to wash us down the mountain side.
"I've thought about this every hour of every day," she whispers. "Being here with you."
My hands frame her face. "Are you sure about this, Tessa? About all you're giving up?"
Her eyes meet mine, clear and certain. "I'm not giving up anything that matters. I'm choosing what I want."
I kiss her, holding her to me like I never want to let her go again. I want to build a perfect life for her up here in the wilderness where both of us can truly be ourselves without the pressures of society.
"What happens now?" she asks softly.
I consider the immensity of the question. "Whatever we want," I finally answer. "Day by day."
She rises on one elbow to look at me. "I don't need promises or labels, Corbin. I just need to know there's room for me here—in your life, in your world."
My throat tightens with unexpected emotion. "There's more than room," I tell her honestly. "There's been a Tessa-shaped hole here all along. I just didn't know it until you showed up."
Her radiant smile is worth every uncomfortable moment in town, every fear I've faced, every wall I've had to break down within myself.
"Then I'm home," she says simply, settling back against my chest.
Outside, the mountain continues its ancient rhythms. But inside, something entirely new has begun. And for the first time in years, I welcome the change.