Chapter 21
Taylor
The soft light of morning filtered through the cabin’s curtains, casting a cool but inviting glow over the room. It was a new day, and it felt like the world had taken on a more vibrant tone. Wyatt’s laughter helped that along, reminding me of the real reason I was feeling like a giddy teenager.
“Fresh coffee,” I announced, setting down our cups on one of the empty shelves.
We’d launched into the day with the task of arranging Wyatt’s books on the newly completed bookshelf. Wyatt had a system that I, apparently, wasn’t adhering to. To keep out of her way I’d gone to make coffee while she went on with the task.
“Thanks.” She smiled, stopping what she was doing long enough to plant a quick peck on my cheek.
I blushed, catching Michael Keaton watching us closely. He yapped, pink tongue panting as he bounded over to me.
“Someone wants kisses too.” Wyatt winked at me and took a sip of her coffee.
I dropped to my knees and was instantly engulfed by the giant ball of golden fur. “Who’s a good boy? You want some love, buddy?”
A few seconds was all I could manage, before Michael Keaton had me knocked off my feet with his excitement.
He jumped over me, on top of me, nuzzling my face and pretty much losing it, while I went at him with ardent rubs.
His tail wagged with unmatched exuberance, hitting me in the face and neck as he lavished me with affection.
“You two are going to break down this cabin with the way you carry on.” Wyatt laughed, her attention mostly directed to the books she was holding.
I was almost out of breath, giving a throaty laugh with Michael Keaton still going at me. “Well, since I can’t play with his mom the way I’d like to, I have to find a way to keep busy.”
Wyatt turned around and bent over us with a smirk. “We can play a little later, if you want?”
The suggestive note in her voice made my stomach flip over, and as if reading the room Michael Keaton came to a panting halt on top of me. The bulk of his weight was on my chest, and he licked my face a few times.
“Is that your permission for me to stand up?” I asked him, and he gave a soft yap.
I held out my hands to Wyatt, who pulled me to my feet.
“I’m moving to the door as soon as I finish here,” she said. “Then we can take him out for a run. Get some of that energy worked out.”
I gave him a last head rub before going back to the shelf with Wyatt. “Poor baby, he must be feeling the cabin fever more than we are.”
“He’ll be fine.” Wyatt shrugged. “Nothing an icy run won’t fix.”
I watched her go back to the shelf, the air in the cabin filled with the soft rustling of pages and the faint hum of contentment.
She moved with a grace that mirrored the peace and tranquility of our surroundings.
But also the kind that had settled inside me.
I hadn’t felt this uncomplicated in forever.
I was almost too afraid to think about it, in case I jinxed it.
Domestic bliss, that’s what it felt like.
A scene of simplicity and warmth that eased my restless heart in a way I had never known.
It wasn’t like she was doing anything special to give me this feeling. She was just… Wyatt.
Unable to live in a world where I wasn’t touching her all the time, I approached her from behind. Gently, I wrapped my arms around her waist, resting my chin on her shoulder as I surveyed the progress she was making.
“You’re doing a great job of making this place even cozier,” I whispered in her ear.
Wyatt smiled, leaning back into me. “Well, it takes a little magic to make this place feel like home. I learned from an early age that books are the quickest way to find it.”
“Hmm, I think you’re the magic.” I placed a tender kiss on her temple, and she closed her eyes to the feel of my lips.
That was the moment when Michael Keaton decided to act out again. With a mischievous twinkle in his eyes he leapt toward us, sending a stack of books skidding across the floor. Wyatt and I burst into laughter at his awkward knack for creating chaos.
“Nicely done, Mr. Michael Keaton.” Wyatt shook her head. “Now you can get started with cleaning that up. Thank you.”
He barked a few times, the sonorous tremor of it ringing through the cabin’s small space. Then, with a happy wiggle, he trotted off to his favorite stuffed bunny and went to lie down with it.
There were no words for the feeling that crept up on me, watching the goofy dog and his beautiful owner.
She was still smiling when she went back to the shelf, and I was beside myself.
The temptation to embrace her, to let my hands roam her gentle curves, was a constant distraction there among the scattered books.
Feeling my hungry gaze on her, Wyatt paused and gave me a stern look.
“How about you play the important role of book passer?” she asked, a sly glint in her eyes. “You can hand me the books from the floor, and I’ll take the lead on arranging them.”
“Trying to get rid of me already?” I chuckled, but got right to it. If nothing else, it would keep me distracted from her lithe form, even if it was just for a little while.
I picked up the first book and absently peeked inside. I was a sucker for a good inscription and had the habit of checking books for them. This endeavor, I quickly realized, was more valuable than just mild interest. It was like discovering a hidden treasure trove of Wyatt’s personal history.
There, in an old leather-bound book, I found a beautiful, lazy scrawl.
“To Wyatt, may your words continue to captivate and inspire. Your talent knows no bounds,” I read out loud.
Wyatt took the book from me with a fond smile and said, “My ex-editor. I parted ways with him after my first book because he didn’t really get my vision. Good guy, though. I learned quite a lot from him, being new in the industry.”
I nodded with understanding. It was often the unlikeliest people who left the most meaningful marks on our lives.
Turning around, I scooped up a faded Palahniuk and gasped when I flipped open the cover.
“First edition, are you kidding me?”
Wyatt glanced at the book in my hands and made to take it. But I’d spotted the inscription and moved it out of her reach so I could read it.
I cleared my throat, amused by the little hearts I saw dotting the i’s. “Little Sis, your words have the power to heal, just as they’ve healed my heart. Keep writing and writing and writing. You’ve got the world to mend.”
Little Sis. I looked up at her, realizing for the first time that I hadn’t heard her speak of any kind of family.
Not that we were spending any amount of time taking trips down memory lane.
It was just a surprise, that’s all. To learn that Wyatt was connected to people outside of this mountainous isolation. It hadn’t occurred to me.
She wore a sad smile when she plucked the book from my hands. “My sister gave me this when I graduated high school.”
And that was it. The conversation came to a gentle pause.
I didn’t press for further details, recognizing the sanctity of family bonds and the complexities that sometimes lay beneath the surface.
Instead, I picked up the next book, content in the knowledge that every volume I handed her was another piece of Wyatt’s life story, slowly being unveiled to me.
“I don’t know why, but I just assumed you were an only child,” I joked, hoping to bring some lightness to the moment.
Wyatt tensed up at the bookshelf, a hint of unease clouding her expression. Well, shit. I hadn’t meant to do that. Her breathing changed, and it was like a heavy cloak had fallen over her shoulders.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to make things weird,” I said, going over to her.
I placed a hand on her arm. Her hands were still holding the book her sister had given her.
Her eyes were staring at the cover, but were glazed over.
Her breathing was shallow now, faster. Michael Keaton, ever attuned to her emotions, sensed her distress and rushed to her side, knocking me out of the way.
I staggered a few steps back and watched him nuzzle Wyatt, whining and snorting softly.
Wyatt’s knees gave in and she slumped to the floor beside him, her fingers burying themselves in his soft fur, holding on tightly.
Michael Keaton licked her face repeatedly, whining the whole time.
He climbed into her lap and placed his paws on her shoulders before resting his head on her neck.
Like a hug. Wyatt threw her arms around him and held on as though he were her only lifeline.
I watched the silent, desperate exchange between them, and was struck by the profound connection they had.
The trembling in her body slowly eased, and Wyatt’s breathing evened out.
It was clear that there was more to Mr. Michael Keaton than I first thought.
He was a significant part of Wyatt’s wellbeing, one that surpassed regular companionship.
When I was sure that Wyatt was calming down I joined them on the floor, sliding closer to her. I slung my arm over her shoulders and held her against me.
“I’m sorry if I upset you,” I offered quietly, my voice laden with concern.
That was the first time I’d seen anything close to the anxiety Wyatt had told me about. Something about the relief on her face told me that it wasn’t even close to how bad it could get.
She shook her head, her gaze still fixed on the loyal dog in her lap. “It’s not your fault, Taylor. I-I’m not even sure how things changed with my family. We just drifted apart… Me living out here doesn’t exactly make it easier to keep the connection going.”
Her heartache radiated from the depths of her soul.
It was as if the very mention of her family had evoked a tangled web of emotions and memories, some of which she was still trying to unravel.
In that moment I sensed the raw scope of her vulnerability, and it deepened my desire to understand her more fully.
So that I could be there for her in the way she needed. In the way she deserved.