5. The Cabin #3
She caught the faintest glint of amusement in his dark eyes before he turned and reached for his coat. “I’ll grab some more wood,” he said. “Give you a minute to settle in.”
The door creaked open, and a burst of icy air swept through the cabin. Addy watched as he disappeared into the blue shadows outside, his silhouette briefly framed by the orange glow of the fire. She exhaled slowly, her shoulders dropping.
When she turned toward the bed, it suddenly looked impossibly inviting.
The plaid comforter was thick and faded from years of use; the sheets were rumpled but clean enough.
She hesitated only a moment before peeling off her coat and boots, tugging the blanket up around her shoulders as she slid beneath it.
The mattress dipped slightly, soft and warm against her aching muscles.
The crackle of the fire filled the quiet, and she let her mind drift. For once, the fear that had lived at the edges of every thought began to fade.
A few minutes later, the door opened again. Sawyer stepped back inside, shaking off snow, his hair damp and curling slightly at his temples. He set the wood near the hearth, his movements quiet and deliberate.
“Fire’s stocked for the night,” he said softly.
She nodded, too sleepy to form much of a response. He shrugged off his jacket , then sat down carefully on the opposite side of the bed, staying true to his word, on top of the covers, a good distance between them. Boots on.
The firelight played across the cabin walls, painting them in gold and shadow. Addy turned slightly, watching his face in the dim glow. His eyes were closed, his breathing steady already.
She whispered, half to herself, “You really can sleep anywhere, can’t you?”
“Years of practice,” he murmured without opening his eyes.
She smiled faintly, pulling the blanket tighter around herself. The sound of another person breathing nearby wasn’t frightening; it was comforting.
Outside, the wind whistled through the trees, but inside the little cabin, the world seemed almost untouched.
Addy’s eyes fluttered shut, her last thought a quiet, reluctant one:
Perhaps they could survive this after all.
* * *
Addy woke to warmth. Real warmth. The blanket was soft against her cheek, the faint crackle of last night’s fire still whispering in the hearth. For the first time in… God, she couldn’t even remember how long she was comfortable. Warm.
She sighed softly, eyes still closed, pressing her face into the pillow beneath her. It was firm and warm, with a slow, steady rhythm beneath it, a faint, comforting beat. She smiled drowsily, nestling closer. The pillow held the essence of soap and pine, and wood smoke.
Then her brain caught up.
A heartbeat.
Her eyes snapped open.
She wasn’t curled against a pillow; she was curled against Sawyer.
Panic surged through her chest as her mind scrambled to catch up with her body.
She was tucked neatly against his side, her head resting over his heart, one of her legs thrown halfway over his.
His arm was draped loosely around her waist, not holding her, just there, heavy and natural, as if this was how they’d always slept.
Addy’s breath caught. She tilted her head up, and her heart sank straight through the mattress.
He was awake.
Sawyer’s dark eyes were open, calm, and faintly amused. The faintest curve tugged at the corner of his mouth, the barest shadow of a smile that said he’d been awake long enough to know exactly what had happened.
“Oh my God,” she blurted, jerking upright so fast she nearly fell off the bed. Her face flamed. “I…I’m so sorry! I must’ve…I didn’t mean… I don’t usually—”
He raised an eyebrow, propping himself on one elbow, watching her stumble over her own words. “You don’t usually?” he echoed, his voice still thick with sleep.
“Cuddle people in my sleep!” she said, horrified, tugging the blanket up as if it might hide her embarrassment. “I’m not…ugh…this isn’t like me. I just…it was cold, and—”
A quiet laugh escaped him then, low and rough from disuse. It was the first time she’d actually heard him laugh, and it made her cheeks burn hotter.
“Relax,” he said, still smiling faintly. “You didn’t assault me in my sleep or anything. My virtue is still intact, I promise.”
She shot him a look, but his grin only deepened.
“It’s fine, Addy. Human nature,” he added with a small shrug, settling back against the pillow. “Body heat and all that. You were freezing when we went to bed. I probably moved closer without realizing it, too.”
She huffed out a breath, somewhere between mortified and relieved. “Still… sorry,” she muttered, rubbing her face. “Guess I’m not used to sharing a bed with someone who isn’t a pillow.”
Sawyer’s smile softened at that, less teasing now, more understanding. “No harm done. Besides,” he said, glancing toward the window where pale morning light was creeping through the frosted glass, “you slept. That’s what matters.”
Addy exhaled, shoulders slumping a little as the tension drained from her. He was right; she’d slept, deeply and dreamlessly, the first time since the world had gone to hell.
“Yeah,” she said quietly. “I actually did.”
He nodded once, his expression shifting back to the practical steadiness she was beginning to recognize in him. “Good. Because once we eat, we’ll need to figure out how far the nearest town is. See what we’re working with.”
“Right,” she said quickly, grateful for the change of subject. She stood, tucking her hair behind her ear and avoiding his gaze as she grabbed her coat.
Still, as she turned toward the small kitchen area, she couldn’t help glancing back once.
Sawyer had closed his eyes again, one arm folded behind his head, that faint smirk still playing on his lips.
And as mortified as she was, Addy couldn’t help thinking, just for a fleeting second, that waking up like that hadn’t been the worst way to start the day.
* * *
After a breakfast of oatmeal, simple, plain, yet somehow amazing after days of eating canned food, Addy leaned back in her chair, watching as Sawyer moved around the tiny kitchen with surprising ease.
He succeeded in making the oatmeal palatable, adding only a tiny bit of salt and a couple of spoonfuls of sugar from the cupboard.
It wasn’t much, but after everything they’d been through, it seemed like a feast.
Sawyer carried their bowls to the counter, rinsed them quickly with a splash of water from the pump, and then turned back toward the table. “Alright,” he said, his tone shifting into that familiar, practical mode she’d come to recognize. “We need to figure out our next move.”
Addy frowned slightly as he pulled a folded, worn piece of paper from his duffel. A map. A real one—creased and soft at the edges, dotted with handwritten notes in pencil. She blinked. “Where on earth did you get that?”
He smiled faintly. “Always been a little old-school. GPS is great until the power grid dies.” He spread it out across the table, flattening the corners with a tin cup and his knife.
“Here,” he said, pointing to a small dot near a stretch of blue.
“This is us. The lake behind the cabin’s right here.
And this,” he dragged his finger northeast, tracing along a faded road, “is the town of Ridgeway. It’s small, but last time I was there, they had a grocery store, a pharmacy, a sporting goods shop, and a few smaller stores.
If anything’s still untouched, it’s a good place to start scavenging. ”
Addy leaned over the map, her eyes following his finger. The distance didn’t seem far, but she knew better than to underestimate the unknown. “How far is that?” she asked.
“About fifteen miles, possibly twenty if the roads are blocked and we have to detour,” he said. “Close enough to make a supply run, far enough that not many people, or sick, are likely to wander this way.”
She nodded slowly, tracing the line he’d shown her. “So, we go tomorrow?”
“That’s the plan,” he said. “I want to make sure the truck’s running right and check the fuel levels before we head out. No sense getting stranded.”
He paused, his eyes flicking up to hers, and his next question caught her completely off guard. “Have you ever fired a gun?”
Addy blinked at him, arching an eyebrow. “Seriously?”
He looked almost sheepish, rubbing a hand along the back of his neck. “Well you looked taken aback by my rifle, yesterday. Just figured I should know. If something happens out there, I need to be sure you can handle yourself.”
Addy crossed her arms and smirked, leaning back slightly in her chair. “Sawyer, I was raised in Texas. I assure you, I can shoot a gun.”
He chuckled, a low, genuine sound that made the corners of his eyes crinkle. “Fair enough,” he said, still grinning. “Guess I should’ve known better based on your accent.”
“You should’ve,” she teased lightly. “My granddad used to say if you couldn’t shoot a tin can off a fence post by ten, you were useless.”
He laughed again, shaking his head. “Alright, cowgirl. I’ll take your word for it. Still,” he added, his tone shifting slightly back to serious, “I’ll show you what I’ve got, make sure you’re comfortable with it. Safety first.”
“Deal,” she said, glancing back down at the map.
For a moment, the two of them just stood there, the quiet of morning filling the cabin. Outside, the wind rustled through the trees, and the faint reflection of sunlight shimmered off the lake.
Addy traced the edge of the paper again, her mind already wandering to what they might find, or who they might find, when they reached that town.
She didn’t say it out loud, but she knew Sawyer was thinking the same thing. The silence that hung between them wasn’t awkward; it was heavy, charged with the weight of uncertainty.
Finally, Sawyer folded up the map and tucked it carefully back into his duffel. “We’ll head out at first light tomorrow,” he said. “Today, we check our gear and make sure this place is secure before we go.”
Addy nodded, the knot of nerves in her stomach tightening just a little. “Sounds like a plan.”