CHAPTER 10 - Emilia
The cabin feels wrong without him.
Not that I want to admit it.
It’s been weeks since Rafe disappeared into the night, leaving behind nothing but a note and the ghost of his touch on my skin. Since then, I’ve done everything I can to forget him.
I chop wood in the mornings.
I paint when my hands won’t stop shaking.
I pretend.
But the nights? They’re the worst.
Because that’s when the memories come.
The feel of his body pressed against mine.
The rough scrape of his voice, telling me to say his name.
The way he kissed me—like he needed me.
I squeeze my eyes shut, gripping the mug of coffee in my hands, the ceramic warm against my palms. It doesn’t help.
Nothing does.
Not when I wake up reaching for someone who isn’t there.
Not when I roll over in bed and smell him in the sheets, even though I washed them twice.
Not when I dream of him, only to wake up to cold, empty space.
I shift on the couch, staring at the ceiling as the fire crackles low in the hearth. Shadows dance across the wooden beams, flickering in and out of existence, just like my sleep. I haven’t truly rested since the night he left.
Every creak of the cabin makes me tense, my ears tuned for footsteps that will never come. I tell myself I’m fine, that this solitude is what I always wanted.
But the silence is suffocating.
I reach for my coffee, my fingers curling around the ceramic like an anchor. But even the warmth in my hands doesn’t chase away the cold in my chest.
I shake my head. Enough.
I refuse to let a ghost keep haunting me.
I don’t miss him.
I don’t.
I just… miss the way I felt when he was here.
And that?
That’s worse.
A sharp knock at the door yanks me out of my thoughts.
I blink, setting my coffee down, my pulse already kicking up.
No one ever comes here.
No one except—
I swing the door open and immediately regret it.
Sienna and Camila stand on my porch, the wind whipping at their coats.
Sienna is holding a basket of freshly baked muffins, her expression a mixture of concern and mild exasperation.
Camila, on the other hand, is grinning like she knows something I don’t.
Shit.
I barely have time to step back before Sienna breezes past me, shrugging off her coat like she owns the place. Camila follows, her eyes sharp, scanning my face with far too much interest.
I hate that they can see right through me.
The last thing I need is a pity party.
"You didn’t answer our texts," Sienna says, pulling out mugs without asking. "Or calls."
Camila flops onto my couch, kicking her boots up. "We figured you either died or were living some tragic, reclusive widow fantasy."
I glare. "I was busy."
Sienna snorts. "Right. With all your goats?"
Camila grins. "Babe, you look like you haven’t slept in a week. And before you lie, we know exactly why."
My stomach tightens.
I refuse to let them say his name.
"Did you come all the way out here just to check if I’m still alive?" I ask dryly.
Sienna pushes right past me, stepping into the cabin.
"Obviously."
Camila follows, her sharp eyes scanning me like she’s looking for cracks.
"You look like hell, babe," she says, tossing her scarf onto a chair.
I sigh, shutting the door behind them.
"Wow," I mutter. "Great pep talk."
Sienna sets the basket down on the counter. "She’s not wrong, Em. You’ve been avoiding us."
"I’ve been busy."
"With what?"
I open my mouth. Pause.
Because what am I supposed to say?
That I’ve been busy pretending I don’t care that Rafe left?
That I haven’t been sleeping because I keep thinking about the way he touched me?
Yeah. Not happening.
I wave a hand vaguely. "Cabin stuff. Wood-chopping. Goat-wrangling."
Sienna arches a brow.
"You don’t own goats," she deadpans.
I glare. "Not with that attitude."
Camila snickers. "Anyway, we came to drag you into civilization. You need a distraction. Something fun. Like… coming to the shop for a bit?"
I hesitate.
Camila’s bookshop is usually my favorite place in the city.
A safe, cozy sanctuary of old books, vanilla-scented candles, and warm, lazy afternoons.
But I don’t know if I want to be around people.
Sienna sees the hesitation in my face and sighs.
"Look, Em. We get it. But locking yourself away in this cabin isn’t helping."
Camila leans in, grinning like the devil.
"Besides, you never know. You might meet another mysterious, brooding, criminally sexy—"
I throw a muffin at her.
She cackles.
Sienna and Camila exchange a look.
A look that immediately puts me on edge.
Camila smirks, grabbing a muffin and breaking it apart like she’s settling in for a show.
"So."
I narrow my eyes. "So?"
Sienna leans against the counter, crossing her arms.
"Are we really not going to talk about the six-foot-something criminal you were playing Florence Nightingale for?"
I freeze.
A flush creeps up my neck.
"Who?" I try.
Camila snorts. "Oh, babe, don’t even. You know exactly who."
I roll my shoulders, forcing nonchalance. "He’s gone. Nothing to talk about."
Silence.
Then
Sienna sighs. "Emilia."
Camila tilts her head.
"Okay, but like… be honest," she says, popping a piece of muffin into her mouth. "Was he as good in bed as he looked?"
I choke on air.
"What the—Camila!"
Sienna smacks her arm, but she’s biting back a smile too.
Camila shrugs. "What? You were holed up in this cabin with a literal fantasy man. We have questions."
My face is on fire.
"Absolutely not. We are not discussing this."
Camila grins like a wolf.
"So that’s a yes?"
"Drop it."
Sienna laughs softly, shaking her head.
Her expression is softer when she looks at me, though.
"Just… are you okay?" she asks.
I hesitate.
Because I don’t know how to answer that.
No, I’m not okay.
Not even a little bit.
But I also don’t know how to talk about it.
How to explain that Rafe didn’t just leave.
That he took something with him when he did.
Something I didn’t even realize I had given.
"I’m fine," I lie.
Sienna doesn’t push.
Camila, on the other hand—
"Okay, but be real," she says, tilting her head. "Are you, like, hoping he comes back?"
The question hits me harder than it should.
I grab another muffin, breaking it apart with way too much force.
"Camila," Sienna mutters, giving her a look.
Camila holds up her hands. "I’m just saying! It’s a valid question!"
I don’t answer.
Because the truth is—
I don’t know.
Sienna gives me a look. "So? Are you coming or not?"
I sigh, rubbing my temple.
"Fine."
The city is louder than I remember.
Or maybe I just forgot how to exist in it.
Port Amara is always alive, thrumming with energy, secrets, danger. It smells like spilled whiskey, exhaust fumes, and rain-soaked pavement.
As we walk down the sidewalk toward Camila’s shop, I feel it.
That edge.
Like something is watching me.
Like the city is holding its breath.
I shake it off.
It’s probably just being out of the woods too long.
Probably.
But the feeling doesn’t leave.
As we walk, I catch myself glancing over my shoulder. The streets are crowded, faces blurred together under neon lights. But something feels off.
A man stands near a newspaper stand, pretending to read. His coat is too heavy for the weather. A woman in a long trench passes us twice, her head lowered.
I swallow hard, my pulse picking up.
I’ve been in Port Amara long enough to know when I’m being watched.
And I am.
Camila’s bookshop is exactly the same.
Warm lighting.
Wooden shelves packed with books that have been loved, handled, and carried through lifetimes.
The faint scent of vanilla and old paper curling through the air.
It’s familiar.
Comforting.
Safe.
Or at least, it should be.
I inhale slowly, running my fingers over the smooth spines of old novels, trying to let the nostalgia pull me under.
It almost works.
Almost.
I force myself to focus, trailing my fingers along the bookshelves. I let the worn spines ground me, pulling me into a world where things make sense. Where stories have endings.
But something keeps tugging at my instincts.
The bell above the shop door chimes.
I glance up—just a customer. A man in a dark jacket. He moves toward the back of the store, picking up a book but not opening it.
Another man enters moments later, lingering near the counter.
A coincidence. Probably.
But my gut says otherwise.
I close the book in my hands, fingers tightening.
I shouldn’t be here.
Sienna disappears into the aisles, her fingers skimming titles with practiced ease.
Camila, ever the social butterfly, leans against the counter, chatting animatedly with a customer.
And for the first time in weeks, I feel like I can breathe.
Like I can exist without the ghost of Rafe pressing against my ribs.
I reach for a book, flipping through the pages, the scent of aged paper rising to greet me.
And that’s when I feel it.
That unease.
A shiver crawls down my spine, cold and unwelcome.
Like eyes on the back of my neck.
Like something unseen but too close.
I lift my head, my gaze flickering toward the door, the street beyond it.
Nothing.
No one.
Just the usual blur of people walking past, the dull hum of the city outside.
And yet—
The feeling lingers.
I press my fingers against my temple.
Get a grip, Em.
It’s nothing.
I’m just being paranoid.
Right?
I shake off the feeling, forcing myself to focus on something else.
"Find anything good?" Sienna’s voice cuts through my thoughts, grounding me.
I exhale, closing the book in my hands.
"Not yet."
She hums, tilting her head toward me. "You sure you’re okay? You look kind of…"
She hesitates.
Like she doesn’t want to say what she’s really thinking.
Like she knows the answer already.
I force a smile. "I’m fine."
Sienna doesn’t buy it.
She lifts the book in her hands, arching a brow.
"Think Camila would fire me if I stole this?"
I snort. "Probably."
Sienna smirks. "Worth it."
I roll my eyes, setting my book back on the shelf.
"Speaking of, where is she?" I ask, glancing toward the front counter.
Camila is still there, still chatting, still laughing.
But the moment she catches my eye, her smile turns sharp.
Like she knows something I don’t.
I narrow my eyes, suspicious.
"What?"
Camila leans against the counter, propping her chin in her hand.