Page 3 of Keep Me, Knox
Sage lets out a soft laugh, genuine and unguarded. "Rosie," she repeats, like she's trying it out. "I like that."
The cubs are now dangling from the lower branches like overgrown raccoons, swatting at each other. Rosie gives a huff and shifts her weight, setting the hammock swaying.
I sigh. "I’m never getting my hammock back, am I?”
That makes her laugh again. A warm, belly-deep sound that hits me harder than it should.
She crouches to take a note, her jeans stretching in a way that makes me have to look away before my dick gets hard. When she stands, she brushes her hands on her thighs and turns to me.
"I know this is a weird ask, but... any chance I could hang here for a bit? I can't exactly chase her off, and this is the best observation point I've had in weeks. I won't bother you. I'll stay out of your way."
I scratch my jaw, pretending to consider it.
Truth is, I already know the answer. And it has nothing to do with the bears.
"You hungry?" I ask.
Her lips part slightly in surprise. "Um... a little?"
"Lunch is on the stove. Chili. Not the best, but it's hot."
She gives me a look—half curious, half amused—and nods.
"Thanks. Let me just set up my camera equipment to record them.” When she finishes, she follows me to the door. “Mind if I use your bathroom? I’ve been in the woods all day. Toilet paper and running water would be nice.”
I hold the door open for her. "Knock yourself out. Bathroom's to the left."
As she steps inside, a breeze stirs her hair, and something settles in my chest. Something I haven't felt in a long time.
Maybe it's the fact she doesn’t seem the least bit intimidated by me. Or maybe it's the way she talks about Rosie like she’s a friend instead of a threat.
Or maybe it's just that—for the first time in a while—I don't mind the idea of someone sticking around.
Even if it's just for lunch.
While she’s in the bathroom, I throw on a flannel shirt.
We eat in comfortable silence for a moment, the occasional clink of spoons and low hum of wind through the trees filling the space. Outside, I know Rosie's still hogging the hammock and her cubs are probably terrorizing my firewood pile.
But in here?
It's calm. Easy.
She leans back, cradling her bowl in both hands. "You’re lucky," she says softly. “This cabin is the definition ofpeace and quiet.It’d drive most people crazy to be so isolated, though.”
“I love it,” I admit. “My uncle lived here when I was a kid. I practically grew up here. Spent a lot of my life trying to fit somewhere I didn't belong. This—" I glance around the cabin. "—this is mine. Always has been."
She studies me for a second, like she's not just hearing what I said, but reading between the lines. Then she says, "You ever get lonely?"
The question lands somewhere deep, where I keep things boxed up and out of sight.
I could brush it off. Joke. Change the subject.
But for some reason, I don't.
"Sometimes," I say. "I think that’s just the price of peace."
She nods slowly. "That makes sense."
