Page 96 of The Unlikely Pair
His eyes widen theatrically as he unearths a bucket and towels. “And what’s this? The makings of a five-star wilderness washroom. We’ll be able to heat some water and actually have a proper wash.”
It used to irritate me how melodramatic Toby could be. But now I can feel the corners of my mouth turning up from hearing his reaction to each new find. It turns out we both share the same enthusiasm for the idea of reinstating some personal hygiene.
The cabin is small with rough-hewn wooden shelves and cupboards lining the walls. A cast-iron pot hangs from a hook near the fireplace, and a stack of firewood is piled neatly in the corner. The furniture is sparse but functional—a sturdy table, a couple of chairs, an old sofa, and a narrow bed against the far wall, swathed in thick wool blankets.
Two old oilskin coats hang on a hook by the door, with two pairs of snow boots beneath, which elates me far more than waterproof gear ever has in the past.
There’s no running water, and it appears the toilet must be located in an outhouse, but the cabin still feels like a five-star hotel compared to what we’ve endured for the last few weeks.
I’m still struggling to keep my eyes open, so I don’t resist Toby’s urging when he suggests I retire to bed.
The narrow bed feels like a decadent indulgence after weeks of sleeping on the hard ground. I stretch out, luxuriating in the simple pleasure of a mattress beneath my back.
It should be easy to drift off to sleep. I’m warm. I’m back in a bed for the first time in two weeks. My body feels like it’s been put through a meat grinder and is craving rest.
But something is missing.
“Are you coming to bed?” I ask Toby, who has just finished banking the fire for the night.
Toby eyes the bed, a frown creasing his forehead. “It’s quite a small bed. I can grab some of those spare blankets and sleep on the rug by the fire.”
“Oh, don’t be absurd,” I say as I lift the quilt.
He looks at me for a few seconds before getting to his feet and coming over. When he slides under the covers, I reach out an arm to pull him close.
“If you think you’re getting some action tonight, you’re dreaming,” he says as he settles under my chin. “You’ve got to rest.”
I’m so drowsy that I don’t protest. He’s right, of course. My body is already shutting down, the exhaustion taking over. I nuzzle into his hair, breathing in the soothing scent of Toby.
It feels like everything is back as it should be.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Toby
Things To Do Today:
Harry
The room has an eerie light when I wake up. The wind is howling, the sound punctuated by a soft pattering against the windowpane.
I stumble out of bed to peer out the window, and sure enough, the snowstorm is still raging outside.
How have I lived so many years on this planet and never fully appreciated how amazing the concept of walls is? And the concept of a roof. Both are such incredible inventions. We should have monuments erected to the inventors. We should have named countries after them.
“Come back to bed,” Harry says sleepily.
And so I get back into bed.
Harry immediately tugs me to him, and I come willingly. We lie there entwined in each other’s arms.
I never thought I’d have such an appreciation of Harry Matheson’s heartbeat. But I lie there with my head on his chest, listening to the reassuring lub-dub.
I almost lost him yesterday.
