Page 98 of The Unlikely Pair
“You saved my life first in the river,” I counter. “And you wouldn’t have needed saving if you hadn’t given me your survival blanket.”
The thought of Harry’s sacrifice sits like a hard lump inside me. Yesterday, Harry sacrificed his own comfort, jeopardized his own chances of survival, for me.
Somehow, despite the precariousness of so much out here, Harry’s making me feel the one thing I haven’t truly felt since my mother died.
Safe.
It’s almost impossible to believe that Harry Matheson is the person making me feel this way.
Harry opens his mouth to speak, but I don’t want to hear the words about to come out of his mouth.
“Let’s just…let’s not keep a scoreboard on this, okay?” I say. “It is what it is. We’re both trying to keep each other alive.”
“We’re both trying to keep each other alive,” he echoes.
He pulls back so he can study me, those blue eyes appraising. “Is that what we’re doing?” he asks in a low voice.
“Yes, that’s what we’re doing,” I reply.
I’m factually correct. Harry and I are both trying to keep each other alive.
So I don’t understand why the words feel like a lie.
The next day, we wake to sunshine glistening off the fresh snow, and we can get a proper look at our surroundings.
The cabin is on the edge of a small lake surrounded by towering pines. It’s a simple structure built from sturdy logs and topped with a sloping metal roof. A small porch wraps around the front, offering a place to sit and take in the view. To the side, I spot a tiny wooden building with a chimney—a sauna, as if we needed reminding of the fact we’re in Scandinavia.
We scout around the lake, but there is no trace of any roads, obvious hiking trails, or any other sign of human habitation. It’s like the cabin has simply been dropped from the sky into the wilderness.
Some trees on the opposite shore of the lake are changing color, their gold, orange, and crimson mirrored in the still waters of the lake.
It is almost too perfect, too beautiful. It feels like we’re inside a postcard.
But seeing the trees engaged en masse in their late autumn spectacle and the remains of the snow on the ground reminds me of our predicament.
The weather is getting colder. We are heading towards winter.
The snowstorm scared me. We can’t continue to trudge through the wilderness with no idea where we’re heading.
I can imagine what my mother would say.
It’s all fun and games until the snow starts to fall.
I’m about to say this aloud to Harry, but I stop because thoughts of my mother and Harry aren’t co-existing happily in my mind right now.
It feels like I’m somehow replacing her with him.
I turn to Harry, taking in the sight of him in the borrowed oilskin coat and the fur hat with ear flaps we found inside the cabin, his cheeks pink with cold.
“Winter is coming,” I say in my bestGame of Thronesvoice.
“Yes, the seasons are definitely changing,” Harry says primly.
I roll my eyes. “Did you never watchGame of Thrones?”
“No. I have to admit I did not.”
“Political intrigue, backstabbing, power struggles, and ruthless ambition…actually, I’m not surprised you didn’t bother. After all, it’s just a day in the life of a Tory politician, isn’t it?”
