Page 94 of Curvy Cabin Fever
He doesn’t say anything at first, he just picks up a chunk of wood, tosses it to the stump, and watches me swing. The axe comes down with a satisfying crack, and the log splits clean. I’ve always been good at this. Physical work, tangible results. Things that make sense.
“You’re gonna wear that axe down to a nub,” he says finally.
“Better that than my brain.”
He leans against the post beside the stack, arms folded, breath fogging in the cold air. He looks relaxed, but I know him better than that. “You’ve been avoiding me,” he says after a beat.
I slam the axe down harder than I need to. “I haven’t.”
“Rhett.”
I let the silence answer for me.
“You slept with me,” he comments softly. “And then you spent the last two days acting like it meant nothing.”
The memory hits me hard. His skin under my hands. The way he whispered my name. His body moving against mine in the darkness. “I didn’t say it didn’t.”
“You didn’t sayanything.”
I finally look at him. Really look.
And goddamn, it hurts.
Because I want to sayeverything.
I just don’t know how.
“I’ve never done this,” I mutter, tossing another log on the block. “I’ve never wanted a man before. Never looked at one and thought...anything.”
Morgan tilts his head. “But you’ve always looked at me and felt something.”
Fuck.
I turn away.
“I used to think it was just...loyalty,” I explain. “Like, we grew up together. We’ve always been close. I figured it was normal to want to protect you. To notice you.”
“To crave me?” he asks, voice low.
I flinch.
He steps closer. “Rhett. We didn’t just fuck that night. You needed me. And I felt it.”
I remember the moment I finally gave in. Both of us standing in the kitchen after everyone else had gone to bed. The way he looked at me across the counter, eyes asking a question I’d been avoiding for years. The way I crossed the room before I could talk myself out of it. The first touch of his mouth against mine, and how right it felt after a lifetime of wondering.
I set the axe down.
And I let it come out, raw and shaking.
“I’m scared.”
Morgan’s face softens. “Of what?”
“Of what this makes me—of what itmeans. Of how long I’ve felt this and buried it under every goddamn excuse.”
He walks over slowly, stops in front of me.
“You know what it means?”
