Page 29 of Possessed By the Mountain Man
And we stand there—close, warm, suspended in something neither of us can run from now.
Later—when the candles burn low and fatigue pulls at her shoulders—I walk her to my room. “I’ve got some things to do before I hit the hay. I’ll sleep on the couch downstairs tonight to give you some privacy?—”
“No!” She’s interjects. “I mean, you don’t have to. I don’t mind sharing a bed with you. Warmer that way, it’s about as cozy as an igloo in this place.”
I pause, letting her words linger between us. “Okay…I’ll be up a little later then.”
She hesitates in the doorway. “Okay. Thanks. Goodnight, Mountain Man.”
“Night, witch.”
She goes inside. Closes the door.
But the silence afterward feels wrong.
I go to the kitchen. Open a drawer. Close it again.
It takes me a while to find what I’m looking for. One tiny bag tucked behind emergency batteries and old receipts.
One single, stupid bag of candy corn I used to bribe kids who made it to the lodge on Halloween night. I kept it because I hate waste.
Now I’m glad I did.
I stand outside the bedroom door way too long listening to her hum softly in the shower before I finally do it—set the candy corn gently on her pillow.
A silent offering.
Her holiday. Her comfort thing.
No questions. No pity.
Just—I see you.
Then I go back downstairs before I do something irreversible.
I lay on the couch but I don’t sleep.
I keep waiting to hear her door creak open. Her soft footsteps in the hallway. Her voice.
A quiet “thank you.”
It never comes.
But that’s okay.
She doesn’t owe me anything.
I’m the one who owes her now.
Because somewhere along the way, between the glitter and the wreckage of us, I made a decision.
Aspen Taylor isn’t a guest anymore.
She isn’t a problem or a complication.
She sure as hell isn’t leaving.
She is mine.
