Page 17 of Noel with the Mountain Man
"Noel."
She finally looks at me, and I see the fear in her eyes. The same fear that's been gnawing at me since we woke up.
"What if this doesn't work?" she whispers. "What if we get back to real life and realize this was just... a moment in time? A beautiful, perfect moment, but not something that can survive outside this cabin?"
"Do you believe that?"
"No." She says it immediately, fiercely. "But I'm terrified anyway."
I pull her into my arms, and she comes willingly, burying her face in my chest.
"I'm scared too," I admit. "I haven't let myself care about someone in so long. Haven't let myself want a future with anyone. And then you showed up and turned everything upside down."
"Sorry about that."
"Don't be." I tilt her chin up. "You're the best thing that's happened to me in two years. And yeah, maybe this is fast. Maybe it's crazy. But I don't want to lose you because we're too afraid to try."
"So what do we do?"
I look at her duffel bag. At the cabin around us. At the life we've built here in three impossible days.
And I make a decision.
"Don't go," I say.
She blinks. "What?"
"Don't go. Not yet. Not like this." I take a breath. " Stay. With me. Here. For a few more days."
"Kyler, I have to get back—"
"Do you? Really?" I cup her face. "It's winter break, right? You don't have school. And I cleared my schedule for two weeks because I was planning to hide from humanity." I smile slightly."So stay. Let's take this time and see what we have. No rushing. No pressure. Just us."
"That's insane."
"Probably."
"People will think we've lost our minds."
"Let them." I lean my forehead against hers. "I don't want peace anymore, Noel. I don't want silence. I want you. Here. With me. For as long as you'll stay."
She's quiet for a long moment, and I can practically see her mind working—weighing risks, calculating odds, trying to be sensible.
Then she kisses me.
"Okay," she breathes against my lips. "Okay. Yes."
Relief crashes through me. "Yeah?"
"Yeah." She grins. "But you're buying the groceries. That chicken was the last real food in this place."
I laugh and spin her around, and she squeals, wrapping her arms around my neck.
"You're sure?" I ask, setting her down. "About this? About us?"
"I've never been more sure of anything." She touches my face, her expression soft. "You were right. I wasn't just passing through. I was finding my way home."
We spend the rest of the day making the cabin actually livable for a longer stay. I drive into town—the roads are clear and the sun is brilliant on the snow—and stock up on supplies. Real food, more firewood, candles just in case.
