Page 70 of Seeds of Christmas
“Already?” I can’t keep the pleased surprise from my voice.
She nods, suddenly shy again. The duality of her—bold one moment, uncertain the next—makes my chest ache with tenderness. I capture her wandering hand with mine, bringing it to my lips.
“Give me five minutes,” I murmur against her fingers, suddenly aware of how heavy my limbs feel. The adrenaline crash is hitting me hard, my body remembering all at once that I spent the day hiking, rescuing her from a literal hole in theground, and then making love to her with everything I had. “Just five minutes to recover, and I’m all yours again.”
She laughs softly, settling back against me. “Take your time. We have all night.”
All night. The words send a pleasant shiver through me despite my exhaustion. I pull her closer, adjusting the blanket around us. The fire casts dancing shadows across her skin, making her look like something from a dream.
My eyelids feel impossibly heavy. I try to fight it—I want to stay present, to savor every second of holding her—but the warmth of her body against mine is too soothing, too perfect.
“You can sleep,” she whispers, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on my chest. “I’ll be right here when you wake up.”
“Not sleeping,” I mumble, even as my eyes drift closed. “Just resting my eyes. Five minutes.”
She laughs again, the sound vibrating against my chest. “Whatever you say.”
14
CARTER
Iwake up to sunlight streaming through the cabin windows and Rhi’s hair in my face.
For a second, I’m disoriented. My neck aches from the angle, my arm is completely numb where she’s been lying on it, and there’s a distinct crick in my back from the couch.
I’ve never been more comfortable in my life.
Rhi’s still asleep, curled into my side, one hand resting on my chest. Her breathing is soft and even, and in the morning light, she looks peaceful. Not the careful, controlled version of herself I first met.
I lie staring at the cabin ceiling.
This is real.
Which means I can lose it.
The thought make me want to run. I’ve already lost so much. What happens when she realizes I’m still figuring out how to be a person again? That half the time I’m faking confidence I don’t feel?
Her hand curls into my shirt in her sleep, and the panic eases.
Not gone. But manageable.
I don’t want to move. Don’t want to break this moment. But my arm really is completely dead, and I need to pee.
Carefully, I start to extract myself. Rhi makes a small sound of protest, burrowing closer, and I freeze.
“Don’t go,” she mumbles, still mostly asleep.
“I’ll be right back. Promise.”
She finally releases her grip on my chest, and I manage to slide out without waking her fully. I stand, stretching out the kinks, and look down at her.
Her hair’s a mess. There’s a crease on her cheek from my shirt. She’s beautiful.
I’m so screwed.
In the bathroom—a tiny room with a composting toilet and a basin with frigid water—I splash my face and try to process everything that happened in the last twenty-four hours.
I called my Dad. Actually called him, admitted I needed him, and he didn’t make me feel small for it. He said he was proud of me.
