He's quiet so long I think he won't respond. Then, closing his book: "She didn't love the mountain like I did."
The simplicity of his answer hits me like a sucker punch. In those eight words is a whole story—of choices made, of values that couldn't align, of a fundamental incompatibility no amount of feeling could overcome.
"I'm sorry," I say softly.
He shrugs, but there's tension in his shoulders now. "It was a long time ago."
"No one since?"
"Hard to meet women when you avoid people on principle." There's a dry humor in his voice that makes me smile.
"Fair point." I curl deeper into the blanket. "Though you seem to be handling this unexpected houseguest pretty well."
"You're not as annoying as I expected." It's the closest thing to a compliment he's given me.
I laugh, the sound echoing in the quiet cabin. "A rare compliment from the mountain hermit? I'm honored."
Something shifts in his expression, softens almost imperceptibly. "You should sleep. Your body needs rest to heal."
I want to protest, to stay in this moment of unexpected connection, but exhaustion is pulling at me. "Yeah, you're probably right."
"I'll help you to the bedroom." He stands, extending a hand.
I take it, warmth spreading from where our skin connects. His hand is so much larger than mine, so much stronger. He helps me to my feet, steadying me when I wobble.
"I really can take the couch tonight," I offer as we make our slow way to the bedroom. "I don't want to keep putting you out."
"No." The firmness in his voice brooks no argument. "You need proper rest."
At the bedroom door, I pause, turning to face him. We're closer than we've been all day, close enough that I can see the flecks of amber in his hazel eyes, smell the pine and smoke scent of him.
"Thank you, Caleb. For everything."
His eyes search mine for a long moment. "Get some sleep, Lila."
He steps back, breaking whatever strange spell had fallen over us. I slip into the bedroom, closing the door with a soft click.
As I settle into his bed, surrounded by his scent, I realize something unsettling. For all my talk of "finding myself" on this wilderness adventure, I never expected to find someone else in the process.
Especially not someone who makes solitude seem like the most honest way to live.
4
CALEB
Ican't stop watching her.
It's been three days since I found Lila Monroe half-dead in the woods, and instead of getting used to her presence, I'm becoming more aware of it by the hour.
The way she bites her lip when she's deep in a book. The little hum she makes when she stretches her arms above her head. The soft padding of her uneven steps as she moves around my cabin on the crutch I made her.
I'm noticing things I have no business noticing.
"You're staring again," she says without looking up from her book. Her mouth curves into a small smile.
Caught. Again. I turn back to the knife I'm sharpening, focusing on the smooth slide of steel against stone.
"Just making sure you're not putting weight on that ankle."
