"Morning," he said without turning, his voice soft but carrying in the small space. "Hope you're hungry."
I stood, running a hand through my tangled hair. "I could eat a horse."
He raised an eyebrow, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "How about bacon and biscuits instead? Less hoof."
I sat at the tiny table, watching as he flipped the bacon, then opened the oven door and pulled a pan from the wood cook stove with surprising skill. "You cook?"
He shrugged, a little sheepish. "It's amazing what you learn when you're on stakeouts for weeks at a time."
The reality of our situation settled around me like a heavy blanket, but there was something comforting about it, too. No alarm clock. No school board interrogations. No masked men with crowbars. Just us, here, away from everything.
I poured coffee into mismatched mugs from a camp-style coffee pot. The simple act grounds me. "It's nice," I said, gesturing around the cabin. "Rustic."
He stacked the biscuits and bacon onto a plate, then joined me at the table. "Rustic is code for 'no TV and spotty Wi-Fi,' right?"
I laughed, the sound filling the small space. It felt good to laugh. "Something like that."
We ate in silence, the kind that wasn't awkward but comfortable, like we'd been doing this for years instead of hours. He squirted ketchup onto his biscuit, then offered me the bottle.
"Thanks," I said, reaching for it. Our fingers brushed, and a flutter of something unexpected went through me.
I pulled my hand back, focusing on my food. "So, what's the next step in your detailed plan of hiding me from the world?"
He leaned back in his chair, studying me. "We lay low. Wait it out. See what shakes loose."
"And what do I do in the meantime? I've never been good at sitting still."
He smiled, a real one that crinkled the corners of his eyes. "There's plenty of construction paper and glue in the car. I figured you'd go stir-crazy without it.”
"You planned ahead," I said, touched despite everything.
"Always do," he said, then paused. "Except with you."
The air shifted, a new tension threading through it. The kind that had nothing to do with danger or threats.
“Ah… when you get bored with your crafts, there’s a stream about three hundred feet through the trees that way." He pointed behind me. “There are some fishing poles under the porch—"
"I don't know why you're helping me," I interrupted him, my voice barely above a whisper as I looked down at my plate, then back at him. "Why are you risking so much?"
He reached across the table, his hand covering mine. "Because I want to," he said simply.
And just like that, the fear that had knotted around my heart since the attack loosened, replaced by something warm and sweet. I squeezed his hand, a silent acknowledgment of the trust that was growing between us.
The day passed slowly, each hour stretching into the next with a leisure that I wasn't used to. I unpacked the supplies Ryker had brought, setting up a makeshift project station on the kitchen table. He watched me cut out brightly colored shapes, a bemused expression on his face.
"What?" I asked, glancing up from my work.
"Nothing," he said, shaking his head. "Just never thought I'd see the day when I'd be hiding out with someone who finds comfort in glitter."
"Everyone needs a little sparkle in their life," I replied, tossing a piece of gold paper at him.
He caught it easily, his reflexes sharp even in this moment of calm. "Even an ex-mercenary?"
"Especially an ex-mercenary."
He laughed, the sound rich and unguarded. "Guess I'm learning a lot from you."
I felt a blush creep up my cheeks, unused to the intensity of his attention. "It's only fair. You taught me how to jump off a bus."
