I was thinking about you. “I had stuff on my mind. And it’s not the middle of the night. Just past midnight. And now it’s my turn to ask you the same question. What are you doing out here?”
“Walking.” The fact that he was wearing his jeans and boots told her that, unlike her, he hadn’t yet gone to bed.
She remembered on several of the occasions they’d spent the whole night together, waking to find him wide-awake and staring into the darkness. And another occasion, more vivid in her memory, when he’d had a nightmare.
“Do you still have bad dreams?” The question left her lips before she could stop it and he released his grip on her shoulder.
“You should go back to bed.”
Which meant that he did, but didn’t want to talk about it. Which came as no surprise of course. He never talked about any of it.
At the time she’d thought that was fine. That a person had a right to their own privacy. She’d been too young to understand how privacy was connected to intimacy.
Would it have been different if they’d met for the first time now?
Sadness settled over her like mist.
“I’m not ready to sleep. I’m going to sit by the pond for a while. Good night, Zach.” She walked away, and heard him curse softly and follow her, his feet crunching on the forest path.
“I don’t suppose there’s any point in telling you not to walk in the forest on your own?”
“None at all.” Part of her wanted him to walk away and another part of her was pleased that he hadn’t, all of which she took as evidence that her brain was as mixed up as her insides. “I’ve slept under the stars plenty of times, Zach. I can handle the woods on my own island.”
“Wearing pajamas?”
“They cover my legs so I’m not going to get bitten. And I don’t need a guard dog so feel free to do whatever it was you were planning on doing when you started your evening stroll.”
“I was taking a walk.” And he continued that walk alongside her, keeping pace with her until they reached the dock.
She felt a rush of frustration. “I’ve told you, I don’t need protecting.”
“Who says I’m here to protect you? Maybe I just like spending time with you.”
Her heart lurched in her chest and her legs went so weak she plopped down on the cool planks of the dock, wondering what it was about him that turned her insides to mush. “Oh. I— Well, okay, then.”
Because he didn’t often say things like that, when he did it had enormous impact.
She was overwhelmed by an almost uncontrollable urge to abandon caution and kiss him.
Would he push her away?
It wasn’t as if they hadn’t already taken a step down that path.
It wasn’t as if—
Unsettled by the complexity of her feelings, she gave a little shiver and because he missed nothing, he noticed.
“You’re cold.”
She waited for him to suggest going back to the cabin, but instead he shrugged out of his jacket and draped it around her shoulders. She was cocooned by warmth, enveloped by Zach. The jacket smelled good. It smelled like him and after five seconds of inhaling his subtle masculine scent she was heated like bread in a toaster.
“Now you’ll be cold.”
“I won’t. Compared to Alaska, this is balmy.” He sat down next to her, his arm brushing against hers. “You always did love the outdoors. Did you sleep under the stars on digs?”
She tried to forget the coat, his nearness and the ridiculous hammering of her heart.
“Sometimes. Usually under canvas. This summer in Crete, Lily and I shared an apartment, which sounds like luxury until I tell you I’ve eaten burgers that were bigger than our bedroom.” She snuggled deeper inside the jacket, listening to the rush of the wind through the trees and trying not to think about the fact that Zach was sitting right there, right next to her, within touching distance. “Summer is almost over. I can never decide which is my favorite season. I love the fall colors, but I look forward to winter because there’s no better feeling than crunching through fresh white snow or dragging your sled to the top of East Crag and sliding down into the soft snow at the bottom. Then after a few weeks of bitter cold and ice and maybe a couple of power outages, the novelty wears off and I remember how endless winter seems. Then I long for spring when the snow melts and the rivers swell and the air is filled with the promise of summer. Then summer comes and the sun shines and for a while I think summer is my favorite season, until I’m stuck in Harbor Stores behind a line of tourists being poked in the back with a fishing net. Which is your favorite season?” Surely he’d tell her that? It wasn’t a personal question. Just a simple exchange of likes and dislikes.