☽Ⓛ❈Ⓒ☾

I nurse the mug of tea I'm holding on my lap, buying time as I try to think of a way to word my answer.

Jonah declined a cup, but looks particularly comfortable on the sofa in front of me. Blue is curled up on the rug in front of the fire next to us.

'My parents built this cabin.' I decide to start the beginning. 'I have so many memories of coming up here as a kid. They taught me how to survive in a storm, how to work the generator and fit snow chains on tyres, that kind of thing.'

I look over at the window. With the snow piled against it, it's seems too bright to be evening. The sun has long set, but the snow is as white and pure as ever.

'I loved stepping back from the busy world below and having our time, just the three of us. My dad passed away when I was young and Mum liked to come up here to feel close to him. Even when she got with my step-Dad and he came too, we both still felt close to Dad.'

I look down at my legs, curled beneath me. I trace a pattern on the material of my joggers absentmindedly. Jonah listens quietly.

'She passed away last year,' I get the words out in a rush, before my voice can become thick. 'I moved up here shortly after. With the money from selling the house, I renovated this place, making it easier to live up here. I have a coop with chickens, an insulated one, of course. Can you believe that? A twenty-five year old woman who lives up a mountain with her chickens and her dog.'

I laugh at my own situation. When I look up, Jonah is smiling politely, but there is no judgement on his face. He's not looking at me like I'm some weirdo. It's nice.

'It started off as a way to feel closer to my parents, but now, I'm not sure. I've never had a reason to go back. I write books, I'm an author,' I explain to him. 'It's embarrassing, but I'm something of a local celebrity and when I lived down there, people were always showing up on my door or hounding me whilst doing shopping. Up here? I'm alone. It's peaceful.

'Except, I'm struggling to write. I haven't had much inspiration recently. I guess I've been lacking so much in meaningful human contact, that it's starting to affect my psyche. Apparently, day-visits into town aren't enough anymore.'

I don't know why I'm pouring my soul out to him like this. I can't even blame alcohol for making me loose-lipped.

Jonah gives me a wry, lopsided smile. 'Perhaps I can be of some inspiration.'

He doesn't intend to be sexual. The half-smile and tired eyes tell me that he's trying to be sweet, funny, even. He doesn't know that sexual scenes are the ones that I am struggling with at the moment.

I wish he could be inspiration, but sleeping with your injured guest feels awfully like taking advantage.

Instead, I force a smile. 'Perhaps.'

We talk for a few hours. I offer to put the TV on the background, but Jonah is quite comfortable sitting with me.

I catch him checking me out a few times. His eyes are on my face when I look towards him suddenly and I can feel them on my back when I put my mug back in the kitchen. It's not leering and it doesn't make me uncomfortable.

Even a few hours with this man has told me that he is a complete gentleman. Those muscles don't come with an ego. Or maybe his head injury knocked the arrogance out of him, for all I know.

I quite like him looking at me. I find myself swaying my hips a little more when I walk, and playing with my hair far more than I normally would if I were alone. It's tragic, I know, but it's nice to feel attractive, to feel wanted again.

I've cornered myself off from the world up in this cabin, it's nice to allow a part of the world back in, even if it is only temporary.

When it becomes late and we're both yawning, I suggest letting him get some sleep. I show him to my bedroom, pointing out where everything is.

Once he realises that mine is the only bed, he starts to protest, stating that he is perfectly happy on the couch. I refuse to let him because I already know from earlier, that his feet hang off the end.

The man took a nosedive down a mountainside today. His body deserves a mattress. I insist repeatedly, until finally, Jonah very reluctantly caves in. I use the bathroom and get ready for bed.

Whilst he goes in, I collect all of the sheets and blankets I'll need from my wardrobe. I also grab myself a change of clothes for tomorrow.

I get myself set up in the living room. I position the cushions how I want them on the couch and layer up the blankets.

'Are you sure you don't mind?' Jonah's voice makes me jump.

I look up to see him standing in the bedroom doorway, watching me with warm eyes. My cheeks flush instantly. I'm wearing my gingham flannel pyjamas. In no way are they classed as sexy nightwear.

'No, I don't! Your body needs a good night's sleep,' I insist.

He tries one last time to get us to swap. I make some joke about having to drag him to the bed, which makes him laugh and my cheeks burn as I realise what I've said.

I face-palm myself when the bedroom door closes. Cursing myself under my breath, I climb into my make-shift bed.

It's a bit tight and Blue is snoring extraordinarily loudly, but my body is too tired to care. I'm out like a light in minutes.

⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆✥⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆

As per my body clock, I wake at six. I get changed in the kitchen, seeing as it gives me a bit of time to cover up in case Jonah suddenly comes out of my room. I clean my teeth in the kitchen sink, tie back my hair and put in my earrings.

Blue gives me a funny look and I stick out my tongue at her. My own dog is judging me for dressing up for my guest.

It's just earrings, they don't mean anything.

I go out to the generator first, checking that everything is running smoothly. I know it is, we have electricity and running water, so it's all good. I add some more fuel to keep it going for the rest of the day.

Next, I check on the chickens. I give them their breakfast and collect four eggs from their coop. I wash them off in the kitchen and decide to brave the outdoors.

The wind is howling pretty loudly outside. When I open the back door a tiny crack, the breeze blasts in. It sends the roll of paper towels over on its side. It falls to the floor from the counter and unrolls, spreading the white squares across the tiles.

The curtains gust up as I poke my head through the small gap. Visibility is next to none. The sound is just over my knees, so maybe a foot and half deep.

It's coming down heavy and I have to fight to slam the door closed. It shakes the wall when it clicks into place. Blue gives me a look like 'we're not going outside, crazy human.'

I nod in agreement. 'I know, bad idea.'

I get to work on breakfast. I lay the table, setting out the placemats. I pour out some orange juice for us both (I freeze it so that it lasts longer, I do the same with my milk). I also put a packet of paracetamol out for Jonah.

I fry some bacon and leave it on a plate with tin foil covering it. The smell does the job, it rouses Jonah from the bedroom at 8AM.

He's wearing the clothes I gave him and they actually fit really well. He looks so attractive as he comes out of the room, rubbing his eyes.

'Morning!' I greet him cheerfully, unable to hide my joy at having another human in my cabin. 'Do you want some breakfast?'

Jonah rubs his stomach and comes into the kitchen. 'Hell yes! Sorry, um, please. That would be great.'

I decide to scramble the eggs, using a couple left over from yesterday to make lots for us. I add some bacon and serve it up a few minutes later.

We sit and eat together. Jonah thanks me for taking the sofa, saying that he had a great night's sleep. He has taken the plaster off his forehead and the cut looks a bit red, but it's already scabbing over.

After breakfast, I suggest changing his bandage. I use the bathroom first. I've been bursting all morning, it's usually the first thing I do in the morning. If he hadn't got up when he did, I was worried I'd have to go out and pee in the snow.

We sit down on my sofa and I peel off the bandage. This wound has stopped bleeding too, thank God. It doesn't look like it needs stitches, which I'm grateful for, because I have no idea how to stitch skin and I'd rather not know.

Despite Jonah's insistence that he could do it himself, he goes awful quiet when I start cleaning it with an antiseptic wipe. He lets me wrap it up with a new bandage and then thanks me.

I unlock the front door and let him go outside to view the snow for himself. He has to help me shut the door, because the gale is blasting against it again. His eyes are wide when he takes a seat on the couch again.

'What are we going to do all day?' He asks warily. 'Is there anything you need help with? Any jobs I could do?'

'Um, not at the moment I'm afraid. I don't have a satellite dish, so you can only watch DVDs on the TV, but I have about a million of them in the cupboard so take your pick. There's a ton of books in my bedroom and some old board games. Other than that...'

If Jonah is panicking about spending potentially 3-4 days in a remote cabin with barely anything to do, he doesn't show it. His lips twitch up into an amused smile.

'What do you do all day?'

I shrug. 'If the weather isn't like this, I do jobs around the house. But mostly? I write, although, as I said last night, that's been a bit difficult recently. I sometimes draw or paint, too.'

Jonah's eyebrows shoot up in surprise. 'You draw? I'd love to see your work, if you're willing to show me.'

My cheeks warm instantly. I never show anyone my work.

Who better to show, than a stranger you won't see again?

'I take it you draw?' I ask him as I retrieve my sketchbook.

He nods. 'All of the time, but I never do anything with my work. It's purely a hobby.'

I show Jonah my work and he pours over it appreciatively. We discuss our favourite artists, our favourite techniques and styles, we critique my work and he offers tips.

Eventually, I give him my pencils and let him use the pad for his own sketches. I return to my laptop, finding it much more easy to write with my new muse sprawled on the sofa behind me.

I keep my screen hidden by my body, so that he couldn't read it accidentally. With the steamy scene unfolding under my fingertips, I really wouldn't want him to see. The chapter I write is hot enough to melt the snow outside.

Thank you, injured lumberjack, for restoring my creativity.

⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆✥⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆

What's the weather like where you are? We've actually had snow in London and it hasn't melted yet! The excitement is real. L x