Chapter 13: Chapter 13

I hum along to the music on the radio, tap out the beat with my fingers on the steering wheel, and soon I’m turning off onto the wheel-track road leading to Viggo’s cabin. When I park behind his car, he rounds the building and greets me with a smile.

The weather isn’t conducive to a lengthy greeting, so I just grab the pie and the bottle of wine I brought—leaving the bag in the car in case that’s not what he wants—and we hurry inside.

The cabin is warm and inviting, the fire burning and crackling merrily. Whatever he’s cooking smells divine—garlicky and autumn-y—and he takes the stuff I’m carrying, sets it on the table, and wraps his arms around me in a tight hug. My hands rest on his waist, and I inhale him. He smells of a dancing fire and pine trees, and I can’t help humming in pleasure.

“Hi,” he murmurs. “Would it be weird if I said I’ve missed you?”

I shake my head. “Not weird.”