Well . . . maybe not.
With a sigh, I glanced up and realized darkness had settled outside. Several store bags littered the room, still unpacked. I flicked on the lamp that I'd bought, filling the cabin with a warm glow. A new winter coat hung across the back of the desk chair, and packaged clothes hangers waited for me to unpack my two suitcases. Maybe Mark would let me stow my empty suitcases somewhere else.
At some point, I needed to eat dinner.
Just after I started a movie on NetShows to run in the background while I worked, a gentle tap came on the door. By the time I pulled a jacket on and got the door open, no one stood outside.
A single mug of hot chocolate sat on the ground just outside my door, steaming in the cooling night air.
Five days of blissful quiet passed.
Mark and I blithely avoided each other, like we'd created a game to see as little of each other as possible.
A mug of hot chocolate appeared at my doorstep every night. Instead of catching him on delivery, I paused to give him time to escape. I left an envelope filled with five 100 dollar bills and marked rent on his table after his ancient truck roared away. Because who would lock their door out here?
Sometimes after I grabbed some coffee in his house and slipped out the back door again, the cabin smelled like a faint hint of pine, as if he'd just slipped upstairs when he heard my knock and didn't want to be seen. When I returned from making lunch in the kitchen, fresh firewood was stacked in my room.
Strange, like a dance.
But nice all the same.
By the sixth day, however, I was silenced out. The utter stillness of the mountains, while soothing, became grating. Although I'd caught up on a lot of the movies that I'd missed while throwing my world into the accounting firm I suddenly left without explanation, I didn't feel accomplished.
Or relaxed.
The absence of bustle, activity, and people had been rejuvenating. Now, it was too quiet. Suffocating. What was I doing with my life? The four remaining clients I had—Mark included—wouldn't need much until the end of the month. No unusual local or national headlines caught my attention. The quiet should have been a relief.
Now, I just felt restless.
And how much longer would this last? Weeks? Months? I really should have bought that RV. At least there was adventure and movement in driving around.
That evening, I dressed in my warmest running gear. Wild, gray clouds piled on the horizon, whipping in on a cold wind. If I didn't get this excess energy out, I'd never sleep. My cabin wasn't big enough to pace, and I didn't want to intrude on Mark and his mountain man world.
Whatever that meant.
No, there was a strange skein of ice between us, and I didn't want to be the first one to break it.
A chill raced through me when I stepped outside. Gravel ground underneath my shoes as I headed for the road, doubting the intelligence of this decision. It was a few miles to the bridge and back, which would be just right in terms of length. Dark would just be falling in earnest by the time I returned if I hustled.
As I headed around Mark's cabin, buttery light in the windows, a voice startled me.
“It's a bit late for a run.”
Mark stood on his porch, one leg tucked behind him in a stretch. He straightened the bent leg, shaking it out. Like me, he wore long pants, sleeves, and ear coverings. Only his face was flushed red, as if he'd just gotten back from a run.
“Hi.” I stopped. “Yeah, I just . . . need to get out. I won't be gone long.”
He frowned. “Where are you running?”
“To the bridge and back.”
A beat followed, then he started toward me. “Mind if I come?”
“Um . . . why?”
“Because there's a mountain lion that's prowling around here at night. It's not safe for you to run by yourself when it's dark here. It'll be dark before you get back and rain is supposed to be blowing in, anyway.”
Several responses flooded me, but none of them made it to my lips. Dadgummit, but I definitely hadn't considered the furry type of predator. At least, not near the camp and a road. But then, why wouldn't they be here?
“Oh.” I swallowed, realizing how ridiculous that sounded. “But it looks like you just came back.”
He shrugged. “I did.”
“You want to go again?”
“It's only five miles round trip.”
Only. Spoken with the casual arrogance of someone that ran often. How far had he just run? Did he race or something? At first, I was tempted to reschedule the run for later, but the idea of returning to that tiny cabin made my stomach churn. No, I needed to tire myself out first.
“Sure.” I managed a smile. “Thanks.”
“You set the pace. I'll follow.”
Running with another person felt oddly intimate. I forced myself to focus on my body and my pace, the way I always did, instead of whether he thought I was fast or slow. Even with darkness creeping in every minute, and the bare tree branches rattling in the wind that brought it, there was a stark beauty to an autumn forest. Even if it was ready to kill me at any moment.
Suddenly, mountain lion eyes seemed to be everywhere.
We didn't speak at first. Mark followed at my side, but slightly behind. Eventually, my body warmed into the movement. The cool air ached when it spread through my lungs as I breathed faster. Foggy breath trailed behind me as we moved. By the time we arrived at the bridge, the storm covered the sky with slate. Somewhere behind the mat of impending moisture, the sun set. The mountains had already fallen
