Page 84 of Shadowing You

He laughed, a soft chuckle against the top of her head. “Happy to see you, too.”

She didn’t trust her voice yet, so she only held on.

He angled to see her face. “Are you all right? Any excitement while I was gone?”

“It’s been very quiet. And you? Did you get through? Were you seen?”

“No problems at all. I talked to Michael and Gavin.”

“And?”

“All is well. Let’s get out of this cold.” He wrapped an arm around her back and turned her toward the cabin. Her legs were wobbly after her dash across the clearing, though she was strong enough to carry herself. Even so, she leaned into him.

Inside, he closed and locked the door, then crossed to the table and swung a small backpack off his shoulders. It was new, a tag hanging from a strap. He set it between them.

“You went shopping?”

“There wasn’t much.”

She unzipped the pack and pulled out the contents one at a time: two flashlights, a bag of dried noodles, a package of crackers, a small bag of dried fruit, and more protein bars. Beneath those were two cans.

“You hauled these up the mountain?”

He lifted one shoulder. “It’s not a gourmet meal, but the picture looked like it had to be better than whatever that was we ate last night.”

She’d eaten this before, and it would be much better than canned fish.

Ethan’s eyes were twinkling. “There might be something else in there.”

She reached in and pulled out a fistful of candy, the wrappers a little crushed but the twist-ends still neat.

Her throat closed.

She hadn’t eaten one of these since…before. She tore the paper off one and, closing her eyes, bit through the rice paper into the chalky, milky chew. For a second, she was eight years old, perched in front of Bàba on his bicycle, the world passing in a blur of green.

“You’re supposed to eat dinner first.” A smile colored her husband’s voice.

She broke a second candy in half and held a piece out to him. “In another life, there was a saying… Life’s uncertain. Eat dessert first.”

“Wise words, my wife.” He took the candy and popped it into his mouth.

My wife.

Warmth filling her cheeks, she turned before he could see how his offhand remark affected her.

The cabin had a small two-burner propane stove. She added water from the barrel Ethan had filled that morning to a pot, then lit the burner beneath it.

Beside her, Ethan opened the cans.

“Thank you. Now, sit.”

“I can help.”

She caught his wrist and turned him toward the table. “You walked all day. You carried our dinner up a mountain.”

“I can⁠—”

“Rest, my husband. Let me.”