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“Busted,” I joke.

She swallows the pills with two gulps of water and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. “Now what?”

I unzip the front of the tent, and a gust of cold air whips across my face. “Even if we could walk now that the storm is over, the trail back to the lodge is soaked and slippery. And the sun is just setting. Might as well camp for the night and go back first thing tomorrow morning.”

I look over my shoulder at Charlee, still clad in nothing but my oversized shirt, and grit my teeth.

She surveys the tent. “And how is this supposed to work?”

“The tent is big enough for the both of us. You can take the sleeping bag, and I’ll sleep with these on.” I nod to the jackets drying on the floor. It’s gonna be a rough night. Temperatures will drop pretty low after a storm like that, but I’ve lived through worse. I can survive one night.

Charlee rolls her eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous. We can . . . we can share.”

As soon as the words are out, it looks like all she wants to do is shove them back in.

“It’s okay, Charlee. I think we’ve had enough forced proximity for one day, don’t you?”

I don’t mean any of it. I could never have enough of her. I’d spend days with my face buried in her neck if I could. But I don’t want to make her more uncomfortable while we’re in this situation.

Something passes over her face, but I’m not fast enough to catch it. “It doesn’t have to be anything more than what it is, Oliver,” she says sharply. “Your sleeping bag looks big enough for two of you to sleep in. I think it’ll be just fine for one night.”

My eyes soften. “I didn’t . . . I didn’t mean it in a bad way. I just want you to be comfortable tonight, especially with your ankle.”

“My ankle will be fine. I’ll keep it outside,” she replies with more gentleness, but still, her gaze pins me on the spot. “I wouldn’t offer it if I wasn’t comfortable doing so. Trust me. I can draw my own limits. Plus, I don’t want you to die from the cold. Hypothermia and all, remember?”

Toronto, February 1, 2018

Hey Oli,

Didn’t I tell you about my magical powers? Gosh, I thought I did. I’ll keep them secret until we meet, then. It’ll build up the suspense so there’s still a bit of mystery for when we see each other in person for the first time.

And you know what? Skin to skin doesn’t sound like a bad idea, actually. Especially if I were with you. I’m very big on physical touch. Do you know what love languages are? It’s how you express your love and how you like to receive it. There are five different love languages, and mine are physical touch and quality time. I’m a hugger, a kisser. Any excuse to let my hands roam freely over my person. And I need to feel it too. I need to feel loved and cherished, and nothing speaks louder to me than having a caress on my body, a touch on my face. Just the thought of your hand on my lower back is sending butterflies very low in my stomach . . . I’d rather not let my brain go down the many possible ways you could touch me, because I might combust and set the letter on fire. How funny that I’m a physical touch kind of gal, but the simple thought of your hands on me is getting me more turned on than any contact I’ve experienced in my life.

Is physical touch one of yours too?

Quality time is a close second. There’s nothing more precious to me than spending time with the person I want to give my heart to. I want to enjoy things together and plan stuff we both love so we can connect and bond over it. Create unforgettable memories that we’ll tell our children and their children about. That’s what life is about, you know?

I hope I’ll get to go on that date with you one day. It sounds absolutely perfect. You’ll hold me, and I know that day will be one that forever changes my life.

With love,

Charlee

Attached article

If you don’t know your partner’s love language, how can you love them right?

Chapter Twenty-One

PANCAKES FOR DINNER

Charlee

Iwas so close to saying it. The truth burned my tongue, but I held on and endured the blaze.

I was chasing after the person I was when I had you. I was chasing the happiness I knew with you.

I couldn’t tell Oliver. I’d barely admitted it to myself mere minutes ago. I don’t know how that thought even fits with my own struggles to move past what he did.