Chapter 4 - Russell

I force myself to take a step back, putting some much-needed distance between us. Up close like this, it's impossible not to notice just how pretty this girl really is.

From those big, expressive eyes to those full, pouty lips, she's hitting every one of my buttons in the most dangerous way.

The urge to close the space separating us, to haul her plump curves flush against me, is nearly overpowering. I can picture it all too vividly - tangling one hand in those wild curls, angling her face up to mine, and finally tasting those tempting lips I've been avoiding looking at.

I squeeze my eyes shut and turn my head away, jaw clenching tight. This kind of thinking will only lead to trouble. I can't allow myself to go down that path, no matter how much a primal part of me is howling in protest.

When I finally dare to look at her again, Lyla is watching me with a tiny furrow between her brows, as if she can sense the war raging inside me but can't pinpoint the reason.

For a fleeting moment, I almost want to confess everything - the pain, the guilt, the reasons why I isolated myself out here to begin with.

But of course, I can't. I don't want to drag anyone else into the toxic mess of my past, not after what happened. No, it's better if I keep my distance from everyone. It's safer for them.

"You, uh, you should probably get some sleep," I mutter gruffly, internally cursing the tremor in my voice. "Long day of lessons ahead tomorrow if you're going to learn how to really survive out here."

Lyla arches one delicate brow at me, "And why exactly would I still be here tomorrow? I thought this was just a one-night deal because it got too late for me to hike back."

Dammit, I knew I shouldn't have hinted at anything more. Pushing things, making her linger - that will only lead to me slipping up eventually.

"You're right," I say gruffly, turning away to put more space between us again. "I shouldn't have assumed. You'll want to start early in the morning and return on that trail."

"Whoa, hey!" She moves to step back into my line of sight, a teasing lilt to her voice. "I was just joking around, grumpy. If you're offering to teach me some bad-ass wilderness survival skills, I'm definitely not going to turn that down."

I blink at her, momentarily thrown by the unexpected response.

"You...you're not?"

She shakes her head, those wild curls bouncing around her face.

"Of course not! In case you've forgotten, I'm currently unemployed. It's not like I've got anything better to be doing."

Right, she had mentioned getting fired from whatever job brought her out to this neighboring little town. My brows draw together as I study her, wondering if she's just saying that to get a rise out of me again. But her warm gaze seems open and sincere, not a hint of teasing this time.

"Are you sure about that?" I hedge, needing to be sure. "It ain't gonna be a walk in the park out here. It could get pretty harsh."

Instead of looking intimidated or apprehensive, as most normal people would, Lyla's eyes sparkle with excitement and challenge.

"Bring it on. I can handle whatever you've got to dish out."

I suddenly feel a burst of pride swell in my chest at her feisty words. This one...she's got guts; I'll give her that.

Trying to tamp down my body's ridiculous reaction, I give a curt nod.

"Alright then. You've been warned."

As I turn to lead the way back inside, I can't quite smother the small smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. Having her around for more than just one night...it's sure to be interesting, that's for damn sure.

We step back inside the cabin, and Lyla's belly lets out a loud grumble.

"Oops, sorry about that," she says, cheeks pinking slightly.

"Don't worry about it. I'm getting hungry myself." I jerk my chin towards the small kitchen area. "C'mon, let's see what I've got for food around here."

She follows me over, then surprises me by saying, "Actually, why don't you let me do the cooking? It's the least I can do since you're putting me up for the night."

I raise an eyebrow at her, "Appreciate the offer, but I don't really like people messing with my stuff."

Lyla smirks, "Your stuff? You mean like plates and pots and pans?"

"It doesn't matter what it is," I say with a slight scowl. “It's mine, and I like to keep things a certain way."

"In other words, you're just a territorial grouch," she teases.

I shoot her a look but don't rise to the bait, "Think whatever you want. You still ain't cooking, end of story."

Lyla relents with a dramatic eye roll.

"Alright, alright. Be that way, Mr. Possessive Caveman."

Ignoring her quip, I start rummaging through the cabinets, pulling out some canned goods and other non-perishables I have stocked. As I work on assembling something edible, Lyla hops up to sit on the small counter, swinging her legs idly.

"So..." She draws out the word. "If I'm sticking around to learn your crazy survivalist ways, does that mean I get to hear the deep, dark story of why a guy like you ends up all alone out here?"

I shoot her a withering look over my shoulder. "Don't count on it."

To my surprise, instead of pushing the subject, she just chuckles.

"Fair enough. Guess I'll have to earn that tale the hard way then."

Despite myself, the corners of my mouth twitch upwards at her easy confidence. This girl doesn't shy away from a challenge.

I continue prepping our simple meal, trying to ignore the bemused smirk Lyla keeps shooting me. What the hell am I doing, letting this girl get under my skin like this? I should've just sent her on her way at first light, not encouraged her to stick around.

But a frustratingly stubborn part of me can't deny how nice it feels to have some actual human company again after so much self-imposed isolation.

The easy banter, the playful back-and-forth—it's been so long since I've experienced anything like this that it's both exhilarating and deeply unsettling all at once.

I can't let myself get too comfortable, though. I can't afford to let my guard down, to let anyone get that close again after...

A stinging pain in my finger shakes me from my troubled thoughts with a sharp hiss. Looking down, I see a thin line of red welling up from where I've nicked my skin on the blade while mindlessly chopping vegetables.

"Shit," I grunt, quickly sticking the injured digit in my mouth on reflex.

"Oh my god, are you okay?" Lyla is instantly on alert, sliding down from her perch on the counter. "Do you have a first aid kit around here somewhere?"

I mumble an affirmative around my finger, gesturing vaguely towards the bathroom. She rushes off without further prompting, returning seconds later with a dingy little med kit.

"Here, let me see," she says as she gently pries my hand away from my mouth. Frowning at the sluggishly bleeding cut, she orders, "Sit down and let me clean that up properly."

I obey without argument, feeling suddenly and unexpectedly cowed by her decisive, take-charge attitude. As I sink into one of the kitchen chairs, Lyla kneels on the floor in front of me, deftly preparing some antiseptic wipes and gauze.

"This might sting a little," she warns, holding my gaze for a beat before carefully taking my injured hand in her firm yet gentle grip.

The focused look of tender concern on her face as she cleans and dresses the minor wound makes something long dormant inside me twist achingly.

Maybe...maybe having her around for a little while won't be so bad after all.