5. Lissy

Chapter 5

Liss y

T he crackling of the fire gently pulls me from sleep. I open my eyes to find Erik tending to the flames, his movements a calming, methodical dance. “Morning,” I murmur, my voice still heavy with sleep. “Need any help?”

He glances over, a soft smile on his face. “I’ve got the fire, but maybe you can help with breakfast?”

The storm rages on outside, but its fury feels distant, muted by the warmth and light within our shelter. As Erik flips through a worn cookbook, his laughter fills the space, a sound that resonates with a newfound familiarity. “How about pancakes with a side of... well, more pancakes?” he suggests, his eyes twinkling with humor.

I laugh, the sound unfamiliar yet welcome in this secluded space. “As long as you’re cooking, I’m eating.”

Thankful that there were some pantry staples stocked in airtight containers in the cupboards, I measure out the ingredients noted in the book.

Our conversations meander, from lighthearted banter to deeper, more revealing exchanges. I catch Erik’s gaze on me, warm and inquisitive, as if he’s truly seeing me for the first time. “What’s the one place you’ve always wanted to visit?” he asks, stirring a pot on the fire.

I think for a moment, the question catching me off guard. “Iceland,” I reply, “to see the Northern Lights.” His interest feels genuine, encouraging me to share more of my dreams, ones I’ve seldom voiced.

“Norway would be good too.”

As the day fades into evening, Erik pulls out an old deck of cards. “Ready to lose at poker?” he challenges with a playful grin.

“You wish,” I retort, shuffling the deck. The game is filled with laughter and playful jabs. Erik’s competitive side surfaces, but it's all in good fun. “You're not half bad at this,” he concedes as I win a hand.

Later, as shadows stretch across the cabin, Erik picks up an old book from the shelf. “How about a story?” he suggests. His voice, deep and steady, fills the cabin as he reads. I close my eyes, letting the sound of his narration blend with the crackling of the fire, a perfect symphony in our secluded world.

When he finishes, a comfortable silence settles between us. The firelight plays across his face, softening his features. I see a tenderness in him, a vulnerability he rarely shows. “Thank you for today,” I whisper, the words barely more than a breath.

He turns to me, his smile gentle in the fire’s glow. “No, thank you for being here. It’s been... more than I expected,” he admits, his voice low.

As we sit there, the storm outside now just a backdrop to our own story, a sense of peace envelops me. His presence, once a source of mild irritation, has become a source of comfort, of unexpected joy. “Today was perfect,” I say, the truth of my words hanging in the warm air.