Cabin Fever

The cabin smelled like pine resin and dust, and someone had left a window open in the loft, so the whole place carried the chill of the mountain air sliding down through the rafters. Mikhaila stood in the kitchen with her hands on her hips, surveying the damage.

Two brown paper bags sat on the counter, sagging open. She pulled the first one toward her and looked inside.

"Who bought seven cans of cream of mushroom soup?"

No answer. The cabin had emptied out ten minutes ago, everyone grabbing towels and arguing about who got the bathroom first. She could hear the pipes groaning overhead, the distant percussion of twelve people trying to shower in a house built for six.

She pulled the cans out one by one and lined them up. Seven. Seven cans.

"Ria," she said under her breath. "I'm going to kill you."

The second bag was worse. A family-sized bag of pretzels. Two jars of pickles. A single head of lettuce that had already started to go limp, and underneath it, a package of hot dog buns with no hot dogs in sight. She dug deeper. A bag of marshmallows, a box of graham crackers, and exactly one chocolate bar.

"Mia."

She didn't turn around. She knew the voice. She'd known it since the first day Ria dragged her to a group hang at the campus coffee shop and Rowin had spent the entire two hours finding ways to make her spill her drink.

"What," she said, still staring into the bag.

"Did you know you're talking to yourself?"

She pulled out the chocolate bar and held it up. "Did you know someone bought one chocolate bar for thirteen people?"

Rowin leaned against the doorframe. She could see him in her peripheral vision, arms crossed, that particular half-smile he wore when he was about to say something designed to make her ears go red. He'd showered already, his brown hair still damp and pushed back from his forehead, and he was wearing his reading glasses instead of his contacts, which meant he'd probably been too lazy to put them in after. The glasses made him look softer. She hated that she noticed.

"I bought the chocolate bar," he said.

"Of course you did."

"It's dark chocolate. The good kind."

"It's *one bar*."

"For me."

She turned around then, the chocolate still in her hand. "You bought one chocolate bar for yourself and put it in the communal groceries?"

"I bought it for the trip. I didn't say I was sharing it."

"Rowin."

"Mia."

She set the bar down on the counter with more force than necessary. He didn't flinch. He just watched her, that same expression on his face, like she was a puzzle he'd already solved but still enjoyed looking at.

"You're not helping," she said.

"I wasn't asked to help."

"I'm asking you now."

"No you're not. You're telling me I'm not helping. Those are different things."

She hated when he did that. Picked apart her words like he was grading an essay. She turned back to the bags and started pulling things out faster, stacking cans and boxes and jars into some kind of order. Soup on the left. Pretzels in the middle. Pickles, God, why were there two jars of pickles.

"Who even eats this many pickles?" she muttered.

"Keith."

She paused. "What?"

"Keith eats pickles. Like, constantly. He brought a jar on the drive up. Finished it before we hit the turnoff."

She looked over her shoulder at him. "You're serious."

"Why would I lie about that?"

"I don't know. To annoy me?"

"That's a bonus, not a reason."

She shook her head and kept unpacking. The lettuce was a lost cause. She set it aside. The hot dog buns she put next to the pretzels, because they were both useless and they could be useless together. The marshmallows and graham crackers went on the far end of the counter. S'mores. At least someone had been thinking about the fire pit.

"Okay," she said, stepping back. "This is a disaster."

"It's food."

"It's random food. There's no meal here. There's no plan."

"You could make soup."

She looked at the seven cans of cream of mushroom. "For thirteen people?"

"Two cans per pot. Two pots. That's four cans. You've got three left over for tomorrow."

She stared at him.

"What," he said.

"You just did math."

"I can do math."

"You've never done math in front of me before."

"You've never asked me to plan a meal before."

She turned away so he couldn't see her face. The thing about Rowin was that he was always doing that, slipping in something useful under all the teasing, like he couldn't stand to be straightforward about anything. She'd known him for eight months now, ever since Ria had merged their friend groups and created this strange, sprawling thing they all belonged to. Eight months of him finding ways to get under her skin, and she still couldn't figure out if he actually disliked her or if this was just how he was with everyone.

It wasn't. She knew it wasn't. She'd watched him with Arabella and Hailey and Janet, and he was normal with them. Polite. Funny, even. But with her, he was always poking, always pushing, always standing just a little too close and saying things that made her brain short-circuit.

She didn't know what to do with it.

"So," she said, pulling open the cabinet above the stove and finding a stack of pots, "what do I make for dinner?"

She heard him shift behind her. When she glanced back, he'd moved off the doorframe and into the kitchen proper, leaning against the counter now, close enough that she could smell whatever soap he'd used. Something clean and woodsy. It was unfair, how good he smelled after a shower. She probably smelled like sweat and trail dust and the inside of a car.

"You could make anything," he said.

"That's not helpful."

"I'm being honest."

She pulled down two pots and set them on the stove. "There's nothing here to make anything. There's soup and pickles and pretzels and a dead lettuce."

"You could make soup with the pickles."

"I'm going to throw this pot at your head."

"You'd miss."

She turned around, and he was closer than she expected. Not close enough to touch, but close enough that she had to tilt her chin up to look at him. He was only a few inches taller than her, which was one of the few things she liked about him. Most of the guys in their group towered over her, made her feel like a child. Rowin was tall enough to be annoying about it but not tall enough to be intimidating.

He was looking at her with that expression again. The one she couldn't read.

"What do you want me to make?" she asked.

"Whatever you want."

"That's not an answer."

"It's the answer I'm giving you."

She crossed her arms. "You're impossible."

"I've been told."

"By who?"

"By you. Just now. And also, like, every time we hang out."

She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling. She didn't want to smile. She was annoyed with him. She was annoyed with the groceries and the lettuce and the fact that she was the one standing in the kitchen while everyone else got to shower and relax.

But he was still looking at her. And he wasn't moving.

"I'll eat whatever you make me," he said.

The words landed differently than she expected. Softer. He said it like it was obvious, like it was simple, like the idea of her cooking him dinner was just a fact of the universe. She felt her face go warm and hated herself for it.

"Fine," she said, turning back to the stove. "Soup. You're getting soup."

"Good."

"With pickles."

"Even better."

She reached for the can opener and started working on the first can. Behind her, she heard him pull out a chair and sit down at the small kitchen table. Not leaving. Not going upstairs to join the others. Just sitting there, watching her.

She could feel his eyes on her back. She tried to ignore it.

The can opener slipped. She swore under her breath.

"Need help?" he asked.

"No."

"You're holding it wrong."

"I'm not holding it wrong."

"You're holding it wrong."

She turned around and pointed the can at him. "If you come over here, I'm going to use this as a weapon."

He held up his hands, but he was smiling. That real smile, the one that showed up when he forgot to be cool. It made him look younger than twenty. It made her stomach do something she didn't want to name.

"I'm just saying," he said, "there's a trick to it."

"I know the trick."

"Do you?"

She turned back to the can and tried again. This time it worked. She felt a small, petty satisfaction at the sound of the lid popping free.

"See," she said.

"I never doubted you."

"Yes you did."

"Only a little."

She poured the soup into the pot and started on the second can. The kitchen filled with the smell of mushrooms and salt, and outside the window, the sky was going purple with dusk. The trees pressed in close around the cabin, dark and thick, and somewhere in the distance she could hear someone laughing. Probably Derek. He had that laugh that carried.

"Hey," Rowin said.

She didn't turn around. "What."

"Why'd you come on this trip?"

The question caught her off guard. She paused, can still in her hand.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, you don't like hiking."

"I like hiking."

"You complained the whole drive up."

"I was tired."

"You complained the whole way up the trail, too."

She turned around. He was leaning back in the chair, arms crossed, watching her with something that wasn't quite teasing. Something almost serious.

"Why do you care?" she asked.

"I'm curious."

"That's new."

"It's not new. I'm always curious about you."

She didn't know what to do with that. She turned back to the soup.

"Ria asked me to come," she said. "She wanted me here."

"That's it?"

"What else would it be?"

"I don't know. You tell me."

She dumped the second can into the pot and stirred it with more force than necessary. The soup sloshed against the sides.

"I came because I wanted to," she said. "Because it's summer and I'm tired of being in the city and I wanted to see everyone before school starts again. Because Ria's my best friend and she asked."

"Those are three different answers."

"They're all true."

She heard him shift in the chair. When she glanced back, he'd leaned forward, elbows on the table, chin in his hand. The glasses had slipped down his nose a little. He didn't push them up.

"Okay," he said.

"Okay what?"

"Okay, I believe you."

"Thanks for your approval."

"You're welcome."

She stirred the soup. He watched her.

The pipes upstairs had stopped groaning. Footsteps moved across the loft, and someone laughed, and then the door at the top of the stairs opened and Ria's voice came floating down.

"Mia! Are you making dinner?"

"Yes," she called back.

"Thank God. I'm starving."

"Then get down here and help."

"I'm still wet!"

"Then dry off!"

Ria laughed and the door closed again. Mia shook her head, but she was smiling. She couldn't help it. Ria had that effect on her, had since they were seven years old and Ria had marched across the playground to inform her that they were going to be best friends now, and that was that.

She turned back to the soup. Rowin was still watching her.

"What," she said.

"Nothing."

"You're staring."

"You're cooking."

"That's not a reason to stare."

"I'm not staring. I'm observing."

"Same thing."

"Not even close."

She stirred the soup. He kept observing.

The thing was, she didn't actually mind. That was the problem. She didn't mind him sitting there, didn't mind the weight of his attention, didn't mind the way he kept finding excuses to stay in the kitchen when everyone else had gone upstairs. She should mind. She should tell him to go away, to go shower, to go do literally anything else.

But she didn't.

She pulled down bowls from the cabinet, one by one, and stacked them on the counter. Thirteen people. Thirteen bowls. She counted them twice to be sure.

"You know," Rowin said, "you could just ask someone to help you."

"I did ask. I asked you."

"And I'm helping."

"You're sitting."

"I'm providing moral support."

She snorted. "Is that what we're calling it?"

"What would you call it?"

"I'd call it being useless."

"Ouch."

"You'll survive."

She found a ladle in the drawer by the stove and set it next to the pot. The soup was starting to bubble. She turned the heat down and leaned against the counter, and for a moment, neither of them said anything.

The cabin creaked. The wind moved through the trees outside. Somewhere upstairs, someone was playing music on a phone, tinny and distant.

"Why'd you come?" she asked.

He looked up at her. "What?"

"Why'd you come on this trip?"

He considered the question. She watched him consider it, watched the way his expression shifted, the teasing edge fading into something more thoughtful.

"Same reason as you, I guess," he said. "Ria asked. Wanted to see everyone."

"That's it?"

"That's it."

She didn't believe him. She didn't know why, but she didn't. There was something he wasn't saying, something underneath the easy answer, and she wanted to push, wanted to ask again, wanted to make him tell her the truth.

But she didn't. She didn't know him well enough for that. Eight months of banter and teasing and standing too close, and she still didn't know him at all.

"Okay," she said.

He smiled. Just a little. "Okay."

The door at the top of the stairs opened again, and this time it was Hailey, hair wrapped in a towel, wearing a hoodie that was probably Derek's.

"Food?" she asked.

"Almost," Mia said.

"Thank God. I'm going to pass out."

"Go sit down. I'll bring it out."

Hailey disappeared back into the loft. Mia turned to the soup, gave it one last stir, and started ladling it into bowls.

"Here," Rowin said, and suddenly he was standing next to her, holding a tray she hadn't seen him find. He set it on the counter and started arranging bowls on it, two at a time, steady and careful.

She watched him for a second. Then she went back to ladling.

They worked in silence. It was easy, easier than she expected, the two of them moving around each other in the small kitchen, him loading the tray while she filled the bowls. His shoulder brushed hers once. Neither of them acknowledged it.

When the tray was full, he picked it up.

"I'll take this out," he said.

"Okay."

He started toward the stairs, then stopped.

"Mia."

She looked up.

"Thanks for cooking."

She blinked. "You're welcome."

He held her gaze for a second longer than necessary. Then he turned and carried the tray up the stairs, and she was alone in the kitchen with the smell of soup and the sound of voices rising from the loft.

She stood there for a moment, ladle in her hand, heart beating a little faster than it should.

Then she shook her head, set the ladle down, and followed him up.

---

Dinner was chaos.

Thirteen people crammed around a table meant for eight, bowls and spoons and elbows everywhere, someone had found a bottle of wine and someone else had found a deck of cards, and the whole thing felt like a scene from a movie about people who were having more fun than they actually were.

Mia ended up squeezed between Ria and Aaron, which was fine, because Aaron was nice and quiet and didn't make her feel like she needed to perform. Across the table, Rowin was wedged between Hailey and Lucas, and every time she glanced over, he was already looking at her.

She stopped glancing over.

"So," Ria said, leaning close, "you and Rowin were alone in the kitchen for a while."

"We were unpacking groceries."

"For, like, twenty minutes."

"There were a lot of groceries."

Ria raised an eyebrow. Mia ignored her.

"He bought you chocolate," Ria said.

"He bought *himself* chocolate."

"Same thing."

"It's not the same thing at all."

Ria smiled into her soup. Mia wanted to elbow her, but Aaron was in the way, so she settled for a glare.

"You know he likes you," Ria said.

"He does not."

"He does."

"He's just annoying."

"Those aren't mutually exclusive."

Mia opened her mouth to argue, then closed it. She didn't have a good response. She didn't have any response. She just had the memory of him saying *I'll eat whatever you make me* and the way it had made her feel, warm and confused and a little bit hopeful.

She hated that she felt hopeful.

"He's not my type," she said.

"What's your type?"

"Not him."

"That's not an answer."

"It's the answer I'm giving you."

Ria laughed. Mia looked across the table again, and Rowin was still looking at her, and this time she didn't look away.

He smiled. Just a little. Just enough.

She looked away.

---

After dinner, everyone scattered. Some people went to the fire pit outside, some people went to the loft to play cards, and some people just disappeared into their rooms to sleep off the drive. Mia stayed in the kitchen to clean up, because someone had to, and because she needed a minute to herself.

She washed bowls in the sink, the water running hot over her hands, and stared out the window at the dark trees. The fire pit was glowing orange in the distance. She could hear voices, laughter, the crackle of flames.

The door creaked behind her.

"Back for round two?" she asked without turning around.

"Something like that."

It was Rowin. Of course it was Rowin. She didn't know why she was surprised.

He came up beside her and picked up a towel. Started drying the bowls she'd already washed.

"You don't have to do that," she said.

"I know."

"So why are you?"

He shrugged. "I'm here."

She didn't know what to say to that. She kept washing. He kept drying.

The silence between them was different now. Softer. The teasing edge was gone, replaced by something quieter, something she didn't have a name for. She could feel him next to her, close but not too close, and she found herself matching his rhythm, passing him bowls as soon as she finished them, like they'd done this a hundred times before.

"You know," he said, "you're not as scary as you think you are."

She looked at him. "What?"

"You act like you're all sharp edges. Like you're going to bite anyone who gets too close. But you're not."

"You don't know me."

"I know you made soup for thirteen people without complaining."

"I complained the whole time."

"Not really."

She turned back to the sink. Her hands were starting to prune.

"Why are you telling me this?" she asked.

"Because I wanted to."

"That's not a reason."

"It's my reason."

She didn't have a response to that. She finished the last bowl and handed it to him, and he dried it and set it on the stack, and then there was nothing left to wash.

She turned off the water and dried her hands on her jeans.

"Well," she said. "Goodnight."

"Mia."

She stopped.

He was standing there with the towel in his hands, looking at her with that same unreadable expression. The glasses had fogged up a little from the steam. He didn't seem to notice.

"Yeah?" she said.

"I'm glad you came."

She felt her face go warm. Again. She hated how often he did that to her.

"Okay," she said.

"Okay?"

"I mean. Me too."

He smiled. The real smile. The one that made him look younger.

"Goodnight, Mia," he said.

"Goodnight, Rowin."

She turned and walked up the stairs, and she didn't look back, even though she wanted to. Even though every part of her wanted to.

The loft was dark and quiet. She found her sleeping bag in the corner, next to Ria's, and crawled inside without changing, too tired to care. The fire outside was still glowing. She could see it through the window, orange and flickering, and she watched it until her eyes got heavy.

She thought about Rowin. She thought about the way he'd said her name. She thought about *I'll eat whatever you make me* and *I'm glad you came* and the way he'd looked at her in the kitchen, like she was something worth looking at.

She didn't know what it meant. She didn't know if it meant anything.

But she fell asleep thinking about it, and in the morning, when she woke up to the sound of birds and the smell of coffee, the first thing she did was look for him.

He was already outside. Sitting on the porch with a mug in his hands, watching the sun come up over the trees.

She stood in the doorway for a moment, watching him.

Then she stepped out onto the porch and sat down next to him.

He didn't say anything. He just handed her the mug.

She took a sip. It was black, no sugar, exactly how she liked it.

She didn't ask how he knew.

They sat there in silence, watching the sun rise, and Mia thought that maybe this trip was going to be different than she'd expected.

Maybe.

---

The trail was supposed to be easy. That's what Derek had said when he'd planned it, pulling up the map on his phone and showing everyone the elevation profile. *See? Barely any incline. It's basically a walk.*

It was not a walk.

Mia had been hiking for two hours, and her legs were burning, and her backpack was digging into her shoulders, and she was pretty sure she'd stepped in something that was either mud or something worse. The trail wound up through the trees, rocky and root-covered, and every time she thought they were near the top, the path kept going.

"This is not easy," she said to no one in particular.

"Almost there," Derek called back from the front of the group.

"You said that an hour ago."

"And I was almost right."

She wanted to throw a rock at him. She didn't have the energy.

Ria was walking beside her, also struggling, also sweaty, also clearly regretting every choice that had led to this moment. They'd been friends long enough that they didn't need to talk about it. They just trudged along together, suffering in silence.

Behind them, Rowin was walking with Lucas and Matteo, talking about something Mia couldn't hear. She'd been trying not to look back at him, but she kept doing it anyway. Kept catching glimpses of him through the trees, his green eyes bright in the dappled light, his hair sticking up in the back the way it always did when he'd been sweating.

She looked away.

"So," Ria said, "you and Rowin sat on the porch this morning."

"We did."

"For, like, an hour."

"Forty-five minutes."

"Same thing."

"It's not the same thing."

Ria grinned. Mia ignored her.

"Did you talk?" Ria asked.

"Not really."

"What does that mean?"

"It means we sat there and drank coffee and didn't say much."

"And that's... good?"

Mia thought about it. The sun coming up over the trees. The warmth of the mug in her hands. The way Rowin had looked at her when he handed it over, like he'd been waiting for her to show up.

"I don't know," she said. "It was nice."

"Nice."

"Don't."

"I didn't say anything."

"You were thinking it."

"I'm always thinking it."

Mia laughed despite herself. Ria bumped her shoulder, and Mia bumped her back, and for a moment, the hike didn't feel so bad.

They kept walking. The trail leveled out, and the trees opened up, and suddenly they were standing at the edge of a clearing with a view that made Mia forget how tired she was.

The valley spread out below them, green and gold in the morning light. A river cut through the middle, silver and winding. Mountains rose up on either side, hazy with distance, and the sky was so blue it looked fake.

"Okay," Mia said. "This was worth it."

"Told you," Derek said, grinning.

She still wanted to throw a rock at him. But she was also grateful, in a way she couldn't quite express.

Everyone spread out along the edge of the clearing, pulling out snacks and water bottles, taking pictures and stretching their legs. Mia found a flat rock and sat down, closing her eyes and letting the sun warm her face.

She heard footsteps. Then someone sat down next to her.

"Mind if I join you?"

She opened her eyes. Rowin was there, holding two granola bars.

"One of these is for you," he said. "If you want it."

She took one. "Thanks."

They sat there, eating granola bars, looking out at the valley. The others were scattered around them, laughing and talking, but Mia felt like she and Rowin were in their own little bubble, separate from everyone else.

"You know," he said, "you're not as bad at hiking as you think you are."

"I'm terrible at hiking."

"You made it here."

"Barely."

"You made it. That's what counts."

She looked at him. He was staring out at the valley, his profile sharp against the sky, and she felt something shift in her chest. Something she didn't want to name.

"Why are you being nice to me?" she asked.

He turned to look at her. "What?"

"You're always teasing me. Always trying to get a reaction. But now you're being nice. Why?"

He was quiet for a moment. Then he shrugged.

"Maybe I'm tired of teasing."

"That's not an answer."

"It's the answer I'm giving you."

She wanted to push. Wanted to make him tell her the truth. But she didn't. She just sat there, eating her granola bar, watching the valley with him.

After a while, he spoke again.

"Hey, Mia."

"Yeah?"

"I'm glad you're here."

She didn't say anything. She just leaned her shoulder against his, just a little, just enough to feel the warmth of him through his jacket.

He didn't move away.

They sat like that for a long time.

---

The hike back was easier. Maybe because the trail was mostly downhill, maybe because Mia had stopped caring about how tired she was. Either way, she found herself at the back of the group with Rowin, walking side by side, not talking much but not needing to.

The others were ahead, their voices drifting back through the trees. Ria was walking with Hailey and Arabella. Derek was arguing with Keith about something. The whole group was spread out along the trail, a loose collection of people who'd known each other for years and were still figuring out how to be together.

Mia looked at Rowin. He was watching the trail ahead, his hands in his pockets, his backpack slung low on his shoulders. He looked tired. Happy, but tired.

"What are you thinking about?" she asked.

He glanced at her. "Nothing."

"That's not true."

"How do you know?"

"Because no one thinks about nothing."

He smiled. "Fair point."

"So what are you thinking about?"

He was quiet for a moment. Then he said, "I'm thinking about how this trip is almost over."

"We still have two more days."

"I know. But it's going fast."

She nodded. It was. The first night felt like a week ago, and the hike felt like it had taken years, but somehow the time was slipping away. In two days, they'd drive back to the city, back to their separate lives, back to the version of themselves that didn't sit on porches at sunrise or share granola bars on mountaintops.

She didn't want it to end.

"Me too," she said.

They walked in silence for a while. The trees thinned out, and the cabin came into view, small and brown and welcoming. Smoke rose from the chimney. Someone had started a fire.

"We should do this again," Rowin said.

"What, hike?"

"This. All of us. Get together."

"Yeah," she said. "We should."

He looked at her. "You mean it?"

"I mean it."

He smiled. The real smile. The one that made her stomach flip.

"Good," he said. "Because I'd like to see you again."

She didn't know what to say to that. She just walked beside him, down the last stretch of trail, to the cabin where everyone was waiting.

And when they got there, and everyone was talking and laughing and pulling off their boots, she found a spot next to him by the fire and sat down, and he didn't move away.

---

That night, after dinner and cards and too much wine, Mia found herself outside again. The fire pit was still glowing, embers orange and shifting, and the sky above was full of stars. More stars than she'd ever seen in the city. More stars than she'd known existed.

She sat on the bench by the fire, wrapped in a blanket, staring up at the sky.

The door creaked. Footsteps on the porch.

She didn't turn around. She knew who it was.

"Can't sleep?" Rowin asked.

"Too many stars."

He sat down next to her. Close. Closer than usual.

"Too many stars," he repeated.

"I'm not used to it. The city doesn't have stars."

"It doesn't."

She looked at him. He was staring up at the sky, his face soft in the firelight, and she felt something break open in her chest. Something she'd been holding back for days. Weeks. Months.

"Why do you always find me?" she asked.

He turned to look at her. "What?"

"Every time I'm alone, you show up. Every time I'm in the kitchen, or on the porch, or sitting by the fire. You're always there."

He was quiet for a moment. Then he said, "Maybe I'm looking for you."

"Why?"

"Because I want to find you."

She didn't know what to say. She just sat there, looking at him, feeling the weight of his words settle over her like the blanket.

"Mia," he said.

"Yeah?"

"I like you."

The words hung in the air between them. Simple. Direct. Nothing teasing about them.

She stared at him. "What?"

"I like you. I have for a while. I thought you knew."

"I didn't know."

"You didn't?"

"No. I thought you were just... I thought you were just messing with me."

He shook his head. "I was never messing with you. I was just... I don't know. I didn't know how to say it. So I teased you instead."

She felt her face go warm. Her whole body go warm.

"You're an idiot," she said.

"I know."

"A complete idiot."

"I know."

She looked at him. He was smiling. That real smile. The one that made him look younger.

"I like you too," she said.

The words came out before she could stop them. Before she could think about what they meant. Before she could worry about what came next.

He reached out and took her hand. His fingers were warm. Solid.

"Good," he said.

"Good?"

"Yeah. Good."

She laughed. She couldn't help it. The whole thing was ridiculous. Eight months of banter and teasing and standing too close, and it turned out they'd been on the same page the whole time.

"I'm still going to throw things at your head," she said.

"I'd expect nothing less."

She leaned into him, her shoulder against his, and he put his arm around her, and they sat there, watching the embers fade, watching the stars turn slowly overhead.

The door creaked again. Footsteps.

"Hey, lovebirds," Ria called. "It's cold. Come inside."

Mia laughed. Rowin laughed. They got up, still holding hands, and walked back to the cabin together.

And when they stepped inside, and everyone looked up and saw them, and Ria grinned like she'd known all along, Mia didn't care. She didn't care about the teasing or the questions or the way Derek started making kissing noises. She just cared about the way Rowin's hand felt in hers, and the way he looked at her, and the way the whole trip had turned into something she hadn't expected.

Something better.

---

The next morning, Mia woke up before everyone else. The loft was quiet, the air cool, and she lay in her sleeping bag for a while, listening to the birds outside and the soft breathing of the people around her.

She thought about last night. About the fire pit. About Rowin's hand in hers.

She smiled.

She got up, careful not to wake Ria, and made her way downstairs. The kitchen was still a mess from dinner, bowls and spoons and empty wine bottles, and she started cleaning up, because someone had to.

The door opened behind her.

"You're up early," Rowin said.

She turned around. He was standing in the doorway, hair messy, eyes still half-closed, wearing a t-shirt and sweatpants. He looked soft. Sleepy. Perfect.

"Couldn't sleep," she said.

"Too many stars?"

She laughed. "Something like that."

He walked over to her and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close. She let him. She let herself lean into him, feel the warmth of him, breathe him in.

"Good morning," he said.

"Good morning."

He kissed the top of her head. She closed her eyes.

"Hey," he said.

"Yeah?"

"I meant what I said. Last night."

"I know."

"I like you. A lot."

She looked up at him. His green eyes were bright, even in the dim morning light.

"I like you too," she said. "A lot."

He smiled. She smiled.

And then they stood there, in the messy kitchen, holding each other, while the sun came up over the trees and the rest of the cabin slept.

It was a good morning.

It was a good start.