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He softens beside me. “Please, don’t tell me you’re the kind of person who decorates for Christmas on November 1st? Because I fucking hate those people.”

I scoff and bristle beside him. “Well, I am, so deal with it.”

He slides out of bed, leaving a cold draft behind. I can hear him fussing with the fireplace for light, and smug satisfaction hits my lips. I’ve won this battle. We don’t run the fire all the time because, just like with the food, our resources are limited. It’s dark this far north. It’s night more often than it’s daytime. We only have four hours of sunlight right now, and we cherish that time when we have it.

I often have no idea at all when the sun will rise. We’re not living like normal people, and winter has really settled in. The deep freeze started a week ago, and we couldn’t go out there, even if we wanted to. We usually just sit in the dark; we talk, eat, sleep, wake up, and fuck.

The fire blasts to life, and Micah’s tall, lean frame hovers in front of it. There’s enough light for me to grab my backpack and pull out The Great Gatsby as I wait for him, but not before I admire him for a moment. I rarely get to see him.

He runs his hand over the back of his neck before he looks at me. Sometimes, in the right light, in the right moment, he looks like Maison, and I catch my breath, remembering he’s not. I toss on an old sweater, making sure it’s not the one with the wrong number on it—even though Maison’s sweater is my favorite and probably always will be.

Micah brings me a bit of dried meat from some small animal. I hardly care which one anymore since they all taste the same to me now. He comes and snuggles in next to me as I take small bites. He barely eats, letting me have most of it.

Finally, it seems I’ve satiated him for the moment, and now I get to have the softer side of him I love just as much. When he chooses to show me this side, it’s my favorite side of him.

He watches me, and I notice his throat bobs as if he’s nervous about something. “Close your eyes,” he tells me when I’m done chewing.

I smirk. “What for?”

He arches a brow, indicating that he isn’t messing around. “Do it… Please.”

Did Micah just say please?

I snap my eyes shut, realizing he’s being serious. This must be important if he said please. He places something small and wooden in my hand. “Okay, open them,” he whispers.

My mouth gapes open when I take in what he just gave me. A wooden carving of a flower, so expertly done that it looks real, the petals so intricate. I have no idea how or when he did this, especially since he only has that big knife. He looks at me awkwardly, almost blushing.

I’m speechless. It’s unsurprising since he is talented at basically everything, but this?

“Micah,” I whisper, more breathless from this gift than anything he has ever done. It’s his love language, I realize, doing these small gestures. He’s done it from the beginning—the wolf blanket, the spears, the music he managed to find when it should have been impossible to have music in the wilderness.

He leans his head on his elbow, watching me with an amused expression as I inspect it. “I guess, since you’re my girlfriend now, I am supposed to buy you flowers, and since I can’t do that, I made this for you instead.”

I look at him, and my eyes widen, figuring out that he’s just admitted he’s never been in a relationship before. I just assumed with the number of women he’s fucked…

My eyes draw down to the carving, still marveling at how expertly crafted it is. My lips burst into a smile. “Micah Matei… Am I your first?”

His moment of vulnerability is over. He looks at me with a cool expression and merely shrugs. “It’s not a big deal.”

Tilting my body toward him, I press my lips against his, pouring all my love into him. “It is a big deal. I’m your first girlfriend.” I say those words out loud with pride, but a slice of guilt cuts through me. I said those words recently—to Maison.

Girlfriend.

I can’t pretend Micah is my first. He isn’t… not even close.

He runs his muscled arm over my chest, and I swallow a lump in my throat. “Do you like it?”

I turn away from him as tears burn the back of my eyes, and hopefully, I can hide the hint of emotion on my face so he doesn’t catch it. We still have a zero-Maison policy in this relationship, and if he guesses I was thinking of him…

“I love it, Micah. When did you make this?”

He cuddles in next to me, placing his hand over my injured one—a protective gesture I don’t think he realizes he does. “You tend to sleep a lot, baby,” he jokes.

And he rarely does.

He grabs the book, hands it to me, and sighs. “Alright, London. Where did we leave off?”

I turn to face him and smile. “Oh no, we are starting from the very beginning again.” I pick up the book and open it to the first page. “Chapter one…”