Page 40 of Seale the Deal

It kind of reminds me of your hunting, she says after a moment.

It does? I’m genuinely curious to see how she can relate the two things.

You’re not simply hunting for fun, she says. You’re doing it to feed yourself and your community. It’s practical and economical while respecting the resources around you. That’s what I’m trying to do too, just with a needle instead of a rifle.

God.

I didn’t expect her to get it like that. Not really. Most people hear hunter and start picturing taxidermy, camo, and chewing tobacco. Which is fair, considering ninety percent of my wardrobe is camo. But Wrenley took in what I said, and she’s not judging me for it.

City folk definitely give me hell about hunting, I admit, but when it’s not your way of life, it’s hard to understand. I’m not in it to mount something on my wall.

And what city folk are you seeing?

We are a cruise ship town, I remind her. People come here because they romanticize the idea of Alaska. Sometimes they forget there are communities and traditions rooted in this land.

It’s a pretty easy place to romanticize.

For a long moment, we just look at each other. Even though the life we’re living together is a lie, this moment is so honest it’s almost cruel, because for a second, I forget we’re only pretending.

Coffee? I ask, breaking the tension.

She nods and smiles. Yeah, I’d love some.

I stand and pour us each a cup, adding cream to both, then hand her a mug as I sit down and take a sip. We finish our breakfast in relative silence, save for the scraping of knives on plates. Wrenley runs her finger through the last of the maple syrup on her plate and then slowly brings it to her mouth. She sucks the syrup off, completely unaware of what that does to me. My grip tightens slightly around my mug.

Jesus.

There’s a sharp pull low in my gut, and I have to look away. She’s just cleaning her plate. It’s innocent. But all I can think about is how not innocent it feels when she licks the tip of her finger like that.

Can I take that for you? I ask, my voice a little rougher than I intend.

She glances up, surprised, then nods and slides her plate toward me.

Thanks.

I carry both plates to the sink, telling myself to breathe. To stop imagining things that can’t happen.

She happily types into her phone as I finish cleaning up from breakfast. I keep sneaking glances at her. I like this version of Wrenley. She’s relaxed, happy, and clearly not thinking about the complexity of her situation. And I know I shouldn’t want to stretch this out. I know I should give her space, let the day go where it goes naturally, maybe even keep some distance, but I want to spend more time with her. I dry my hands on a towel and lean against the counter, watching her swipe something on her screen with a little smile on her face.

Yeah. I know I shouldn’t.

But I still ask—

Want to cut down a tree?

Her head jerks up. What?

A tree. Do you want to cut one down with me?

She narrows her eyes. Do I get to use an axe?

I shrug. You can try. I think you’ll like the chainsaw more.

Her whole face lights up. You’d let me use a chainsaw?

Supervised, I reply, deadpan.

Cool, she says and finishes her coffee with a satisfied sigh.