We drive all day. Thorn doesn’t talk much. I let him brood, or think, or whatever it is he’s doing as he clutches the steering wheel and stares out at the road. We stop for gas and supplies, stocking up on prepared sandwiches, chips, and other road trip foods too so we won’t have to stop for lunch.

Thorn keeps the SUV bearing west for a while. Then at some point we turn north. I try to make a joke and ask him why he didn’t choose a direction that would take us someplace warmer, but it falls flat. Thorn just emerges from wherever his brain has gone, and furrows a brow at me. Sinking down in my seat with a sigh, I look out the window and leave him to his thoughts.

That night, just as the sun is setting, we turn onto a highway that runs along a large body of water to our left. Thorn seems like he’s got a destination in mind now, but when I try to ask him about it he waves me off. We pass a bunch of lodges that look like they’re geared toward summer lake tourists. Finally, we pull off at the very last one, and Thorn drives up to a small cabin that says Office.

“Is this where you were going all along?” I ask him quizzically.

“No,” he answers. “I came up with the idea a while ago.”

“Have you ever been here before?”

“I have not.” He opens the car door. “Let’s hope we’ve come to the right place.”

The office looks at first like it might be closed. But as we get closer, a dim light inside tells me there’s someone inside. Thorn pulls open the rickety door and motions for me to go through.

Inside, an older, sort of doughy-looking woman is sitting behind an old, green metal desk. She looks like what I’d imagine Mrs. Santa Claus to look like — if Mrs. Santa Claus had badly-dyed red hair and wore loud polyester blend sweaters. Her face is round and apple-cheeked, and she’s got on round wire-frame glasses that complete the effect. The woman looks up as the door opens, and gives me an automatic, efficient smile with bright pink lipsticked lips.

“Well, hello there!” she nods, first at me, then at Thorn. “How are you today?”

“We need a cottage,” Thorn says without preamble.

“Of course!” The woman’s smile fades for just a second, but then returns in force. “I’m assuming you don’t have a reservation, since I have no record of anyone coming in today.”

Thorn nods once. “That’s right.”

“All right, then.” The woman reaches over to her right and opens a large appointment book of the kind I haven’t seen in years. “You’ll have your pick of places,” she says as she reaches for a pen. “We don’t get a lot of people here this time of year, seeing as it’s off-season now. We usually have some visitors right after Christmas time every year, but that’s about it until spring. Chester — that’s my husband, Chester — keeps telling me we should close up shop in September, but I don’t know. I think Lake Huron this time of year’s something to be seen.”

“It’s our honeymoon,” Thorn growls, interrupting her. “We want to be left alone.”

I barely manage to suppress a snort.

The woman is a little startled, and takes a small step back. “Oh, certainly,” she says hastily, reaching behind her to grab a key off a board on the wall. “Unit twenty-seven. It’s the farthest cabin away from the main office. It’s two miles up on the service road,” she continues, pointing. “Far enough away from the other cabins, you can’t even see your neighbors. ‘Course, being as there aren’t any other lodgers right now, you don’t actually have any neighbors…”

“How much?” Thorn cuts her off.

Flustered, she tells him the cabin cost per night. Thorn reaches for his wallet and peels off a stack of bills. “Here. We’ll take it for three weeks.”

“Three weeks?” She repeats in disbelief. “At this time of year? Won’t you be…”

Stepping forward, I take Thorn’s arm and snuggle close to him. I look at the woman and do a simpering little giggle, then down at the ground like I’m embarrassed.

“Well,” she concedes. I catch her glancing at my ringless hand.

“We got married pretty suddenly,” I drawl. “Haven’t had the chance to get the ring yet.”

“Well…” she says again. She fingers the bills in her hand. “Three weeks it is, then,” she says brightly. She hands Thorn the key.

“There’s baseboard heaters, and a fireplace in each of the units.” The woman begins to rattle off a list, in a tone that suggests she’s done this a hundred times before. “Fully equipped kitchen, clean linens. The office is closed on Saturday and Sunday during the off season. Any problems, there’s a laminated sheet hanging in the kitchen with the office phone number and my personal cell. There’s a list of local businesses in the area as well. Maid service is —”

“No maid service,” Thorn barks. “We’ll come to you if we need anything. Thanks.”

“Are you sure?” the woman asks, hesitating. “We can certainly accommodate —”

But Thorn has already grabbed my hand and is pulling me back outside. I look back and give the woman an apologetic wave as we leave.

“Thorn,” I hiss in protest. “There was no reason to be so rude to her.”

“Rude is good,” he counters. “Rude tells her we don’t want her hanging around asking more questions about us. Or getting it into her head to bake us fucking cookies or something. She seems like the type.”

I want to continue arguing, but I have to concede that Thorn has a point there. Anyway, we’re back at the SUV now, so I climb in silently and watch as Thorn puts the car in gear and drives in the direction of our new home for the next few weeks.

When we get to the cabin, both of us get to work unloading our bags and supplies. I put away the groceries. Thorn finds the thermostat, checks that the plumbing works, and gets to work building a fire with the wood stacked next to the fireplace. I make a quick dinner for us, as we’re both hungry and exhausted from being in the car all day.

Thorn’s mostly silent at dinner, though he answers me without any gruffness when I talk to him. I know he feels responsible for my safety, and I know he’s preoccupied, so I try not to hold it against him. Our routine feels similar in some ways to what it was back at the safe house, but it’s also completely different now that we’re on the run. Now that we’re safe, at least for the moment, I can’t stop my thoughts from drifting back to what was happening between Thorn and me before he heard the would-be intruder lurking outside. It feels like the spell has been broken between us, and I can’t help but mourn what we started last night, and wish I could get it back.

An involuntary shiver runs through me as I remember the feel of his lips against my skin, the rough stubble of his beard contrasting with the warm softness of his kiss. Thorn took me like a man possessed. As soon as he touched me, it was as if all the signals our bodies had been sending each other since the day we met finally exploded at once. Thinking about it now, I grow wet with need, and a wave of loneliness washes over me as I remember how good it felt when he held me in his arms after we both came together.

Suppressing a moan, I shift in my seat at the small table where we’re eating dinner and steal a glance at Thorn. What I wouldn’t give to have his mouth trace a path down my body again, to have his tongue plunge between my legs, teasing, tormenting me so deliciously…

“I’ve got to make a call,” Thorn says abruptly, startling me. He pushes his chair roughly back from the table and stalks outside before I can respond.

Gloomily, I stand and take the dirty plates to the sink to wash them. I don’t know if I’ve done something to upset him — though I wasn’t even talking to him. Whatever it is, it looks like he’s back to being gloomy, silent Thorn. Whatever happened between us last night at the safe house is no more than a fading memory, no matter how much I want it to happen again.

With a sigh, I clean up the dinner dishes and put everything away. Ten minutes later, I’m finished, and Thorn is still outside on the phone. Feeling aimless, I wander through the little cabin. It’s smaller than the safe house was, but unlike the safe house, there are two bedrooms here, both of them tiny. The smaller of them holds two bunk beds stacked one on top of the other and nothing else. The slightly larger one has a single queen bed, and barely enough room for the low dresser which is the only other piece of furniture in the room. Thorn has tossed both of our bags on the bed in the larger room. For a moment, my heart leaps at the sight of them there. But then I realize he probably just threw them here for convenience, and that it doesn’t mean anything.

I sit down on the bed, my shoulders slumping, and look aimlessly around. There are two pictures on the wall above the headboard. They’re both views of the lake, one taken in summer and one in winter. The walls are painted a pale blue, a little scuffed here and there. It’s homey, and tidy. Nothing glamorous, but a far cry from the motel where we spent last night.

Looking for something to do, I turn to my bag and decide to put my things away in the little dresser. As I reach into start taking things out, I’m wondering whether I should leave room for Thorn’s things, or whether he’ll be moving in next door. I glance over at his bag, and notice it’s open, the flaps of the duffel parted to reveal some of its contents.

And that’s when I glimpse something that makes me stop what I’m doing and stare.

The leather strap of a small purse.

My purse.

I haven’t seen it since the night my father’s men abducted me from the roadhouse. It never occurred to me that Thorn would still have it.

Which means he might also have my phone. My license. My credit cards. The pepper spray. It might all be in there.

I hardly even know what I’m doing as I start to reach for it. But just as my fingers make contact with the strap, a thump in the direction of the front door tells me that Thorn is back. I pull my hand back like I’ve been burned. Standing up quickly, my heart thudding, I make a beeline for the small bathroom and lock myself in before he comes in. I need a minute to compose myself and think.