I start with the back of his hair, standing behind him while he sits in the chair. I'm still feeling a little flushed from his eyes on me. I don't recall any guy ever checking me out. It's... wow, what a feeling! I wish I could slam my bedroom door and call Belinda to squeal about it. 

Of course, I can't, and I'm probably getting overly excited over nothing. 

At least I have a task to do to try to calm down. I started combing out his hair with my brush. It's damp, making it easier to work with, but he's right about how thick his hair is! It's very straight, too, which is why all these uneven cuts are so unforgiving. I'll have my work cut out for me fixing this, pun intended.

His usually ashy brown hair seems like a darker brown all damp and clean like this. It's probably been a while since he got all the dirt out of his hair. I bet he feels as good as I do right now.

"You still want it long?" I ask as I start surveying where to cut.

"Yeah, longer hair is better out here for winter."

"I'll try to just take a few inches off then," I mumble as I start preparing the first section for cutting. 

"Try?" He sounds all worried as he stiffens in his chair. 

"To get it even, I might need to cut more than that, but I'll keep it as long as I can," I explain. 

"You're not tricking me into some preppy cut?"

I laugh. "No, I'd never do that to you, I promise."

"Okay.." He says in a warning tone. "I'm trusting you."

It just touches his shoulders right now—well, in some spots, some are a lot longer, and some are shorter. He hacked it off with a knife, so it's bad. But there's something so sad about his hair being in this state that it tugs at my heart for him.  

The shortest pieces are right at the nape of his neck in the back; they're more than a few inches long, but they'll still be longish and grow fast. I carefully and slowly cut. He stays rigidly still to the point that I giggle.

"You can relax, Jax. I won't hurt you." 

"Sorry, I know," He does ease up a bit, and I get back to it letting the hairs fall to the floor below. I can clean those up later.

"You found the old notebook," Jackson comments as he notices the two books open; he relaxes more with something to talk about, and I take that cue. 

"Was that already here?" I ask. 

"This some bear traps and the water hut, too. I came up with using the boat as a tub, though."

"That was genius. I was so impressed when I saw that."

"Yeah?" I hear the pride in his voice. "Thanks."

"I wonder why someone built this one way out here. Could they have known about the wolves?"

"This was probably some twenty years ago before the wolves. One of the things this land was used for was hiding illegal shit, and someone would have been in charge of watching over it.  This cabin had to be for that reason.  I found a hatch under the bed with a hidden cubby." 

"Wow!" I exclaim with wide eyes. "I wonder if my cabin had that?"

"Nope, I checked," he says.

"Wait, so someone's job was to sit here and watch stuff?"

"Yup."

"What a fun thing to be assigned to," I say dryly.

"My grandpa's men were so loyal they'd do anything for him. Whoever got stuck with this gig would have been compensated in some major way," Jackson ponders. I can hear his respect for his grandpa in his tone. I want to understand, but it's hard to find empathy for a criminal who set up his family to have to keep dealing with his enemies for generations to come. 

"I think whoever it was left the notebook and some tools to help the next guy. But I think he got to leave at some point because no personal items were left here."

"I hope so," I say softly. I know it's weird, but I feel like I started getting to know the person reading their notes and feel an odd fondness for them. 

Glancing at my notebook, Jackson chuckles and pulls it towards him. "You are a stubborn little thing, aren't you? I told you not to try figuring out the mushrooms."

"I don't think I'll ever risk them, but if we were going to starve to death otherwise. I need a base knowledge," I retort.

"Okay....but you talk to me before you consider it. Look, sometimes, when it comes to certain things, you need to listen to me, Sam. Like when I said never leave your cabin without a gun, or not to cross the creek." 

"I know, and now I'm a burden just like you thought--"

"No," he stops me. "At first, yes. I was thinking I either needed to get you to leave or I 'd have someone else to feed, and maybe I saw it that way, but..."

"And you were right. I was laid up for the last week because I crossed the creek, and you had two mouths to feed." 

"I'm not upset that you were hurt and needed my help for a while," he says and I cast a doubtful eye at that. 

"I'm not," he insists.  "All I ask is that you listen to me if I tell you something serious in the future, okay? Trust that I know what I'm saying."

"I promise," I assure him. "You really don't think I'm a burden?"

"No, I think I was a butthead when you tried to tell me we need each other, and I wouldn't listen." 

"You were thrown, and not only that, but you are not used to having someone in your space. I'll never understand being alone that long, and now someone is right here."

"Yeah...but a lot of times that's what I wanted and dreamed about..." he trails off and straightens up some.  "Anyway, I was wrong not needing you. I see how much you do and what you come up with."

"Thank you," I say as I bite back a grin. 

He looks at the other open page. "Like this. Is this your fence idea? It's awesome." 

"The drawing always looks much better than the end result, trust me," I say with a short laugh. I reach over, flipping back a few pages to my smoker drawings. "See my smoker design versus what I made? It didn't look anything like this."

"You still did a good job with it," Jackson says as he runs his hands over the drawings. I get back to cutting his hair, going back over, and cleaning up the still choppy-looking spots. 

"Did you sketch anything else?" He asks

"I was plotting a bridge to get across the creek," I admit with a chuckle. "Next page, I think."

He flips the page with an eager grin that falls as soon as I realize I was wrong. The next page was my last letter to Chase, the day I realized Jackson was here...

"Your boyfriend?" Jackson guesses. "He must be going crazy without you."

"Oh, um, no, he's not going crazy or my boyfriend," I say hastily. How do I explain Chase without sounding ridiculous?

"I didn't mean to invade your privacy," Jackson says hastily.

"It's okay you didn't. He was this guy I liked for a long time, but he barely knew I existed until he asked me to the dance. Then I ended up here. He gets lots of girls; he's over it, I'm sure." 

"Doubt that," Jackson argues.

There go those butterflies again! I tell myself not to read too much into it, knowing I'm well past that. A  crush where most conversations took place inside my head was a lot easier than this. 

How do people do this? My face is about to turn a permanent shade of red soon.

"Do you... you think about him a lot, then?" Jackson asks in a quiet voice.

Wait what? Is he jealous?

Don't be silly; he's just asking, I chide myself. He didn't get any semblance of a normal social life past fifteen. Of course, he's curious.

"Not so much now. I did at first, but not for the reasons you think," I answer his question as I stand up.

"What do you mean?"

I moved around to the front of him, standing in front of his chair as he looks up at me earnestly. 

"My head can kind of spin out with worry, and it gets worse when I can't do anything. With Chase it was less real I guess, so it was easier to write to him than my dad or best friend," I explain. 

"I get it. My mind can spin out, too. It happens easy out here in the quiet," he murmurs. 

"It must have been so hard being alone for so long," I say softly. He doesn't answer, and I don't push. Instead, I remember having a task and getting back to his hair.

I move over to the side of his chair and start from where I left off in the back. After I even it up as best I can, I lift some pieces and add some layers. 

I then make my way over to the other side to do the same thing, and we're both quiet.  I work faster, having found a length that works, and have gotten comfortable by now.

"I'll need to stand in front to get to your bangs," I say as I stand in front of his chair, but it won't be close enough.

"Yeah, of course," his voice is sort of hoarse, and as he spreads his legs for me to step closer, we're both blushing as we quickly realize how intimate this part is going to be.

I do my best to focus on his hair, not how close he is, but damn this is... I am a mere inch from him, standing between his muscular thighs. His head is directly in front of my chest, and even though the flannel covers me,  I don't have a bra under it, so I'm feeling a little exposed nonetheless.

Jackson looks as flushed as me. His hands are glued to his sides, gripping his armrest, which makes me realize he's much more nervous than me. He's used to zero contact, and now I am literally in his bubble. 

I look down at him, and I find he's looking up, searching for my face. I know it's to be polite and not stare at my chest, and that just adds to his appeal—his unsureness and innocence. It's both endearing and sad, and I relate to it in different ways and for different reasons. 

Something strange happens as I sink into his soft, smoky gaze. I find calm in it, and just like that,  I relax.

I kneel down a little and lean in as I start sectioning the front and figuring out where to cut, so it begins with the back but is a little shorter.  We're so close I can feel the warmth of his breath on my forehead.

After a bit, he asks, "Are you sad you didn't get to go to the dance?" 

"Funny as it sounds, no," I confess. "It would've been my first dance, and I would've been a nervous wreck. I guess, if anything, I'm sad I didn't get to have a dance. One dance with a guy would've been a nice memory."

"I thought for sure you would have been popular," Jackson murmurs with a slow shake of his head, which I quickly steady with my hands so his hair doesn't get all messed up. 

"Not even a little." I laugh. 

I lean in close and kneel so I can start trimming the pieces right by his face. I do those a little shorter, so some pieces fall to his cheekbones. His smoky eyes keep wanting to draw me back in, but I don't want to mess his hair up, so I force myself not to meet it. 

"You're just so... confident," he says softly.

"I guess being out here changes you, makes you stronger," I say. 

"I was an angry punk kid when I got here. Pissed off at the world."

"What grade were you in before you came here?"

"Freshman. Angie tutored me, though. We brought a shit ton of stuff when we first came. There is so much I wish I could get from that cabin, like books and stuff. I weirdly enough started missing school pretty early on."

"Were you popular?" I ask.

"Yeah, I had a bunch of fake friends, everyone kissed my ass because of my grandpa. I did go to a few dances. They were boring and stupid."

I can't help the giggle that slips out at how his face crinkles up. I take the brush and comb his hair out again, then take my time looking at each side. It's close but still slightly uneven.

"Did you have a girlfriend?"The question comes flying out. Sammy! Why did I ask him that!? Hunger has clearly messed with my brain. 

"Sort of, but it was nothing. We went to one dance, and then she decided she liked one of my friends better than me." 

"What? She's a dumbass."

Jackson laughs. "We were fifteen. It feels like a lifetime ago now. Chase is the dumbass as far as I see it, and not just because he calls himself that."

"It's his last name," I say with a laugh. "Now, stay still. I have to get these last pieces."

I do that, then look at his hair one last time. "All done." It falls to his chin in the front with some shorter layers and is a little longer in the back. The layers give it some movement without him having any waves, and it's soft right now, but as it goes unwashed, it'll start looking more rugged. I think I did alright for me not being trained at this. 

"It feels so much lighter," he says as he runs his hands through it. 

Here." I hand him the mirror I brought in after my bath figuring he wouldn't mind. He grins as he looks into it, looking pretty stunned actually as he gapes at himself. 

"Wow, I like it," he says, looking up from the mirror at me as he runs his hand through it. "Do you?"

"I do. It looks really hot," The word comes tumbling out before I can stop it. Good, I meant to say-- too late, but his eyes light up, so suddenly I don't regret saying it. "I did these layers, so it will be easier for you to comb through, and you can use my brush." I run my fingers through it one more time, enjoying the softness. He sets the mirror down, leaning into me a little to do so, making me realize I'm still standing between his legs. I step back and away from him, giving him room to stand. 

"Thanks, Sam," he says as he stands, brushing the hair from his shirt. "I'd offer to return the favor, but I would not risk messing up your pretty hair." 

"This mop!" I laugh as I fluff my overgrown hair and then let it fall over my shoulders in staticky tangles. "It's all damaged and badly needs that cut you just refused."

"You're just always mean to yourself. It's perfect, silky, and ..." he trails off when I step into his space, holding up my hair so he can see all the split ends. 

"Feel them yourself. They're dry and damaged," I say, pushing the lock of hair towards him.

He takes the lock of hair into his hand with a little smirk. "Maybe the very ends could use a trim, but--" 

"That I can't give myself," I say with a coy smile. 

 "You are as determined as you are, sweet, aren't you?" He cocks his head to the side as smirk tugs at his lips. He is still gently holding that lock of hair between his fingertips, keeping me still.

"I mean, sometimes," I say with a shrug as I bite back a grin of my own. 

"I still don't get how you weren't popular." He drops the lock of hair but doesn't make any move to step away from me. 

"I can't believe you thought I was!" I laugh shortly. "I was known as the sad girl through middle school. I hated all the whispers and shit. So then, in high school, I wanted zero reputation. I found a way to blend in and kept totally to myself. I was pretty much invisible." 

"No, you weren't. You know why I think that Chase guy's an idiot?" He doesn't wait for an answer. "You liked him, and he dated other girls. That is about as big of a dumbass as a guy can be." 

"I... but..." Words are so hard all of a sudden. Why? I'm a smart girl! 

"Beautiful girls are not invisible."

I go speechless, just standing there gaping at him like an idiot. I don't think I have ever had a compliment. Get it together, say something. My brain screams as I stand frozen, unable to follow its command. 

The pot on the wood burner starts sizzling as some of the water boils over, and I'm beyond thankful for the distraction as Jackson turns to check on it.