The cold ruined everything, making bones ache and lungs burn and bodies bow to nasty viruses.
The sooner we were warm and out of the elements, the better.
We had cash for a rental, but without furniture and other belongings to furnish it, we didn’t bother putting ourselves through the stress of real estate agents and reference checks.
Not to mention, we didn’t want to lock ourselves into a long lease when we had no intention of staying past the last frost.
I suggested finding another government owned hut on a tramping trail, or searching for an uninhabited building like we did with Polcart Farm, but Della took my ideas and one-upped them, suggesting we could have a toasty, furnished place away from main cities and only pay for the months we wanted.
I didn’t believe her, but the day we headed to yet another tiny town to buy thicker jackets, she topped up her phone credit, and showed me an online site that rented holiday homes that usually fetched a premium in summer but were offered at great rates during winter.
Together, we sat in a cosy coffee shop beside a gas fire and ate delicious apple and cinnamon muffins while scrolling through housing options.
We were there for hours, searching, discounting, debating pros and cons of each. Some were too close to the city, others were semi-detached or had the owner living on site. Most were totally impractical for loners like us, but finally, after a second muffin, we narrowed it down to three.
One was a few miles from a local town and decorated in country chic with yellow everything; two was a rambling big place with weathered furniture and bare wooden floors; three was a two-bedroom cottage with whitewashed floors, handmade daisy curtains, and the comfiest looking couches with a fireplace.
For four months’ hire, it would take a big chunk of our cash, but if the two-bedroom cottage lived up to the pictures, it was totally worth it.
Della—ever the resourceful and happier to deal with strangers—called the number and arranged to view the property the next day. We spent the rest of the afternoon heading back into the forest, packing up our belongings, and having a final dinner of fish and rabbit.
The next morning, we left the trees and met with the agent.
The moment we stepped inside, we knew.
This was our winter nest, and we paid cash upfront in lieu of not having credit cards. The round, blue-rinsed hair woman asked for a bigger bond seeing as we didn’t have the necessary paperwork, but after chatting to us and showing us around the quaint, cosy cottage, she handed over the keys and happily gave us instructions on how to work the oven and washing machine.
That night, Della and I made love for the very first time in a bed.
The foreignness of clean cotton and soft springiness of a mattress added a sensual element to our otherwise rough encounters. Our thoughts were on the same wavelength once again, and our touches were softer, our kissers longer, and when I slipped inside her, our connection was deeper than it had ever been.
I adored her to the point of stupidity.
I’d wake in the night with horrors of losing her. I’d stare, completely bewitched at odd times during the day, even if she was doing something as mundane as washing the dishes.
I had no power over myself anymore—she had it all.
And I was glad.
I was glad whenever the fake blue gemstone gleamed on her finger. I was glad whenever the diamante letters on the leather bracelet she gave me caught my eye.
I was glad for all of it.
I was grateful for everything.
I was so damn lucky.
Normally, I despised winter.
But that one…I didn’t mind it so much.
Not with warm beds, roaring fireplaces, and Della.
In fact, I didn’t mind it at all.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
REN
2019
SPRING ARRIVED WITH a vengeance, thawing the frosts and banishing the snow as quickly as they’d arrived. The weather reports said it would be one of the hottest summers on record, and both Della and I couldn’t wait until the last day of our agreed cottage rental where we could leave for the forests we loved so much.
Living in the cottage had been an experience I wouldn’t forget, and we’d become a little too used to having a comfy house with a pantry full of food and a freezer crammed with everything we could ever need.
The first week after moving in, we’d spent a few days setting up with supplies, so when the snow fell, we wouldn’t have to leave unless we wanted to.
And sometimes, we wanted to, despite the cold.
On the mornings when the sun twinkled on virgin snow and birds sang in white-capped trees, we’d slip into warm clothing and go for a walk. Sometimes, we’d kiss by the frozen river, and others, we’d tease and torment until we practically ran back to the cottage and couldn’t tear our clothes off fast enough.
Those were my favourite days.
The ones where we forgot about ages and education and futures and society.
A simple existence where we ate when we were hungry, slept when we were tired, and fucked at any time or place we wanted.
Nothing in the cottage had been free from our escapades. Not the smooth bamboo kitchen bench—where I’d hoisted Della onto it, bare assed and panting. Not the claw foot bathtub that was big enough for two—where Della had gotten on her knees and blown me.
Not even the woodshed was free from us screwing like the bunnies Della wanted us to become. I’d ended up with a splinter in my ass, but I didn’t care, seeing as Della was a master at tending to my injuries.
A couple of days before we were due to hand the keys back, we washed all our clothes, sorted through our supplies, ate the rest of the food that we couldn’t take with us, and prepared to hike for the rest of the season.
I felt like a creature crawling from its den after a winter of bunkering down.
I was itching for exercise. I was ready for adventure.
I wanted to be a wanderer again even though I also wanted other things.
Things like being able to officially call Della my wife. Things like officially making our last name Wild and not just a word we’d chosen.
My belly clenched whenever my attention landed on her hand and the gaudy blue ring I’d bought. The promise I’d made and the need to make her mine was a constant desire.
I hadn’t told her, but one night, while she slept beside me, I’d used the final internet credit on her phone to research how to get married. The information bombarding the screen made my brain bleed, and the prices some people were willing to spend made me sick.
The thought of a party with hundreds of people watching a very private moment turned me right off, but even the civil service ceremony with just a single witness wasn’t open to us.
Basically, we couldn’t get married.
Not unless I found a way to get us birth certificates, and we became real people and not just lost kids in the system.
It was a complication that had always been on the back of my mind, but I had no clue how to rectify it. It also didn’t help that the diamante letters of my bracelet had already lost some of its glitter, the tiny gems falling from their metal surroundings.
In the dead of night, deep in my nightmares of losing her, I feared it was a sign that if I didn’t find a way to make her my wife soon, my entire future would be in jeopardy.
I didn’t care the jewellery couldn’t stand up against time, I would wear it until it disintegrated and then somehow resurrect it because it’d become almost a good luck charm, promising me a future where Della would always love me, just like she promised.
Despite my desires to make her mine on paper as well as in my heart, we left behind the cottage where we’d found so much happiness and, for the first time, I was open to the idea of putting down roots.
A place to call our own.
A bed to keep Della warm.
A house we could raise a family in.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
REN
2019
2019 WAS ONE of my favourite and equally unfavourite years.