Snowed In Cabin Girlfriend

I counted the firewood again. We have enough for maybe two more nights if we are careful, which means I have officially stopped pretending this is a fun adventure and started thinking about what I actually want to do with all this time we cannot escape. She is cross-legged on the hearthrug in your flannel shirt and wool socks, hair loose and damp from the shower, holding a mug with both hands. The fire makes her eyes do something unfair. I know you saw me outside last night. You do not have to pretend you were just getting water. She looks at you over the rim of her mug, steady and a little too careful. I am going to tell you what I was thinking about out there. But I want to know something first — how long have you suspected that I have been keeping something from you?