The Cabin

✨ Chapter Eight

Archer is acting fucking weird, and it's freaking me out.

I should be focused on packing. Today's my last day at the cabin. Tomorrow, I drive home, unpack, and then it's straight back to my old life on Monday—like none of this ever happened. Like this summer didn't change me.

Something in my chest aches.

I put in so much work here. Sweat, blood, tears. This place isn't just a getaway anymore—it's mine. It saw me through my rock bottom and helped me come out the other side. Leaving now feels like I'm walking away from a piece of my own heart.

And Archer? This little bastard is making it ten times worse.

He's been pacing near his litter box, yowling louder than usual. The damn cat never shuts up, but this is something else. At one point, I swear he howled like a damn banshee.

I run a hand through my hair, exhaling hard. I need Owen.

Owen always makes everything better. Just hearing his voice calms me down. And he texts me. A lot.

Every morning. Every time something random pops into his head. Which is often. And then, without fail, I get a phone call before bed.

If someone had told me months ago that I'd be in a relationship with a guy like that, I would've laughed my ass off. No fucking way.

But I learned something when I tried setting limits on Owen's texts. I don't want limits with him. I love that he messages me too much. I love how much he misses me. How excited he is to share his millions of thoughts. It makes me feel...

I don't even know.

Loved.

I grip my phone, thumb hovering over his contact. His profile picture pops up—smiling, eyes bright, messy dark blond hair, soft and sweet and mine. I can't fucking wait to see him every day again. To kiss him stupid. To do everything I've been fantasizing about for the last week—

Jesus Christ.

I shake my head. Focus, Julian.

Archer howls again.

Fuck it. I call Owen.

He picks up instantly. "Hi, Julian Moore. From next door. I changed your name in my contacts, by the way—"

"Owen! I'm freaking out about Archer."

Owen's voice jumps in concern. "Why?! What's wrong with Archer? Julian?"

"I dunno, he's acting fucking weird. He's meowing like crazy and pacing like he's about to have a goddamn meltdown. Hey—do you think it's because I'm packing? Maybe he's smart enough to know we're leaving? Or what if he has, like, PTSD related to luggage? We don't know where he came from! Maybe he's scared of suitcases—"

Owen laughs. "Wow, you're really freaking out right now. You're actually rambling."

"Owen, I'm serious."

"Awww, Julian..."

"Shut up."

He laughs again. "He's probably fine. It's weird to be the one saying this, but... relax."

I open my mouth to argue—then freeze.

Oh.

Oh, holy fucking shit.

"Uh. Owen."

"...Yeah?"

Silence stretches between us as my brain catches up.

Then— "Owen, Archer is having kittens."

A beat.

"...What."