Walking back through the untamed wilderness I realized something. I don't know anything about Michael, other than his name basically and that he has a talent in carving wood. But I do know, from the short time I've spent with him, that he's unlike any person I've ever met or would ever come across.

I mean he left whatever life he had behind to move to an inhibited island off the coast of Alaska. I have to say it's pretty impressive. Not only is that risky, but courageous as well.

He could be anyone. He could be a part of a royal family, or a celebrity, or a man on the run from the government, but I've come to realize that out here, in the wild, it doesn't matter who you were across that body of water. On this little remote island, you could be anyone, something that I will take full advantage of while I can.

Although I love the limelight and the distraction's it brings to my inner demons it's also a chaotic life that I don't always admire. Nobody can really tell, especially my family, but the paparazzi, the parties, the galas, the interviews, the criticism, it's not a life I would choose. The only reason why I put up with it with a big smile on my face because I want everyone to believe that I love the life I've been given, when in reality I hate it. I hate it so much but when you've been pushed into the spotlight after the biggest tragedy in your life you can't really ever get out of it so you learn to let it consume you when you want it to.

While I'm here on this patch of untamed wild, I would like to be someone who I've never been given the chance to be before.

That day Michael stays in his paradise outside, chopping wood by the sounds of it. Against my inner desire, I hold in any comments about him being a lumber jack.

While he's busy doing his daily chores I let myself curl up into the blankets of his bed. Oddly snuggling into warmth and woodsy smell he left behind, however I make sure to kick the fur throws to the bottom of the bed before I fall into a deep slumber.

Hours later, the sounds of insistent nailing wakes me up. I let myself come back to reality for a few moments before I grudgingly cross the room to peek out the window. Out front Michael is building something out of the wood he cut, I can't tell from here but it looks hard and definitely not a one man job.

I drag my tired body back to the bed.

"Ow," I cry out when something hard digs into my rib cage. I scavenge the bed for the mysterious object or weapon, since this is Michael's bed after all. I wouldn't be surprised if he kept a collection of knives beside him in his bed to cuddle up to every night.

It takes some time for my half sleeping mind to realize that the object didn't come from the bed but from my jacket.

I flop back onto the bed and dig into my pocket, pulling out the petite angel carving of Michaels I took yesterday.

I admire the beauty of it, drinking in every intricate edge, loving the smoothness of it as I run my fingers over it. I would think that Michael didn't really make it if there weren't his initials on the bottom. M.W.

The sun peeks in through the window curtains to shine its rays perfectly on the mini sculpture. I bring it to my lips, gently kissing it before safely tucking it back into my jacket.

I run my fingers over the curves and edges of it through my pocket, committing it all to memory while I start to wonder about her again.

What would she think about this whole thing? The trip with my family, my amazing ability to find myself on an inhibited island with a sexy but intimidating lumberjack.

What I would do to have her here with me.

But I can't, all I have is this tiny wooden angel sculpture in my pocket.

Sometime later Michael comes back inside while the sun just starts to set. He looks to me, his eyes less haunting and more calculating than what I'm used to. "I was just gonna make dinner. Want some?"

"Does it consist of wild animal?"

He shrugs, adverting my focus on his broad shoulders. Seriously, he would be a great football player if he tried.

"I can throw in a can of green beans if you want."

I shake my head, sinking back into the comfort of the mattress. "I'm fine."

He only raises one brow at me and shrugs his shoulders again before walking out the door with a plate in hand.

Eventually he comes back inside with, might I say, the wonderful aroma of cooked meat. He doesn't offer any to me, not that I would accept it.

Before he can finish eating I grab the same t-shirt I wore last night and head for the door. "I'm gonna use the bathroom," I holler behind me.

Making the trek to the outhouse while its dark out isn't as scary as I imagined it would be, probably because the full moon is high in the sky and the moonlight guides me way and because the smell of the nature around me is oddly comforting.

I use the 'bathroom' and change into the over large flannel, safely folding my clothes back together. The knowledge that I'm still wearing the same under wear really irks me, enough to make me shudder but there is no way that I will be sleeping in the same room as Mr. Lumberjack with any less clothes on.

I walk out of the cramped outhouse and let out a high pitched scream when I come face to face with a dark shadowy figure.

"Will you shut up?" Michael takes a step forward, letting the moonlight illuminate his face.

I hold my hand to my beating heart. "Not if you scare me like that again, no."

He rolls his eyes as a response.

"Why did you follow me here? It's creepy," I shudder.

"You walked out into the wilderness at night without any sort of protection. Do you realize how idiotic that is?" He waves his hand in the air, a hand that is holding a gun, a rifle if I remember correctly.

I duck, covering my head with my hands. "Do you have to point that thing at me?"

"You don't think I put the safety on?"

"I don't know, do you want to kill me and feed on my corpse?"

"I thought we've been over this already Alex," he groans. "I'm not going to eat you until I can find a good enough spice to cover up your horrible smell."

"Hey," I protest and smack his chest of stone. "It's not my fault that you don't have a shower."

"I do actually," he says, putting a hand on the small of my back and directing us back to his closet. "I can show you it tomorrow morning."

"Wait," I stop in my tracks, turning towards him. "You actually have a shower? Why didn't you tell me sooner?" I smack his chest again. If I keep doing this than my hand will eventually break I think.

He chuckles, his surprisingly white teeth gleaming in the moonlight. "I was having too much fun," he says then continues to lead me again back to his cabin.

"Doing what? Smelling my body odor?" I crinkle my nose. "You really need to get out more."

He brushes one of his hands against the leaves of a passing tree. "Alex how do you think I spend my time all day?"

"I didn't mean outside," I laugh, "goes to show that you are the most anti-social person I have ever met."

"What do expect? I live on an isolated island off the coast of Alaska. It doesn't get more anti-social than that."

The sight of the cabin comes into view, a single light illuminated in the window. "Do you ever get lonely," I ask curiously.

Michael doesn't respond until we reach the front door. I'm about to apologize for my big mouth, something I've never had to do before thanks to my status but I have to remember that Michael doesn't know who I am. What would he do if he does though?

We reach the front door and Michael finally decides to speak up. "I wouldn't have moved here if I didn't want to be alone," he says softly in my ear before brushing past me into his house.

"Are you hiding from something?" I ask once I step foot in the cabin, closing the door behind me.

He looks up to me from where he's leaning over his dresser, his brows raised. "I don't run from anything."

I grip my clothes in my hands, finding comfort in the angel sculpture hidden away. "Then why are you here? Why would you want to move out here?"

He pulls something out from his dresser before turning around fully to face me. "I've wanted to move out here since I was little. It was a dream that my whole family had but never had the chance to do."

"Your family? Where are..." My words fade away when Michael takes off his jacket and lifts his plain t-shirt over his head. I'm still memorized by the size of his muscles, it amazes me how they could be so big and still look good.

"What were you saying?" He asks with a knowing smirk.

I force my eyes to meet his and to not trail down the path of his torso. "Where's your family now?"

His silver eyes bore into mine and I know I shouldn't have spoken those words. He reaches behind him and tosses me a pair of sweatpants. "Here," he says shortly. "Those don't fit me so I never wear them."

"I'm sor-" I begin but immediately stop when Michael pulls down his pants, revealing a pair of black boxer briefs and two large thighs filled with muscle.

"Don't tell me you're a virgin," he laughs, falling back on his bed.

"What?" I ask shocked. "Of course I'm not."

He lifts his brows before laughing even harder and letting his head fall back onto the pillows.

I roll my eyes and let his little distraction serve me well. I quickly, faster than I ever have before, slide my underwear down my legs and replace them with the over large sweats. I'll have to clean my clothes tomorrow, the same way that Michael cleans his, well if he ever does that is.

When I'm fully dressed Michael is still cracking up about something that I don't have the pleasure to know. I grumble, "What's so funny?" as I fall back into the uncomfortable arm chair.

Michael sits up, his hair a little more wild from rolling around in the bed. "You're not really going to sleep on that thing again are you?"

"Well," I begin.

"I'm not going to hurt you Alex but if you don't get over here in the next five seconds then I'll go over there on a mission to find your ticklish spot until you piss yourself."

In a second I jump up from the couch and dive for the bed, leaving my day clothes behind.

"Aren't you eager?" Michael teases with a glint in his eyes.

"Oh shut up," I groan and bury myself in the mountains of blankets and pillows.

Michael's laugh echoes throughout the cabin, nearly making the bed shake. "You really are ticklish aren't you?"

"Go to sleep."

"Tell me where," he demands with a smile in his voice.

"Go to sleep Michael." My voice is muffled by the pillow that I have pressed up against my face to hide my red cheeks.

"This week just got a whole lot more interesting."

"Please don't," I beg.

"I will find your ticklish spot Alex," he promises, "and I will make you hate me for it."

"I already do."