Total pages in book: 27
Estimated words: 24934 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 125(@200wpm)___ 100(@250wpm)___ 83(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 24934 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 125(@200wpm)___ 100(@250wpm)___ 83(@300wpm)
By the time she finishes eating, the tension in the room has mellowed slightly. Bear is sprawled by the fire, his tail thumping lazily as he watches her every move. She stands and wipes her hands on a napkin, then turns to face me, her expression tentative.
“So,” she says softly, “how does this work?”
I arch a brow. “What do you mean?”
She fidgets with the edge of her sweater. “This... arrangement. Do we have rules? Expectations?”
Ah, the logistics. This I can handle.
“You’ll have your own room,” I say, motioning toward the hallway. “The bathroom’s down the hall. You can make yourself at home, but we keep things... simple.”
“Simple,” she echoes, her tone unreadable.
I nod, folding my arms across my chest. “This isn’t about romance, Sarah. It’s about partnership. I work a lot. You help me keep things running around here, and in return, you get a roof over your head, a hot meal, and some stability. That’s it.”
Her lips press together, and for a moment, I think I see a flicker of something like disappointment in her eyes. But then she straightens her shoulders, giving me a small nod.
“Understood.”
When I show her to her room, I can’t shake the feeling that this woman is about to upend my entire life. The room is small but clean, with a simple bed, a dresser, and a window that looks out onto the pines and the river beyond. She sets her suitcase on the bed and runs her hand over the quilt, her touch lingering.
“It’s cozy,” she says, her voice soft.
“It’s functional,” I reply.
She turns to face me, her eyes searching mine. “Thank you, Grady. For letting me stay.”
There’s a vulnerability in her voice that catches me off guard, and for a moment, I don’t know how to respond. So I just nod and step back toward the door.
“Goodnight, Sarah.”
“Goodnight,” she murmurs.
I retreat to my own room, but sleep doesn’t come easy. Her presence in the cabin is a constant awareness, a low hum in the back of my mind. I think about her laugh at the bakery, the way her eyes softened when Bear nudged her hand. I think about the shadows in her expression when she mentioned her past.
And I think about the way my chest tightened when she smiled at me tonight, like maybe—just maybe—this won’t be as simple as I thought.
Bear huffs from his spot on the floor, and I glance down at him. “What do you think, old man?” I mutter. “Did we just get ourselves into trouble?”
He thumps his tail once in response, and I sigh, rolling onto my side.
Trouble or not, there’s no going back now.
Chapter Four
Sarah
I’ve been here for two days and already the cabin has started to feel less like a strange, temporary arrangement and more like... home. Not that I’d ever admit that out loud. The days blur into a rhythm—Bear follows me around the cabin, his tail wagging happily when I bake him treats, and Grady comes and goes, his presence as steady and commanding as the mountains that surround us.
I try not to notice the way the air seems to thicken when he walks in, his shirt dusted with wood shavings or his hair damp from snow. I try not to notice the way his eyes linger on me sometimes, as if he’s trying to figure me out. And I definitely try not to notice the way my pulse races when he does.
But tonight, something feels different.
I’m curled up on the couch with Bear sprawled across my feet, his snores adding a low hum to the cozy quiet of the cabin. A pot of stew bubbles gently on the stove, and the fire crackles in the hearth, casting flickering shadows across the room. The storm outside has picked up, snow swirling against the windows, but inside, it’s warm and safe.
The door creaks open, and I glance up to see Grady step inside, shaking the snow from his shoulders. He looks tired, his brows drawn and his jaw set, but when his eyes meet mine, something in his expression softens. He closes the door behind him, his movements deliberate and heavy with the weight of the day spent in the woods.
“Long day?” I ask softly, careful not to disturb the peace of the moment.
He grunts, his version of yes, and shrugs off his jacket, hanging it by the door. “Tree snagged my saw. Took half the afternoon to cut it free.”
“That sounds... frustrating,” I offer, my lips curving into a small smile.
“You have no idea,” he mutters, but there’s a hint of amusement in his tone as he moves toward the kitchen. He pauses by the stove, lifting the lid of the pot and inhaling deeply. “Stew?”
I nod, shifting on the couch. “Chicken and sausage, my Grandma’s famous family recipe. Figured you’d be hungry.”