Chapter Three
Nora
He makes his bed.
Four pillows are perfectly placed on the sheets that are folded over at the top of a forest-green quilt. He’s got one tall wardrobe and an end table.
Minimalist.
I make a clear line to his bathroom, craning my head and tapping the wall until I find a light switch. Once I do, the space illuminates and the gentle hum of a fan sounds.
A large mirror hangs over the vanity sink, which matches the standing shower’s earthy tone. It looks like it was grouted in polished stones and large sand-colored floor tiles, and my mouth drops when I see the ceiling-mounted showerhead with a dual handheld attachment. I’ve always dreamed of using one like this one.
This bathroom is ten times better than the one in my cabin, and I’m instantly jealous.
Peeling the cold, wet shirt off and letting it fall to the perfect floor with a plop, I stare at myself in the mirror. All that covers me now is a pair of shorts I threw on before coming over here and my black see-through bralette, both soaking wet. I wonder what the lumberjack out there would think if he saw me looking like this. Brown nipples tight against the mesh fabric, goose bumps covering my skin. The way he looked at me earlier almost had me forgetting I was freezing cold.
A warm breeze falls over me, and I realize the bathroom fan has a heat setting. This is the nicest fucking cabin on this lake.
I shed the rest of my clothes, dressing in the warm sweats he provided me. Pulling the strings on the sweatpants I’m swimming in and tying the T-shirt on my hip so I don’t look like I’m wearing a nightgown. I gather my things and wipe up the floor of his perfect bathroom before heading back out toward him. Just as I reach the doorway, a crack of thunder has me jumping.
His head tips up from the book he’s reading, his ankle balanced over his knee as he coolly asks, “You good?”
“Yeah.” I let out a nervous laugh and step closer to him, wanting nothing more than to sit in front of that beautiful fireplace. “Storms here.”
His brows raise as if to tell me no shit, captain obvious. I offer an embarrassed smile as I approach him. He gives off a chilled-exterior vibe, almost like he’s unapproachable. And maybe any other sane person might take it that way, but there’s something beneath the surface that draws me closer to him. Something that makes me want to be against his skin. It attracts me. Intrigues me.
The man is downright attractive.
“What?” he asks, his eyes following my strides toward him.
“Can I stay here and wait out the storm?” I look down at the dry wardrobe I’m wearing. The strings on the pants are stretched and tied within an inch of their life, and my shirt’s been perfectly knotted against my hip. “Would be a shame to get these dry clothes all wet.” I stare as he fights against the smirk trying to break through.
“If you’re quiet.” He dips his chin, his eyes hesitant to go back to the pages of the book set in his lap.
I turn to the built-in bookshelf on the left and scan the books. A few classics, but mostly fantasy—something I don’t generally read but am sure I would enjoy. I reach out and grab the one that pulls at my attention, Cyprus Kingdom.
Cyprus is my newest favorite color, the rich, deep green with a touch of blue. It’s really elevated a few of my paintings, and the idea of adding a metallic gold to my current work of art makes my heart skip a beat. I take a seat on the couch near him and open the book, doing my best to immerge into the story rather than the delicious smell of the man next to me.
“Which one did you pick?”
His question pulls me away from the Orcish raid on an Elvin kingdom. Finiel, my favorite character so far, is rushing toward Norfir with a magical artifact. And I have a hard time pulling my gaze up to look over at him. “Cyprus Kingdom.” I turn the spine of the book toward him.
His brow arches, and he gives me the first genuine grin since I’ve shown up on his doorstep. “My favorite.”
“Really?”
“I’ve read it three times. I identify a lot with Finiel.” He nods.
Before I can respond, a loud beeping sounds from the kitchen. His head tips in its direction before he stands and moves toward it.
“What’s that?” I ask, following after him, curious about the sound. Lightning flashes, and everything outside brightens for a nanosecond before returning to the dark storm.
“I made a pot roast.”
“Oh.” I pause, feeling guilty. I didn’t want to intrude; I’d assumed he was all alone and wouldn’t mind some company. But clearly, he’d had a quiet evening planned for himself, and I, for one, know the importance of a solo evening with one’s self.
“There’s enough for two.” His voice strains as he pulls the pot from the oven and sets it on top of the stove. He busies himself with pressing buttons on the oven before lifting the lid, and I realize I’d been so distracted by him that I hadn’t even noticed the smell of food cooking. Moving around the kitchen, he plates food for us, but when I look at the small round table sitting against the tall windows, I only find one chair.
“Do you ever have guests?” I find myself gravitating toward the table.
“No.”
“How come?”
“I don’t like people.”
I tilt my head. “You’ve got to like somebody.”
“I like Bob. And his wife.” He doesn’t waste time looking up at me while he works on putting everything together. “Jenny is okay too.”
“Who’s Jenny?” I ask, partly curious, partly jealous.
I barely know this man—have spent a total of one hour in his presence—and still, I feel some sort of hold. As if he’s mine.
Following his gaze to the painting I’d pointed out earlier, I nod as he says, “The three-year-old artist you complimented earlier.”
A beaming smile pulls at my lips, because besides the fact that his comment was adorable— “You hung it?”
“It’s good.” He shrugs. “Can’t beat free professional art.” Underneath the grumpy loner is an adorable man.
Noted.
“We can eat in the living room.” He grabs both plates and moves out of the kitchen, nodding toward the bottle on the counter. “Can you grab the wine?”
“Wine?”
A skeptical gaze finds me. “I should have asked.”
“I didn’t peg you as a wine guy.”
“I’m more of a beer guy, but I figured it was a special occasion.”
“What’s the special occasion?” I ask, reaching the counter and grabbing both glasses of red.
He sits down, setting one plate on the coffee table and the other in his lap. “Company.”
The couch dips as I sit in the same spot I’d been in before while I was reading, the fire blazing across from me. He’d just set a few more logs on before the timer on the oven went off.
“Your bathroom is extremely nice,” I comment, searching for a point of conversation.
“Thank you. I finally finished the remodel last year.”
I almost choke on my first bite of cooked carrot. “You did it?” I finish swallowing my food before continuing, “You remodeled it yourself?”
“I’ve remodeled this entire place.” He takes a drink of the wine, his heavy hazel gaze set on me.
“When did you start?”
“Five years ago, I bought this place after my second tour in Iraq. Bob and his wife were already retired, so he helped me a lot at first. The plan was to flip it, but I like it out here. Unbothered,” he explains while eating his roast, as if he’s talking about something as simple as changing a light bulb.
“So, you’re a veteran, then?”
“Yeah.” He nods. “I did my twenty and never looked back.”
“What was this place like before you started?” I look around me. From the outside, it looks almost identical to the cabin I rented.
“It looked like the one you’re in. I make renovations when people aren’t renting it.”
My mind reels a little as I process everything he’s told me. He’s not just the sexy gump next door; he’s a sexy lumberjack veteran who works with his hands… a lot. My gaze slides down to his hands, strong, firm, and surprisingly well-groomed. No dirt under his nails, and they seem to be filed down nicely.
“What do you plan to do when you’re finished?”
He shrugs. “I’ll figure it out when I get there.”
“And your wife?” I scan my surroundings; it doesn’t look like much of a woman’s touch. “Or husband?” I shrug, not wanting to assume.
“Wife.” My heart sinks until he adds, “No, I’m not married. But if I was, I’d have a wife.” His brows cave for a moment. “I don’t have time to date.”
“Well”—I lean forward, grabbing my wine glass—“what do you call this?”
His gaze is steady as he answers, “Dinner.”
Holding my wine glass out to him, I clink it against his, winking as I tease, “I call it a date.”
He lets out a low chuckle that sends an exciting shiver right down to my sex. “I’m too old for you, sweetheart.”
I sit back, finishing off my drink as I scan him once more. He’s rocking the salt and pepper on the top, but his beard is light brown and red, with patches of white. I’d guess late thirties, but… “How old are you?”
“Forty-three,” he responds around another bite of roast.
I do the math in my head quickly; I’ll be twenty-nine in three months. “Fifteen years isn’t that much of a difference.”
“I could be your dad.”
“I can call you Daddy, if you’d like.” I raise a brow at him as he clears his throat, hiding the red that appears above his beard, coloring his cheekbones.