Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
SOPHIA
The cabin feels too big without him here.
I've spent three nights in Wyatt's home, wrapped in his arms, learning his body as he learned mine.
Three days maintaining professional distance at the office while exchanging heated glances that promised more once we were alone.
Three evenings cooking together, talking for hours by the fire, building something I hadn't expected but desperately want to explore.
And then today, everything changed.
The coldness in his voice. The way he wouldn't meet my eyes. The transparent excuse about equipment problems on the north ridge when just last night he'd told me everything there was running smoothly.
Something shifted, and I don't know why.
I pace the length of the living room, the fire I built hours ago now reduced to glowing embers.
My preliminary report sits on the kitchen counter, printed and ready for his review.
I'd wanted to go through it with him, explain my reasoning, show him how the recommendations would preserve what he values while improving efficiency.
Instead, I'm alone with my thoughts, which grow darker with each passing hour.
Is he having second thoughts about us? About the changes to his company? Both?
The sound of tires on gravel outside sends my heart racing. I freeze, listening as a vehicle door opens and closes, then heavy footsteps approach the cabin. When the front door swings open, Wyatt fills the frame, larger than life and utterly unreadable.
"You're still up," he says, his voice carefully neutral.
"Couldn't sleep." I wrap my arms around myself, suddenly conscious of wearing one of his flannel shirts over my leggings. "I left a note at the office."
"I got it." He closes the door behind him, shrugs off his jacket. "You're right. We should talk."
There's a wariness in his posture, a distance in his eyes that wasn't there this morning when he kissed me goodbye, his hands lingering at my waist as if reluctant to let me go.
"What happened today, Wyatt?" I ask, deciding direct is best. "Everything was fine when we left for work, and then suddenly you could barely look at me."
He moves to the dying fire, adding a log from the stack beside the hearth. The flames catch, illuminating his profile as he crouches there, watching the wood ignite instead of facing me.
"The investors called Tim today," he says finally. "They're pushing for your report. Eager to implement changes."
"That's hardly a surprise. It's why I'm here."
"They also asked if you'd made any headway with my 'resistance to modernization.'" He stands, turning to face me fully. "Their words were less charitable."
Understanding begins to dawn. "And you think I've been what, reporting back to them? Strategizing with them behind your back?"
The slight flinch in his expression tells me I've hit the mark.
"Have you?" he asks, his voice betraying nothing.
The question stings more than it should. "I've sent them weekly progress updates, as required by my contract. Nothing more, nothing less. You've known about those from day one."
"And what have you been telling them?" His jaw tightens. "That I'm stubborn? Resistant? A dinosaur who needs to be dragged into the modern era?"
"Is that really what you think of me?" I take a step back, hurt blooming in my chest. "After everything we've shared?"
He rubs a hand over his beard, frustration evident. "I don't know what to think. Mike mentioned a new hauling schedule being tested. Something you implemented without discussing with me first."
Ah. Now we're getting to it.
"I absolutely discussed it with you," I counter. "Two nights ago, right here in this living room. You said, and I quote, 'Let Liam try it if he thinks it'll help.' I have the email thread with him confirming your approval."
He frowns, clearly trying to recall the conversation. "I don't remember that."
"We were reviewing the hauling data. You were distracted, kept playing with my hair while I was explaining the potential efficiency gains." Despite everything, the memory brings a flush of warmth. "But you definitely approved it."
Something in his expression shifts, softens slightly. "I was distracted. By you."
"That's not my fault," I say, though without heat. "I've been completely transparent about my work here, Wyatt. I've shown you every analysis, every recommendation before anyone else sees it. I've asked for your input at every stage."
"While sleeping in my bed." The words come out harsher than I think he intended.
I flinch, the implication clear. "Are you suggesting I've been using sex to manipulate you into accepting my recommendations?"
"No," he says quickly. "That's not what I meant."
"Then what did you mean? Because it sounds an awful lot like you think I've been playing you."
He sighs, dropping heavily onto the couch. "I don't know what I think. It's all gotten so tangled. Professional. Personal. I can't separate them anymore."
I sit beside him, maintaining a careful distance. "I've kept everything separate in my reports. Nothing about our personal relationship has influenced my professional assessment of your business."
"But that's just it," he says, looking at me with troubled eyes. "Maybe it should. Maybe sleeping with the client should make you question whether you can be objective."
The formal term—client—cuts deeper than it should. "Is that all you are to me? A client?"
"Isn't it what I'm supposed to be?" He leans forward, elbows on his knees. "You're twenty-four, Sophia. You have a career ahead of you, ambitions beyond Grizzly Ridge. I'm forty-five with roots so deep in this mountain they'd have to cut me out like a tree to move me."
"I never asked you to move," I say quietly.
"You didn't have to." His voice softens. "But this ends, eventually. You finish your consultation. You submit your final report. You leave for the next job, the next challenge. And I stay here, implementing changes I'm not sure I believe in, remembering what it felt like to have you here."
The raw honesty in his words silences me momentarily. This isn't about the hauling schedule or the investors. It's about fear. Fear of what comes after.
"You're pushing me away because you think I'm leaving anyway," I realize aloud.
He doesn't deny it. "Aren't you?"
The question hangs between us, heavy with implication. I could lie, tell him what he wants to hear. But he deserves the truth, even if it's complicated.
"My contract is for the consultation and implementation phase," I say carefully. "That could be months, not weeks. Beyond that... I don't know, Wyatt. We've known each other less than two weeks. Whatever this is between us, it's too new to make promises about the future."
"Exactly my point." He stands, restless energy propelling him toward the window. "So why complicate things further? Why not keep it professional until your job here is done?"
The suggestion feels like a physical blow. "You want to end this? Us?"
"I want to protect my company," he says, his back to me. "And yes, I want to protect myself too."
"From me?" I stand now too, indignation rising through the hurt. "What exactly do you think I'm going to do to you, Wyatt?"
He turns, and the naked vulnerability in his expression steals my anger. "Make me want things I can't have. Make me question everything I've built my life around. Make me miss you when you're gone."
The words should be sweet, but they're spoken with such resigned certainty that they break my heart instead.
"You don't know what will happen," I say, stepping toward him. "Neither do I. But I know that what we've shared these past few days means something. At least to me."
"It does to me too." His voice roughens. "That's the problem."
I reach for his hand, relief flooding through me when he doesn't pull away. "Why does it have to be a problem? Why can't we just... see where this goes? Keep our work separate from our personal relationship?"
"Can you really do that?" he asks, studying my face. "Submit a report that could fundamentally change how I run my company, while sharing my bed at night?"
"I already have." I gesture toward the counter where my report waits.
"Every recommendation in there is based on data, not feelings.
And every one of them is designed to preserve what matters most to you—sustainable forestry practices, the expertise of your crew, the quality of your product.
I'm not trying to change your values, Wyatt.
I'm trying to help you protect them in a changing industry. "
He's quiet for a long moment, absorbing my words. "And what happens when the consultation ends? When implementation is complete?"
"I don't know," I admit. "But I'd like the chance to find out. Wouldn't you?"
Instead of answering, he pulls me to him, one hand cupping my face with a tenderness that belies the turmoil of our conversation. When he kisses me, it's different from before—searching, questioning, with an edge of desperation that makes my heart ache.
I kiss him back with everything I have, trying to convey what words can't quite capture. That this matters. That he matters. That whatever comes next, this moment is real and true.
When we part, his forehead rests against mine, our breathing synchronized in the quiet cabin.
"I'm sorry," he murmurs. "For doubting you. For pushing you away."
"You're forgiven." I brush my fingers through his beard, committing the sensation to memory. "But please, talk to me next time. Don't shut me out."
He nods, then steps back slightly, though his hands remain at my waist. "Your report. Walk me through it?"
The request—professional wrapped in personal—feels like a peace offering, a tentative step back toward the balance we'd found.
"Now?" I glance at the clock. It's nearly midnight.
"Now." He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, the gesture achingly familiar. "I want to understand. I want to try."
We move to the kitchen island where I spread out the report, standing close enough that our arms touch. As I walk him through the key findings and recommendations, he listens with genuine attention, asking thoughtful questions, raising valid concerns.
It feels like a return to the connection we'd established—the push and pull of different perspectives finding common ground. But underneath runs a current of something unresolved, a question neither of us has fully answered.
What happens when this ends?
Later, in his bed, with his body curved protectively around mine and his breathing deepening toward sleep, I stare into the darkness and confront the truth I've been avoiding.
I'm falling in love with him.
And I have absolutely no idea what that means for either of us.