Chapter Seven
Sadie
The storm howls outside, rattling the cabin walls, sending little tremors through the wooden beams. It’s the kind of night that makes the world feel small, closed off, like nothing exists beyond the snow-covered trees and the flickering glow of the fire.
I should be sleeping. Instead, I lie awake, staring at the wooden ceiling, the thick quilt pulled up to my chin. But warmth isn’t my problem.
I’m still buzzing from earlier, from the way Reid’s hands landed on my waist, firm and steady, as the snow fell thick around us. Buzzing from the way his breath warmed my temple, how his body felt pressed against mine, all heat and strength.
He’s confusing, this man I married. A walking contradiction wrapped in plaid and gruffness. Hard edges, soft moments. Silence.
I let out a slow breath. I wonder if he’s still awake.
I throw on a thick sweater over my nightshirt, pull my socks up, and quietly slip out of the bedroom.
Reid stands by the fire, a glass in his hand, the golden light flickering across the sharp angles of his face. His hair is slightly tousled, like he’s been running his fingers through it. His broad shoulders are tense, his stance rigid, like he’s bracing for something.
He doesn’t turn right away, but I know he hears me.
“Can’t sleep?” His voice is rough, low, edged with something unreadable.
I shake my head, though he still isn’t looking at me. “Too much on my mind.”
That makes him glance over, his sharp blue gaze locking onto mine. He takes me in—barefoot, drowning in my oversized sweater, my hair spilling over my shoulders.
He sighs, barely a breath, then gestures to the couch. It’s an invitation. Or at least, as close as Reid Calloway gets to one.
I settle onto the cushions, tucking my legs underneath me. He watches me for a beat longer before looking back at the fire. The silence stretches between us, thick but not uncomfortable.
I decide to push first. “Do you have trouble sleeping?”
His mouth curves at the corner, but there’s no real humor in it. “Every damn night.”
I study him in the firelight. The way his jaw tics, the shadows under his eyes. “Is that why you agreed to this?” I ask softly.
His fingers tighten around the glass. “What do you mean?”
“This.” I gesture between us. “The mail-order bride thing. The marriage.”
Reid’s jaw tenses. I think he’s going to shut me out like he always does, but then he exhales, rubbing a hand over his face.
“My grandmother made me promise.” His voice is quiet, almost reluctant. “She was the only one who ever really gave a damn about me. Before she passed, she told me I needed to stop isolating myself. Find someone. Build a life.”
I feel something tighten in my chest. “So you figured ordering a wife was the easiest way to check the box?”
His lips twitch, the ghost of a smirk, but it fades as quickly as it comes. “Something like that.”
I watch him for a long moment. His fingers tap absently against the glass, his posture stiff, but his eyes—those deep, unreadable eyes—hold something else. Something I don’t think even he understands.
“And now?” I ask, tilting my head. “Still feel like you’re just checking a box?”
His grip on the glass flexes. He doesn’t answer.
Instead, he turns the question back on me. “What about you?”
I huff out a breath, sinking deeper into the couch. “It’s not exactly a happy story.”
Reid waits.
I glance at the fire, watching the flames curl and flicker. “I turned my old boss in for some shady business dealings. And by shady, I mean illegal. It was the right thing to do, but it didn’t exactly win me any friends. Everyone back home treated me like I was the villain.” I swallow hard. “I lost my job. My apartment. Pretty much everything.”
Reid is silent, but I feel him listening.
“So,” I continue, “when I saw an ad looking for a wife in a quiet little town where no one knew me? It felt like a sign. A fresh start.”
Something shifts in his expression. His hand loosens around the glass. He exhales, long and slow, then does something that completely takes me by surprise.
He reaches out and brushes a loose strand of hair from my face. It’s the lightest touch, rough fingers grazing my cheek, but it steals my breath.
My heart stutters. I blink up at him, thrown off by the warmth in his eyes, by the softness in his touch.
“Reid…”
“You’re not a traitor,” he says quietly, his voice rougher than before. “You did the right thing.”
Something warm blooms in my chest. I tilt my head slightly, pressing into his touch just a fraction. “Well, well,” I tease, trying to ignore the way my pulse is hammering. “Turns out the grumpy mountain man is secretly sweet.”
His lips move into an almost tortured expression. And then, without any warning, he kisses me. It’s not slow. It’s not tentative. It’s hot.
Reid’s mouth claims mine, fierce and demanding, his hand tangling in my hair, his other gripping my waist. A low, rough sound rumbles in his throat as I press against him, my fingers fisting in his flannel, pulling him closer, needing more.
Heat crashes over me, melting through my limbs, curling in my stomach. His fingers tighten on my hips, sending sparks dancing across my skin. The cabin disappears. The fire, the storm, everything except this.
Except him.
I whimper into the kiss, and Reid answers with a low, tortured groan like he’s fighting himself. Like he wants this, but just as quickly as it started, it ends.
Reid jerks back, breath ragged, eyes dark with something I can’t quite name.
I blink up at him, dazed, lips tingling. “Reid—”
But he’s already pushing to his feet, raking a hand through his hair, looking anywhere but at me.
“That was a mistake,” he mutters, voice rough.
The words slam into me, cold and sharp.
“A mistake?” I echo, trying to keep my voice steady.
His jaw clenches, shoulders rigid. “This isn’t what we signed up for.”
I stare at him, trying to make sense of the way he’s shutting down, closing himself off just when I thought we were finally getting somewhere.
For a second, something flickers in his eyes, possibly regret. But then it’s gone, buried beneath that impossible, impenetrable wall. He turns without another word, disappearing into his bedroom, leaving me alone in the firelight. Leaving me with lips that still burn from his kiss and a heart that’s more restless than ever.