Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
DIESEL
Sunlight spills through the curtains, painting golden stripes across Sandra's bare back. She's still asleep, face half-buried in my pillow, curls spilling across her shoulders. I prop myself up on one elbow, just watching her.
I'm not a sentimental man. Never have been. But something about seeing her here, in my bed, in my space, fills my chest with an unfamiliar warmth I can't ignore.
Last night was... fuck, I don't even have the words. I've had good sex before. Great sex, even. But with Sandra, it wasn't just physical. There was something else. Something I haven't felt in a long damn time, if ever.
She stirs, eyelashes fluttering as she wakes. For a second, confusion crosses her face before her eyes find mine and she smiles, soft and intimate.
"Morning," she murmurs, voice raspy with sleep.
"Morning." I reach out to brush a curl from her cheek. "Sleep okay?"
"Mmm, better than okay." She stretches like a cat, the sheet slipping down to reveal more of that gorgeous skin. "Though I didn't get much actual sleep."
Heat coils low in my gut at the memory. After our first round, we'd eventually made it to dinner, only to end up back in bed for round two. And three. "Complaints?"
"Not a single one." She leans closer, pressing her lips to my chest, right over my heart. "In fact, I could get used to waking up like this."
The casual comment makes me happier than it should. It sounds like she's thinking about more than just a temporary fling. Like maybe she's considering sticking around. And the thought of Sandra staying, of waking up to her smile every morning, doesn't scare me as much as it should.
"Yeah?" I trace the curve of her spine with my fingertips. "What happened to no labels, no planning for the future?"
She props her chin on my chest, looking up at me with those warm brown eyes. "Maybe I'm revising my position." Her expression turns more serious. "Being with you, it feels right, Diesel. In a way nothing has in a very long time."
I swallow, fighting the urge to deflect with a joke or change the subject. This matters. She matters. "For me too," I admit finally. "It's not what I was looking for, but..."
"But here we are," she finishes, smiling again.
"Here we are," I agree, pulling her up for a kiss that quickly deepens, her body sliding over mine in a way that makes my blood run hot.
We take our time, exploring each other with newfound familiarity, learning what makes the other gasp and moan. When she sinks down onto me, taking me deep inside her, I cup her face in my hands, needing to see her expression, to connect beyond just the physical pleasure.
"You're beautiful," I tell her, the words slipping out before I can filter them. "So fucking beautiful."
Her rhythm falters at my words, emotion flashing across her face. She leans down, capturing my mouth in a kiss that feels like a promise as she continues to move above me.
We build toward release together, her body tightening around mine as she comes with my name on her lips. I follow immediately after, overwhelmed by the intensity of it all.
Afterward, she collapses against my chest, both of us breathing hard. I wrap my arms around her, holding her close, reluctant to let this moment end.
"I could get used to this too," I confess quietly, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.
She lifts her face, surprise and happiness mingling in her expression. "Yeah?"
"Yeah." I brush my thumb over her cheekbone. "I'm not good with words, Sandra. Not good at expressing... this. But I want you to know that it means something to me. You mean something."
Her eyes shine with unshed tears. "You mean something to me too, Diesel. More than I expected." She kisses me softly. "And for the record, I think you're doing just fine with the words."
We shower together, which leads to another round up against the tile wall, water cascading over us as I lift her, her legs wrapped around my waist, my name echoing off the bathroom walls as she comes.
Over breakfast—eggs and bacon that I cook while she perches on the counter, stealing kisses between sips of coffee—we talk about plans for the day.
"I should probably check on Grandpa's cabin," she says, stealing a piece of bacon from my plate. "I've been in town over a week and still haven't seen it."
"Want company?" I offer, surprising myself. "I can take the day off. Marcus can handle the garage."
Her face lights up. "Really? You'd do that?"
I shrug, trying to play it cool despite the warmth spreading through my chest at her reaction. "Like I said, I helped your grandfather with some repairs last year. I know where the place is, what to look for."
"I'd love that." She hops off the counter to hug me, pressing her body against mine. "Thank you."
After breakfast, I call Marcus to let him know I won't be in today. He's annoyingly smug about it, but I can't bring myself to care. A day with Sandra away from the garage sounds perfect.
I lend her one of my flannels to wear over her dress from last night, and the sight of her in my clothes does funny things to my insides. She looks like she belongs here, in my kitchen, in my life.
We take my truck, Sandra's hand resting on my thigh as I drive, occasionally squeezing or tracing patterns that make it hard to focus on the road. The cabin is about twenty minutes outside town, nestled among pines with a view of the valley.
"Oh," Sandra breathes as the cabin comes into view. "It's beautiful."
Old Man Joe's place is a modest cabin, smaller than mine but well-built and maintained. He'd always been particular about upkeep, constantly tinkering and improving. The wraparound porch needs some of the railings fixed, but otherwise, it looks solid.
"He was proud of this place," I tell her as we park. "Built most of it himself, like I did with mine."
"Maybe that's where I get my fascination with people who build things," she says with a soft smile. "It's in my DNA."
I help her up the porch steps, watching her face as she takes it all in. There's wonder there, and a hint of sadness. This place represents the grandfather she didn't get enough time with.
The key is hidden under a potted plant, just where Joe always kept it. Inside, the cabin is clean but dusty from months of disuse. Furniture is covered with sheets, giving the place a ghostly quality.
"I can't believe he left me this," Sandra says, running her fingers over a bookshelf filled with well-worn volumes. "We weren't even that close when I was growing up."
"He talked about you," I tell her, remembering conversations with the old man over beers on this very porch. "Always said his granddaughter was the smartest person he knew. Said you'd figure out what really mattered eventually."
Her eyes fill with tears. "Really? He said that?"
I nod, moving to pull her into my arms. "He was proud of you. Kept your picture right there." I nod toward the mantel where a framed photo sits face-down, covered in dust.
Sandra picks it up, wiping away the grime to reveal a younger version of herself, maybe college-age, laughing at something off-camera. "I didn't know he had this."
"He wasn't big on words either," I say. "But he showed how he felt in other ways."
She nods, placing the picture back on the mantel with reverent care. "Like grandfather, like granddaughter, I guess. I wish I'd known him better."
We spend the morning exploring the cabin, uncovering furniture, opening windows to let in fresh air. In the basement, we find Joe's workshop, tools hanging neatly on pegboard, projects in various stages of completion.
"He was making this," I say, picking up a half-finished jewelry box similar to the one I gave Sandra for her keychain. "Probably for you."
She takes it, fingers tracing the intricate carving. "Could you finish it? I'll pay you, of course."
I shake my head. "No payment necessary. I'd be honored to finish something Joe started."
Her smile is worth more than any payment anyway. We continue our exploration, finding little touches of Joe throughout the cabin—books marked with notes in the margins, sketches of project ideas, even a collection of vintage car magazines with Mustangs circled in red pen.
"He knew I'd love that car," Sandra says, flipping through one of the magazines. "Even before I did."
By lunchtime, we've uncovered most of the furniture and opened all the windows, letting fresh air chase away the musty smell. The cabin feels alive again, like it's been waiting for her.
"What do you think?" I ask as we sit on the porch steps, sharing a sandwich I packed. "Could you live here?"
She looks out at the view, thoughtful. "I think I could. It needs work, but that's part of the appeal. Making it mine while honoring what Grandpa built." She glances at me. "It's not too isolated for you, is it?"
The question catches me off guard. "For me?"
Her cheeks color slightly. "I mean, if you were to visit. Or whatever."
The implication that she's factoring me into her decision about staying warms me more than it should. "It's about ten minutes from my place. Perfect distance."
Her smile is radiant. "Good to know."
After lunch, we check the plumbing and electrical, making a list of things that need attention before the cabin would be properly livable. The pipes need bleeding, some of the wiring looks questionable, and the roof could use inspection before heavy winter snows.
"I can help with most of this," I tell her as we lock up to head back to town. "Or recommend people who can."
"My hero," she teases as she rises on tiptoes to kiss me. "Thank you for today. For everything."
Back in town, we stop at Bean & Bloom for coffee. Sage greets us with a knowing smile that makes Sandra blush and me roll my eyes, though there's no real annoyance behind it.
"You two are coming to the tree lighting tonight, right?" Sage asks, setting our drinks on the counter. "Whole town will be there."