Chapter 3 - Sofia
Another day, another small thing taken care of—the last box finally unpacked and the kitchen shelves put in order.
Cole still doesn’t make much of an effort to talk to me, and I try not to take it personally. I shouldn’t expect more. He’s the owner of the property, nothing else. Not a built-in friend. Not someone meant to linger in my life beyond what’s necessary.
And if I’m being honest, my thoughts haven’t been very friendship-related either.
I keep telling myself I just want to know him.
That curiosity is natural. But that’s not the whole truth.
There’s something about him that slips past logic, settles deeper than it should.
Maybe it doesn’t help that I’ve been reading romance novels on my Kindle at night, half-distracted, half-dreaming while planning the kind of bookstore I want to open in town.
The shelves I’d curate. The atmosphere I’d make perfect.
Somehow, his eyes keep appearing in the heroes on those pages.
And when I picture strength, it’s Cole’s broad frame that comes to mind.
It should be easy to forget him. I hardly see him, and when I do, it’s usually when Liam is around. And yet, the small reminders never stop. The woodpile refilled without a word. The sink that works flawlessly now, as if it never gave me trouble at all.
Sometimes I catch glimpses of him outside while Liam plays. Chopping wood. Working the garden. Focused. Quiet. Often without a shirt, skin warmed by the sun, muscles moving with practiced ease.
I tell myself not to stare. I never quite manage it.
I should be researching business loans, scrolling listings for places to rent, figuring out how to bring in books that aren’t just my own.
Instead, I find myself grateful for the way Cole moves through his days.
Thanks to him, I’ve started leaving the doors open, letting the cool breeze drift through the house—an excuse, really, to steal another look.
While I’m in the kitchen slicing vegetables for a healthy snack for me and Liam, I feel it. That awareness. The unmistakable weight of being watched.
I pause, knife hovering mid-cut, then slowly turn my head.
Cole looks away the instant our eyes almost meet.
I might’ve convinced myself I imagined it, if I hadn’t felt his gaze moments before—steady and deliberate, like a slow caress tracking over my skin. Softer than his rough, work-worn hands would be, but not by much.
I nibble my bottom lip and let my eyes wander freely now. His broad shoulders. The dense strength in his arms. Sun-bronzed skin stretched over muscle built for lifting, holding, enduring. He’s so attractive it makes my chest ache with it, my thoughts slipping into dangerous territory.
I imagine how easily he could lift me.
What it would feel like to have his mouth claim mine.
How completely he could wrap himself around me.
The thought settles deep and quiet, unsettling and intoxicating all at once.
My grip slips for just a second.
Pain flashes sharp and bright along my finger, and I gasp as the knife skids against the counter. Blood wells immediately, dark and steady, spilling into my palm as I instinctively clutch my hand to my chest.
“Damn it—”
I drop the knife into the sink and turn toward the tap, already cataloguing what I need. Water first. Pressure. Clean it properly. It’s not deep enough for stitches, but it’s a clean slice and it’s bleeding more than I’d like.
“Sofia!” Liam shouts, panic ringing through his voice.
Heavy footsteps hit the kitchen almost instantly.
Cole is there before I can even respond.
He takes in the scene in a single glance. The knife. The blood. My posture. His eyes aren’t distant or unreadable now—they’re sharp, focused, all business. His gaze flicks over my face, my shoulders, down my arm, checking fast for anything else that might be wrong.
“Hey,” he says, calm and even. “Let me see.”
I flinch when he moves closer, bumping the knife farther into the sink as I grab a towel and press it to my hand.
“It’s fine,” I say automatically, forcing lightness into my voice. “Just a cut. I think we’ll have to skip snacks for a bit.”
My hand is already throbbing, heat spreading up my finger, but I keep my tone steady.
Cole doesn’t comment. He turns slightly toward Liam.
“Liam, I need you to head back to the house,” he says, voice firm but gentle. “Make yourself lunch. Make some for Sofia too.”
“But Dad—”
“I know,” Cole interrupts softly. “You’re helping by doing this. Go on.”
Liam hesitates, then steps closer to me, patting my arm carefully before heading out. Cole watches him go, waits until the door closes, then turns back to me.
“Okay,” he says. “Let’s take a look. Pull the towel away.”
“I should keep pressure on it—”
“You did,” he replies. “You did the right thing.”
He reaches into the lower cabinet and pulls out a well-stocked first aid kit. The kind that’s been used before. He snaps on gloves without rushing, then gently takes the towel from my hand.
The cut is clean. Still bleeding, but controlled.
“This will sting,” he warns, steady. “Try not to pull away.”
I nod, breath tight.
He rinses the wound under cool water, adjusts the angle without jarring me. His hands are sure, efficient, careful in a way that tells me this isn’t new territory for him. When he works soap gently over the cut, I hiss despite myself.
His eyes lift to my face instantly.
“Easy,” he murmurs. “Almost done.”
The pain fades to a dull ache as he dries my hand carefully, then examines the slice with quiet concentration.
“No need for stitches,” he says. “You got lucky.”
There’s no panic in him. No hesitation. No discomfort with the blood.
Only focus.
I should be paying attention to the bandage, to the instructions he’s giving me, but it’s hard to look away from his face. From the way his voice stays low and steady. From the way he handles me like this—competent, gentle, fully present.
This isn’t the guarded man who barely speaks to me.
This is someone else entirely.
“How are you so… okay with this?” I ask softly. Saying nothing suddenly feels wrong.
“I’ve seen worse,” he replies without looking up. Then, after a beat, “In the military.”
The words catch me off guard.
My gaze flicks from his focused expression to his hands steadying mine, and I clear my throat. “Oh. I just… I hope it wasn’t all bad.”
He exhales through his nose, something close to a dry huff. “Not all of it.”
His attention stays on my finger as he works, cleaning the cut carefully, methodical and precise. “There were good parts. You learn what you can handle. You learn to trust the people next to you.”
He reaches for the adhesive strips, aligning them neatly. “There was this guy—Shooter. Worst nickname ever. Couldn’t hit a target to save his life, but he had a talent for making people laugh at exactly the wrong moment.”
Despite myself, I smile. “That sounds… dangerous.”
“It was,” he says, almost fondly. “But it kept us sane.”
He finishes securing the strips, then wraps my finger, firm but gentle. His voice stays even, grounded, like he’s talking about something ordinary. Still, the fact that he’s saying anything at all feels significant.
“How does that feel?” he asks.
I blink, pulled out of my thoughts, and look down at my hand. “Um. Good. I didn’t even notice when you—”
“You did well,” he says quietly.
His thumb brushes across my palm, light and careful, checking the bandage. The touch sends a ripple through me that has nothing to do with pain. “Very well.”
When he’s done, he lifts his head, and suddenly we’re far too close.
I swallow, caught in the intensity of his gaze. His eyes darken, his lips part slightly as he exhales, and for a split second I’m certain he’s going to lean in. I can almost feel it—his mouth, his breath, the weight of him closing the space between us.
Then he pulls back like the thought burns.
He clears his throat, steps away. “Under the circumstances,” he says, voice carefully neutral, “I’ll be cooking for the next few days.”
And then he’s gone.
Just… gone.
Leaving me standing there, my body warm and unsettled, my heart racing, my lips still buzzing with something that never quite happened.
***
I get in bed trying to ignore how hot I am.
My body is on fire and there’s an aching emptiness between my legs.
I shake my head. I want the same ‘I can and will handle it’ man that treated my wound.
The one who didn’t ask, just did it while telling me exactly what he was doing.
Take charge, protective, intense, and wild.
What if he wasn’t restrained? What if he released all that raw need and desire I saw swirling in his eyes?
Shaking my head, I try to ease into sleep, but in that beautiful place between sleep and the waking world, I feel Cole, on top of me, spreading my legs around him and stroking down my bare thighs. He’d grip the sides of my underwear and drag them off my legs.
“I take what I want, Sofia. I want you, so I’m going to take you,” he growls against my lips. “Now. Rough and hard, just like we both need.”
“Yes,” I answer, lifting my hips to grind against him.
“Please,” I whimper, feeling my throat work.
He pushes my knees to my shoulders, kissing the back of my thighs as his cock rubs against me.
I try to touch him, but he catches my wrists and holds them down above my head as he feasts on me.
His tongue curls with mine as he keeps running his hands all over me, stroking, teasing, palming my thighs while digging his nails in to grind against me, the head of his cock hitting my clit again and again.
My fingers move to the same. Even if I almost feel it in my half sleep state, I need more. I rub my clit and moan at the added sensation. Groaning, I spread my legs.
“You’re all mine, Sofia. So wet for me, all mine to enjoy, to overwhelm, to fuck,” he growls.
I nod eagerly and thrust my fingers inside me as ... as ...
He thrusts into me, hard and deep. And he keeps telling me what he’s doing, all the positions he’s going to put me in, the ways he’s going to control every thrust and every hot moment between us.
I’m his for the taking, his to enjoy, his to please.
Every thrust is harder and more demanding than the last and the way he fills me keeps teasing my g-spot.
I’m so close and his fingers on my clit, the deep angle he uses to fuck me while he says more and more naughty things, how I’m going to lick my wetness off him, how he’s going to make the most of this all night, how there’s no reason to stop until the sun comes up, it pushes me over the edge.
My eyes open wide as I cum for my fingers. A choked sob that sounds like his name leaves my throat. I pant as I fall back into bed, licking my lips, annoyed that I have to settle for fantasies when clearly, this man is all my mind, body, and heart want.