Chapter 14-Sloane
I’m trying hard not to freak out, but let’s face it.
Everything that just happened?
Yeah, that’s gonna take a minute to process.
So, I’m going to do what I normally do, and that is focus on what’s right in front of me.
Like this cabin.
I mean…
Holy.
Shit.
I mean wow. It’s beautiful.
I can't believe he actually built this place.
The thought follows me into the bathroom as I quietly close the door behind me.
It's fantastic.
Not flashy.
Not overdone.
And it is so him.
Thick log walls glow warm beneath soft recessed lighting.
The vanity is handcrafted from knotty pine, the black fixtures are clean and modern without feeling cold.
The mirror is enormous, framed in rough-hewn cedar, and the shower?
Oh my God.
It's almost as big as my bedroom back at my apartment near the bar.
Natural stone.
Glass doors.
A rainfall showerhead overhead.
It feels like walking into one of those luxury cabin rentals people show off online.
Only this isn't a rental.
Micah built it.
With his own hands.
I lean against the vanity for a second, trying to steady my breathing before I peel my work shirt over my head.
The cotton lands in a heap on the floor.
My jeans follow.
They're filthy.
Grease stains.
Barbecue sauce.
Beer.
The usual casualties of working a busy night behind the bar.
Except, I see something else staining them, and my stomach twists.
It's blood.
Not mine.
I don't even know whose.
The sight makes my hands start trembling all over again.
I hug my arms around myself.
God.
Tonight really happened.
Those men were real.
My brother’s fuck up?
Also real.
Shit.
An image of that awful man grabbing me flits through my brain.
What a creep.
Calling me names...
Touching me...
My eyes squeeze shut.
Then another memory pushes its way in—a better one.
Micah.
Coming to my rescue.
Kicking the back door open like a force of nature.
Those icy blue eyes locking on me.
The way he'd crossed the room in seconds.
The certainty in every movement.
The way he'd looked afterward.
Not proud.
Not angry.
Just concerned.
Worried.
About me.
A watery laugh escapes before I can stop it.
I can’t believe he actually thought I might be scared of him.
Of all the ridiculous things.
If only he knew.
If only he had the faintest idea what I really felt every time I looked at him.
My crush on the gorgeous, quiet ex-military cowboy has been my one constant since I moved to Dry Creek.
From the very first night he wandered into The Watering Hole, sat at the end of the bar, ordered a burger and one beer, then quietly slipped out without bothering anyone, I'd noticed him.
How could I not?
Most men wanted attention.
Micah avoided it.
Most men talked too much.
Micah barely spoke.
Most men looked at me like they were deciding whether I was attractive enough.
But Micah?
Micah looked at me like I mattered.
Then came the filters for the van.
The kiss.
And I haven't thought straight since.
I turn the shower on.
Hot water pours from the oversized showerhead, filling the room with steam.
The heat loosens muscles I didn't even realize I'd been clenching.
I step beneath the spray and sigh.
“Oh...”
It feels incredible.
I reach for the bottle of body wash sitting neatly on the shelf.
His body wash.
Citrus.
Fresh cedar.
Clean soap.
The scent immediately wraps around me.
Micah.
This is what he smells like.
Every time he leans across the bar.
Every time he walks into the room.
Fresh.
Clean.
Comforting.
Masculine without trying.
Not drowning in body spray or expensive cologne.
Just him.
I work the soap over my skin, smiling despite myself as the familiar scent surrounds me.
God.
He smells delicious.
And...
I bite my lip.
He'd tasted even better.
Heat blooms across my cheeks.
Good grief, Sloane.
Get it together.
I duck beneath the water, rinsing shampoo from my hair.
The pounding spray drowns out everything else.
Maybe that's why my thoughts finally stop running from themselves.
Something bad almost happened tonight.
Really bad.
Those men wanted to take my choices away.
To make me small.
Powerless.
Afraid.
The realization settles over me with surprising clarity.
I don't want to live afraid anymore.
I don't want to spend any more time just wondering what Micah meant by that kiss.
Or pretending I don't catch myself looking for his truck every evening.
Or wondering if I'm imagining the way his eyes soften whenever they find me.
I'm an adult.
A grown ass woman.
I'm allowed to want someone.
I'm allowed to tell him that I want him.
And if he doesn't feel the same?
Then I'll survive.
Yeah, it'll hurt.
Probably a lot.
But at least I'll know.
No regrets.
No wondering.
No lying awake imagining what might have been.
The water finally runs clear.
I shut it off and stand there for a moment listening to the quiet.
Then I spot it hanging from a hook beside the shower.
One of Micah's flannel shirts.
Probably left there for exactly this sort of emergency.
I smile.
It's enormous.
The soft fabric slips over my head and falls almost to the middle of my thighs.
The sleeves swallow my hands until I roll them twice.
It smells like him.
Fresh laundry.
Cedar.
Soap.
Home.
I brush out my damp hair, watching my reflection in the mirror.
I hardly recognize the woman staring back at me.
She's tired.
Bruised.
A little scared.
But there's something else there too.
Resolve.
I square my shoulders.
Take one deep breath.
Then another.
Tonight reminded me how quickly life can change.
How easily tomorrow can disappear.
I'm done waiting for perfect timing.
Done hiding behind fear.
I reach for the doorknob.
My heart pounds so hard I'm surprised it doesn't shake the walls.
“Okay,” I whisper to my reflection.
“If all he wants is friendship... I'll respect that.”
I smile nervously.
“But I'm done pretending I don't want him.”
I open the bathroom door.
One decision made.
No more regrets.
I'm going to ask him.