Chapter 4
L auren sat on the porch steps of the cabin, notebook open, pen tapping against her lip.
The page was filled with half-baked hashtags.
#MountainGlow, #CabinVibes, #OffGridDream, but her thoughts kept drifting.
The mountain seemed charged this morning.
She couldn't describe it. Usually, there was a quietness that filled her. This morning, it was different.
She felt it again. That hum. That awareness.
She looked up casually, pretending to stretch, pretending to scan the treetops for light. Pretending that she wasn't looking. But her eyes landed on him.
Mac.
He was at the woodpile, shirt off, axe in hand, chopping like it was second nature. The wooden handle slid through his cupped hand, yet he remained in control of the tool. His back flexed with each swing, muscles shifting beneath sun-warmed skin. He moved with years of experience.
She swallowed hard. In her life, she never met a man like him. He was a fantasy.
He paused, wiped his brow, and turned.
Their eyes met.
And everything inside her stilled.
Mac didn't smile. Didn't nod. Didn't lift his hand to wave.
He slowly looked as if he was taking his time ogling every inch of her.
Her breath caught. Her skin flushed. That look wasn't casual.
It was intentional. Like he saw her, not just sitting there with her notebook, but all of her. And liked what he saw.
She tried to look away and failed.
He held her gaze for a beat too long. Then turned back to the wood, lifted the axe, and swung again.
Lauren exhaled a shaky breath. Her pen slipped from her fingers. Her notebook tilted off her lap. She was burning up.
She pressed a hand to her chest, as if that would calm the flutter. It didn't.
He hadn't touched her. Hadn't said a word. But somehow, Mac had changed her whole day with a single glance.
She wondered if he could feel what was happening to her. Maybe that's why he looked longer than was polite. Was he feeling it, too?
Lauren needed air.
The porch had grown too warm, her notebook too full of half-finished thoughts and hashtags that felt hollow compared to what she was experiencing while on vacation.
Mac's gaze still lingered in her mind, wondering if it meant anything.
She grabbed her water bottle and headed for the trail, away from the tempting sight of Mac.
She was no stranger to dating, if she could call it that.
Most of her relationships were flings or a rush of dates that petered out.
All of them seemed like boys who'd slid into her DMs, who complimented her on her smile, her feed, her filtered life.
None of them had ambition. None of them took her work seriously.
None of them ever made a relationship permanent.
They'd complain when she stayed up editing her videos and roll their eyes when she talked about analytics. She'd built something real, and they treated it like a hobby.
Mac seemed too mature for that. He was too grounded to the mountain. Too busy raising a son to have time for a girlfriend. Was he long-term only—because of his age, his life? Or would he indulge in one-night distractions before going back to his solitude?
She brushed a branch aside as the trail curved toward the lake.
A man rounded the bend ahead, nodding politely. Tall, bulky, and quiet, he was the man who'd spoken to Mac near the lodge. There was something about it, maybe the way he wore flannel and jeans while most of the male campers wore shorts and sneakers, that set him apart from the others.
Stopped and turned around. "Do you work here?"
He stopped, offered a small smile. "I'm one of the owners. Name's Beckett."
"Oh." She pressed a hand to her stomach. "I didn't realize. I mean... the campground and lake are more impressive than I ever imagined."
He nodded. "Glad you think so. Is there a problem?"
"No, not at all," she said quickly. "Actually, how many owners are there? I've met Mac. He seems really dedicated to this place."
Why had she brought him up? She wanted to groan at her stupidity. This was a vacation, nothing more.
"There are three of us." Beckett pushed back the bill of his baseball cap. "Mac's good at what he does." He paused. "Enjoy your walk."
And similar to how Mac would quietly walk away, Beckett left, leaving her with more questions than answers.