Chapter 7
7
Jade
T he first flakes of snow start to fall as I pull out of the hardware store parking lot, the sky above me a heavy gray, pregnant with the promise of the storm to come. I feel a little guilty that Declan already had the wood loaded up before I got there. I pride myself on being on time and today was no exception. He just got there earlier, I guess. I glance in my rearview mirror, catching sight of Declan’s truck following close behind. The situation still makes me a little uneasy despite it being a small, cozy town. I’m not used to people looking out for me, especially strangers. Especially handsome, burly strangers.
The winding mountain road feels narrower with the snow coming down with the trees on either side looming like dark sentinels. The world is quiet, save for the crunch of tires over the thin layer of snow that’s already coating the ground. My cabin isn’t far now, just a few more turns, but the tension in my chest doesn’t ease. The thought of being alone for Declan, even if for just a tiny bit, made my heart sink into my stomach with anxiety.
Declan’s headlights flash briefly as I slow to turn onto the last stretch of road. My cabin comes into view, tucked between the trees like something out of a postcard. The sight of it usually fills me with a small sense of pride, my own little slice of the world, but today, it feels more fragile somehow, like it’s holding its breath, waiting for the storm to test its strength.
I park under the big pine tree out front, the branches already heavy with snow. Declan pulls in beside me, his truck rumbling to a stop. He steps out before I even have a chance to open my door, his tall frame moving easily despite the biting wind.
“Nice spot,” he says. His green eyes sweep over the cabin, then land on me. “Cozy.”
“Thanks,” I say, hopping down from the truck. My boots crunch against the snow as I circle around to the back of his truck to start unloading. Declan is already there, grabbing a bundle of wood like it weighs nothing. He pauses, his gaze flicking toward the cabin again, his brows drawing together slightly.
“Your storm shutters,” he says, nodding toward the windows. “They’re not latched properly. Won’t hold if the wind picks up.”
I frown, following his gaze. I hadn’t even thought about the shutters. They came with the cabin, and I just assumed they were fine the way they were. “Oh. I didn’t realize.”
“I can fix them,” he offers, already setting the bundle of wood down by the porch. “Won’t take long.”
I hesitate, glancing between him and the cabin. “You’ve already done enough,” I say. “I don’t want to make you do more work.”
He shrugs, pulling a pair of gloves from his coat pocket. “Not a big deal. Besides, better safe than sorry.”
There’s something about the way he says it that makes it hard to argue. I nod reluctantly, stepping aside as he moves toward the cabin. He pulls a small toolbox from his truck, and I watch as he gets to work, his movements quick and efficient.
I tell myself to look away, to focus on unloading the wood, but my eyes keep drifting back to him. There’s something undeniably attractive about the way he works, the quiet competence of it, like he’s done this a hundred times before. It’s distracting, to say the least.
I shake my head, turning my attention back to the wood.
Focus, Jade. You’ve got more important things to worry about than how good he looks fixing storm shutters.
I grab a couple of bundles and carry them inside, the warmth of the cabin a welcome contrast to the chill outside. The fireplace dominates one wall of the living room, its stone facade adding a rustic charm to the space. I set the wood down and kneel to start a fire. It takes a few tries, but soon the flames are crackling, casting a warm glow over the room. I could sit here and stare at the masterpiece all night long.
The rest of the cabin is still a work in progress. Boxes are stacked in the corners, waiting to be unpacked. The walls are bare, the furniture sparse. I haven’t had much time to decorate, but part of me is looking forward to it. If the storm does snow me in, maybe I’ll finally get around to making this place feel like home.
The wind picks up outside, rattling the shutters slightly before settling again. I stand, brushing my hands off on my jeans as I head back out to grab more wood. Declan is still working, his focus unshaken despite the worsening weather.
“You’re really good at this,” I say as I pass him, my voice barely carrying over the wind.
He glances at me, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You pick up a few things living up here.”
I nod, curious to know more. “How long have you been here?” I can’t help but ask, feeling the need to know him better. I tell myself it’s just so I’ll feel safer with this stranger, but really, it’s a curiosity I can’t quell.
“Five years,” he states simply, seemingly not wanting to elaborate.
“Do you like it?” I want to smack myself. He wouldn’t live here that long if he didn’t like it, but what else is there to ask?
“It’s a good place.” He smiles warmly. “Homey.”
I smile and agree, then turn back to the truck to get the rest of the wood. The sooner it’s unloaded, the sooner he can leave and I can wallow in my social ineptitude.
How did I ever survive before now? Oh, right, I had a family and friends and a community that I loved. And even so, I wasn’t like them, wasn’t quite as confident or sure of myself. That much, at least, hasn’t changed about me, even though everything else had.
Still, I was loved for who I was and I didn’t have to try hard to fit in. I wasn’t an outsider there since I knew the culture and landscape.
I’ve picked up a few useful skills since moving here, but owning my own home is a different beast. This storm is already shaping up the be one of the worst since I moved here, and I don’t have the benefit of Ron as my landlord anymore. For our one big storm last year, he shuttered up the windows on my apartment and did all the work winterizing the place. As the wind continues to whip dangerously around us, I realize that I’m in way over my head.
Not that I’m going to admit this to Declan, who’s carefully making his way around the rest of the house to make sure all the windows are latched properly. He doesn’t say anything to me, but I see a roll of weatherstrip in his hands, and I blush as I realize I must not have done it as well as I thought.
I’m halfway back to the truck when the first gust of truly strong wind hits, nearly knocking me off balance. The snow is falling harder now, the flakes coming down in thick, blinding waves. I hurry to grab another bundle of wood, my breath visible in the freezing air.
Declan appears beside me, his toolbox still in his hand.
“Storm’s moving in fast,” he says, his voice steady despite the wind. “We should get this done before it gets worse.”
I nod, following him back toward the cabin. The snow is already ankle-deep, and the sky is a swirling mass of gray. It’s almost beautiful, in a way, but there’s an edge to it that makes my stomach tighten.
We work quickly, the piles of wood on the porch growing steadily. Declan doesn’t say much, but he doesn’t need to. There’s something reassuring about his presence, the way he seems so calm and in control. I still don’t know how to trust strangers, how to believe that their acts of kindness are selfless and not serving some other agenda.
Yet Declan makes no move to hit on me. He speaks very little, and works efficiently, despite the increasingly worsening conditions. He seems to just be acting in a genuinely neighborly way, not asking for anything in return.
It’s almost disappointing. Despite myself, I had gotten a little carried away with Tawny’s ideas of a snowed-in romance.