Chapter 7 #3
“Effective, though,” I point out. “He’ll go home and drink about it instead of punching holes in your drywall.”
She huffs out something that’s almost a laugh. “You sound very sure.”
“Like I said,” I answer, a ghost of a smile tugging at my lips. “I read situations. He was pissed, yeah, but he was more pissed at being made to look like a fool than anything else. Men like that will go lick their wounds before they come up with their next brilliant idea.”
She grimaces. “His brilliant ideas are how I ended up in debt.”
“Then we’ll make sure his next one doesn’t involve this driveway,” I explain casually.
The we slips out before I can stop it.
She hears it. I can tell by the way her eyes soften, then sharpen again, wary. “You’re only here a week,” she says quietly. “You don’t have to get involved.”
“Lady,” I begin, straightening off the door, “I was involved the second he rolled up and you looked like you wanted to crawl out of your own skin.”
Her shoulders tense again, that little flash of shame creeping back. “I’m sorry. This is not, this is not the experience I want for you. I promise. I clean. I prepare. I make sure everything’s perfect.”
She gestures around the cabin with a helpless little sweep of her hand.
“And then my walking disaster of an ex shows up and ruins it,” she finishes.
I look around properly now for the first time.
The place is immaculate. Couch just so, blanket draped, welcome basket on the table, little handwritten note propped up by the cocoa packets. Cozy lamp in the corner, soft yellow light warming the wood. It looks like a picture out of some rental brochure.
She’s done all this.
For me. For her guests she shares her home.
And now she’s apologizing like she personally invited the asshole who just tried to shake her down.
“Cabin’s great,” I say. “Exactly what I need. As for your ex,” I shrug. “Every town’s got its share of losers. I’ve seen worse.”
“Still,” she says, licking her lips. She immediately looks like she regrets the motion, probably remembering exactly what those lips were doing thirty seconds ago. “If you want to cancel, I’ll—”
“Not happening,” I interrupt.
Her brows shoot up. “You don’t even know my cancellation policy.”
“I know I just rode four hours of what should have been three into the cold on a bike because my daughter thinks I need to get out of town before I choke a man in my own shop,” I share openly.
“I know this place is paid for. I know the bed looks decent and there’s a roof that doesn’t leak.
And I know you just stood your ground against a man who’s been bleeding you dry for years. ”
I hold her gaze.
“I’m staying.”
Something in her posture loosens. Just a fraction. Like a wire that’s been pulled too tight, finally given an inch.
“Okay,” she says softly. “Okay.”
Outside, through the thick wood of the door, I can just barely hear the sedan’s engine turn over. Gravel crunches. Headlights sweep past the front window for a brief second, then fade as the car backs awkwardly down the drive.
He’s leaving.
Good.
Holley hears it too. Her head tilts, listening. When the sounds fade completely, she exhales a long, shaky breath and presses the heels of her hands into her eyes.
“I’m so tired of him,” she says quietly. “So tired of all of this.”
I don’t say I understand. I don’t say I get it.
But I do.
More than she knows.
“You ever think about changing your locks?” I ask.
She snorts softly. “He doesn’t have a key or code. He just… knows where I live. And how to make dramatic entrances.”
“Drama’s not a crime,” I share. “Trespassing and harassment is.”
She gives me a look. “You a lawyer now?”
I let out a rumble that might be a laugh. “Not even close. Just a man who’s dealt with his fair share of trouble.”
“That I believe,” she says, scanning my leather, my scars. “You don’t look like you sell insurance.”
“I’d get bored as hell if I did,” I share with a laugh.
Instantly, everything lightens between us.
She relaxes and I take in her beauty. From her eyes that are mixed flakes of color almost making her eyes so blue they are gray and her blonde hair in a messy bun, to the curves of her body underneath her fitted t-shirt and jeans. She fills it out nicely.
For a moment, we just stand there in the entry, two strangers who just shared a pretty intimate moment in front of a third party who had no right to be there.
“This your first time up in these mountains?” she asks, slipping into host mode like a survival tactic.
“First time in this cabin,” I state the obvious on that. “Been through the area on the bike before. Usually passing through, not stopping.”
“Well, there’s a binder with all the important info on the table,” she says, nodding toward it. “Wi-Fi password, heating instructions, where the extra blankets are. Local restaurants, hiking trails. That kind of thing.”
I glance at the binder. “I’ll take a look.”
“If you need anything, message me through the app,” she adds quickly. “I usually respond fast. I, um,” She gestures vaguely toward the driveway. “I was actually on my way out. I wasn’t supposed to be here when you got here. I just forgot something.”
Her gaze darts to the window, where my bike is still parked.
“You’re riding that in this weather?” she asks, disbelief and maybe a little admiration creeping into her tone.
“Plan is, yeah.”
She shakes her head, a small smile tugging at her mouth for the first time. “You bikers are insane.”
I laugh coyly. “Mostly.”
She gives me a once-over, eyes flicking from my boots to my cut and back to my face.
I smirk. “What can I say? Sanity is overrated.”
Silence settles again, but it’s different now. Less electric, more awkward. Charged, but not with fear.
I jerk my chin toward the door. “You should get wherever you’re going before it gets colder.”
Her gaze flicks to the sleeping bag she left crammed in the front passenger seat of her car. She flushes.
“Right,” she states coming back to the moment. “Yeah.”
She reaches for the doorknob, then pauses and looks back at me.
“What you did,” She swallows. “Out there. I don’t know if it’s this way everywhere, but around here, a lot of men would’ve just watched. Or told me to calm down. Or taken his side.”
“I’m not a lot of men,” I respond simply.
Her eyes meet mine, and something there warms. Softens.
“No,” she says quietly. “You’re not.”
She takes a breath like she’s about to say something else, then thinks better of it. “I’ll, uh… leave you to get settled,” she finishes instead. “If the heat doesn’t kick on right away, sometimes you have to jiggle the thermostat. Just gently. It’s temperamental.”
“Got it,” I confirm. “Treat the thermostat with easy hands like a woman,” I tell her with a wink. She takes a sharp inhale and then gives me a small smile.
She opens the door, cold air rushing in. She steps out onto the porch, then glances back at me over her shoulder.
“And Tony?”
The way she says my name sends a little jolt through me.
“Yeah, sweetheart?”
Her lips curve into a quick, unexpected smile. “Next time you need an exit strategy, maybe just grab my hand first. Save the kiss for when my ex isn’t watching.” Then she winks and I feel that shit straight to my cock.
“Noted,” I say, even though part of my brain that’s been dead a long time is thinking we might not need an exit strategy for the next one.
She gives a little nod, then pulls the door closed behind her.
The latch clicks.
I stand there for a second, the quiet of the cabin wrapping around me. Through the window, I watch her cross the small stretch of porch, the porch light haloing her hair, and hurry to her car. She climbs in starts the engine, and pulls out of the drive.
Her taillights disappear down the road.
Gone.
I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding and turn back into the cabin, shoulders relaxing for the first time in what feels like all day.
The place is still, peaceful. Warm. The welcome basket sits on the table like something out of a catalog. The couch looks like it might not ruin my back.
I roll my neck, feeling the leftover tension from nearly cracking a man’s skull and kissing a stranger in the same five-minute span.
“Hell of a start to vacation,” I mutter.
Then I walk outside, grabbing my bag and returning. Back to the couch, I drop my duffel down, the old piece creaking in response.
Outside, the night settles in around the cabin, clear and cold. Somewhere down the mountain, a woman settles in wherever she is and I wonder if she can feel the lingering of my lips the way I can hers.
I don’t like complications. I don’t like bullshit. I don’t like anyone or anything disturbing my peace.
For the first time in a long time, though, what happened tonight, I’m not mad. Sure, it was inconvenient not really the way I wanted things to start, but that kiss, well, I don’t mind.