Chapter 2 #2
I file that away. Practical underneath the polish. Another detail I shouldn't be noticing.
"Follow my truck. I'll drive slow."
"I can handle a little snow."
"I'm sure you can. But visibility drops fast up here, and you don't know the roads." I point toward the massive black pickup idling near the lot's entrance. "Stay close. Flash your lights if you need to stop."
She salutes with exaggerated formality. "Yes, sir."
The words shoot straight through me.
It's the way she says it. Sarcastic on the surface, but with an edge underneath that tells me she knows exactly what she's doing. Testing. Probing. Trying to figure out what kind of man she's agreed to spend the weekend with.
She has no idea.
"Get in your car, Nadia." My voice comes out rougher than intended. "Before the snow gets worse."
Her smile is sharp and knowing as she turns toward her rental. I watch her walk away, hips swaying in a rhythm that's definitely intentional, and I remind myself for the hundredth time that this is supposed to be simple.
The drive up the mountain takes twenty minutes instead of ten. The snow is falling harder now, thick enough to cut visibility down to a few car lengths. I keep my speed steady and my eyes on the rearview mirror, making sure Nadia's headlights stay close.
She drives well. Careful but confident, matching my pace without lagging or crowding. Another point in her favor. Another detail I shouldn't be collecting.
By the time we reach the turnoff for my property, the storm has upgraded from concerning to dangerous. Wind whips the snow into horizontal sheets, and I hear the groan of trees bending under the weight of accumulating ice.
The main house appears through the white, a two story log cabin I built with my brothers fifteen years ago. Warm light glows in the windows where I left the heat running. Behind it, barely visible through the storm, sits the workshop and the smaller guest cabin.
I pull into the garage and wait for Nadia to park behind me. When she emerges from the rental, her eyes are wide.
"You built this?"
"My brothers and I." I grab her suitcase from her trunk before she can protest. "Family property. Been in the Ridges for three generations."
"It's beautiful."
She says it simply, without the performative enthusiasm some people affect when they see something impressive. Just a statement of fact. The cabin is beautiful. End of observation.
I like that about her.
The wind nearly tears the door from my hands as we make our way inside. Nadia stumbles on the threshold, and I catch her elbow without thinking. My palm against her arm, steadying her. The contact lasts two seconds at most, but I feel it longer.
"Thanks." She pulls away, looking around the interior with open curiosity. "Wow. This is... not what I expected."
I see it through her eyes. The vaulted ceilings with exposed beams. The massive stone fireplace that takes up most of the south wall. The kitchen with its custom cabinetry and professional grade appliances. The furniture my brother Declan made by hand, solid and masculine and built to last.
"What did you expect?"
"I don't know. Dead animals on the walls. Empty beer cans. Maybe a Confederate flag."
"Wrong part of the country for Confederate flags."
"You know what I mean."
I do know. She expected a stereotype. The gruff mountain man living in squalor, surrounded by the trappings of toxic masculinity. Instead she got something that looks like it belongs in an architectural magazine, all clean lines and warm wood and intentional design.
"Guest room is upstairs. Second door on the left. Bathroom attached." I set her suitcase near the stairs. "Kitchen's fully stocked if you're hungry. I'll make a fire."
"You don't have to take care of me."
"I'm not taking care of you. I'm being a decent host." I crouch in front of the fireplace and start arranging kindling.
She's quiet, and when I glance over my shoulder, she's watching me with an expression I can't quite read. Wariness mixed with something warmer. Something that looks almost like hope.
"Why did you really ask me to do this?"
The question catches me off guard. "I told you. The matchmakers."
"That's not the whole reason."
I consider lying. But I've already told her more truth tonight than I've told most people in years, and something about the way she asked, like she genuinely wants to understand, makes me want to keep going.
"There's a woman. Helena Chen. She moved to town last year, and her mother is convinced we'd be perfect together.
" I strike a match and watch the kindling catch.
"She's been seated at my table for the wedding.
If I show up alone, her mother will spend the entire night engineering reasons for us to interact.
Dancing, photos, toasts. By the end of the reception, half the town will be planning our engagement party. "
"And you don't want that."
"I don't want to be managed into a relationship I didn't choose." The fire catches properly now, flames licking up through the logs. "I've spent enough of my life being managed."
Nadia moves closer to the fireplace, extending her hands toward the warmth. The light plays across her features, softening the angles and catching the gold undertones in her skin.
"That ex fiancée really did a number on you."
"She did." I stand, brushing ash from my palms. "But that's not the only reason."
"Then what is?"
The smart answer is to change the subject. The smart answer is to show her to her room and say goodnight and spend the rest of the evening reminding myself that this arrangement has boundaries.
But smart has never been my problem. My problem is wanting things I shouldn't want and people I shouldn't have.
"I saw you walk into that bar and I wanted to know what your voice sounded like.
Then you spoke and I wanted to know what made you laugh.
Now I know both of those things and I want to know more.
" I hold her gaze, letting her see exactly how much I mean it.
"That's why I asked. Not just practicality.
Not just convenience. Because something about you makes me curious, and I haven't been curious about anyone in a very long time. "
Her breath catches audibly.
"That's... very direct."
"I warned you I prefer honesty."
"You did." She swallows, and I track the movement down her throat. "I just didn't expect you to actually practice it."
"Get used to disappointment. I'm exactly who I say I am."
The silence grows thick. I can see the pulse jumping in her neck. Can see the way her weight shifts forward almost imperceptibly, like she's fighting the urge to step closer.
I could kiss her. The thought arrives fully formed and immediately problematic. She's exhausted, travel worn, in a strange house with a man she just met. Any move I make right now would be taking advantage of vulnerability she hasn't offered.
So I step back instead.
"Guest room's upstairs. Towels are in the closet. Help yourself to anything in the kitchen." I turn toward the hallway that leads to the master suite. "We'll figure out the details tomorrow."
"Callum."
I stop but don't turn around.
"Thank you. For the drink. The room. All of it." Her voice is softer now. "Even if you did proposition me in a bar like some kind of romance novel cliché."
I allow myself one glance over my shoulder. She's silhouetted against the fire, all curves and defiance and something I absolutely cannot pursue.
"Get some sleep, Nadia. The weekend hasn't even started yet."
I walk away before I do something stupid.
But I already know sleep isn't coming easy tonight. Not with her under my roof and the memory of her pulse fluttering under my fingertips and the growing certainty that this simple arrangement is about to become very, very complicated.