Chapter Four

Reid

This was a mistake. I knew it the second she stepped off that bus with her big suitcase and even bigger smile, looking like she belonged anywhere but in the middle of my quiet, isolated world.

And now, as she moves around my kitchen like she owns the place, humming some chipper tune under her breath, that feeling settles even deeper into my bones.

The cabin already feels different.

Livelier.

Louder.

Hell, it even smells different. Something warm and sweet, like cinnamon and sugar, mixed in with the usual scent.

I shift in my chair, arms crossed over my chest as I watch her dig through my cabinets like she’s on some kind of treasure hunt. “What exactly are you looking for?”

She doesn’t even turn around. Just waves a hand over her shoulder like she’s shooing a fly. “Flour. You do have flour, right?”

I grunt.

She takes that as a yes and keeps going. A minute later, she lets out a triumphant little aha! and pulls a bag from the shelf, holding it up like she just won the lottery. “Found it!”

I shake my head. “What are you making?”

She beams at me over her shoulder. “Biscuits.”

I frown. “For dinner?”

“Yes, for dinner, you grumpy caveman. And don’t look at me like that. You fed me scrambled eggs, so I think it’s only fair I return the favor with something edible.”

I scowl. “The eggs were fine.”

“They were passable.” She dumps the flour into a bowl with an exaggerated plop and shoots me a grin. “But don’t worry, I’ve got this. Southern cooking is my love language.”

I lean back in my chair, watching as she bustles around the kitchen, cracking eggs and measuring ingredients with practiced ease. She hums as she works, that same tune from earlier, like she’s perfectly at home in a kitchen she’s never stepped foot in before today.

It’s unsettling.

I’m used to being alone. Used to silence, to the steady, predictable rhythm of my own space. But Sadie blows into my world like a summer storm—bright and warm and completely impossible to ignore.

I tell myself I just have to adjust. Soon I won’t notice the way her hair catches the firelight, or the way she wrinkles her nose when she concentrates, or the way she talks to herself when she cooks like she’s hosting a damn cooking show.

This is a business deal. A means to an end. That’s the deal. She’s here so I can check a box, keep my word, and move on with my life.

I don’t need to like the way she laughs or the way she makes my kitchen smell like home or the way—

“Okay,” she announces, snapping me out of my thoughts. “Moment of truth.”

She plucks a biscuit off the tray and hands it to me, her eyes bright with anticipation. I take it, still warm from the oven, and break it open. Steam rises, carrying the buttery scent straight to my nose, and I take a bite.

It’s good. Really good. Not that I’ll tell her that.

She watches me expectantly, rocking back on her heels. “Well?”

I chew slowly. Swallow. Shrug. “It’s fine.”

Her jaw drops. “Fine?”

I smother a smirk. “Passable.”

She gasps, clutching her chest like I just delivered a mortal wound. “Reid Calloway, you take that back this instant.”

I don’t. I just take another bite. She narrows her eyes, clearly unimpressed with my lack of enthusiasm.

“You’re impossible,” she mutters, grabbing a biscuit for herself. She takes a bite, then sighs dramatically. “Mmm. Delicious. Perfect. The best thing I’ve ever eaten. If only my husband-to-be had taste buds.”

I huff. “Are you always this dramatic?”

“Always.” She winks. “You’ll get used to it.”

That’s what I’m afraid of. I glance away, focusing on the fire crackling in the hearth. I remind myself why she’s here. Why we’re here. This isn’t a love story. It’s a business arrangement. And no matter how good her biscuits are or how bright she makes the cabin feel, that hasn’t changed.

It can’t change. I won’t let it. Even if, for the first time in a long time, the silence I’ve always treasured doesn’t feel quite as comforting anymore.

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