Chapter 3
THREE
QUINCY
Twenty-four hours ago, I was supposed to be walking down the aisle. Ready to begin the rest of my life with Axel—who, I’ve now started to call Axel the Asshole in my head.
Instead, after waking to the sound of logs being split in a clearing behind the cabin, I’m getting a tour of the property by the mountain man himself.
A mountain man with pair of shoulders and chin that look like they were carved out of rock quarried from the mountain.
But… here I am. In Alaska. On a mountain. Sleeping in a mountain man’s bed. But only because he insisted that I take it while he sleeps on the couch.
And Knox is…cool about all of it.
More cool than he should be, honestly. I mean, I could be a serial killer or a loud sleeper for all he knows.
If my ex had been in his shoes, he probably would have landed the plane in the middle of a forest and told me to find my own way back home. Fact: One time, I forgot to thaw chicken for dinner and we had to eat sandwiches instead of the Cordon Bleu I’d promised.
He’d pouted and made passive aggressive digs about it for weeks.
But Knox? He just calmly offered me a place to stay. Like I didn’t derail his whole life by showing up in a damn wedding dress and carrying a bunch of emotional baggage.
Like, last night, when I cried myself to bed, he didn’t tell me to shut up. He just brought me a cup of chamomile tea and some tissues.
He doesn’t ask a lot of questions. Doesn’t push. He just… gives me space.
He’s really almost too good to be true.
There’s just one teeny, tiny minor complaint I have about the guy. He’s barely said two words to me since he told me I could stay.
Which, as it turns out, is the fastest way to make me want to tell him everything.
“So,” I cast a sidelong glance at him as he leads me along a narrow path behind the cabin, “you really built this place yourself?”
“Yeah.”
I wait for him to elaborate, but his lips remain sealed. Of course, they do.
“And you live here year-round?”
“Mm-hmm.”
I pause again, but that’s it. No elaboration. No detail. No mention of it being cold as shit in the winter.
I arch an eyebrow. “Are you always this talkative?”
He smirks, and something about the way his lips curve makes my tummy flip. “Do you always ask so many questions?”
“Only when provoked.”
He chuckles at that, which eases some of the tension between us, which gives me the courage to try again. “So… do you run wilderness tours and host glamping guests year-round?”
“Mostly in the summer. I fly cargo during the winter.”
“That sounds important.”
He lifts a shoulder. “It’s mostly supplies. Packages. People on occasion.”
“You’re like a wilderness Postmates.”
That earns another quiet laugh. “Something like that.”
We pass his workshop and a small, but well-constructed greenhouse, which he continues to casually—and briefly—answer my questions about. He points toward another small building with smoke curling from the chimney. “That’s the sauna.”
“You have a sauna?” My eyes grow wide.
“It’s a perk for guests.”
“But not for you?”
His eyes flick to mine, sharp and unreadable. “Sometimes.”
We fall silent again, and I fill my lungs with a healthy gulp of Alaskan fresh air. I had no idea it would be this exhausting playing a game of twenty questions.”
I almost jump when he speaks again. “What about you?”
“What about me?”
“What do you do?”
I suppose that’s a fair question. And one that’s easy to answer. If a little boring. “I work in member support for a nonprofit. It’s remote, which is nice, because I can work in pajama pants. I answer a lot of phone calls and emails. Mostly I help people log into their accounts and check their balances.”
“Sounds…”
“Boring?”
“I was gonna say helpful.”
I nearly trip over my feet. Axel the Asshole never described my job that way. He kept telling me I should get a corporate job that paid a “glorified call center rep” better. He said it was because I was capable of more.
Never mind that I like working somewhere mission oriented.
“Well. It pays the bills. And I don’t have to wear a bra.”
His mouth twitches again. “That sounds nice.”
“Plus, I get to hang out with my cat all day,” I offer, to keep the conversation going. “Her name’s Lacy.”
“And where is Lacy right now?”
“She’s staying with my best friend while I was supposed to be honeymooning.”
At that, his brow creases. “You miss her?”
“The cat or my friend?”
He gives a half grin. “Both.”
“As much as I love my friend, I miss Lacy already. There’s probably a ninety-percent chance I’ll end up crying sometime this week because I miss her.”
“Tell me about her.”
He doesn’t have to ask twice.
“She can be so naughty. I swear, I spend half of my life trying to keep her from choking on my hair ties, which she’s always stashing in the strangest spots.” My animated smile softens. “But she always knows when I’m having a bad day. She chirps at my work phone every time it calls. She even starts closing my laptop when it hits 5 o’clock.”
He chuckles, low and throaty. “She sounds smart.”
“She is.” I pause, walking alongside him in silence for a moment. “I never had a pet growing up. My parents said animals were messy. But I always wanted one. Something small, something mine.”
His gaze sharpens on me at that last word. Mine.
I can’t explain it, but I feel it down to my bones.
The trail widens near a little stream. I spot a shimmer of sunlight catching on something smooth and bright just under the water’s surface. It’s a small, speckled stone—rosy pink with flecks of gold, like nature’s own piece of confetti.
“Ooh,” I breathe, stepping off the path. “Hang on.”
Knox grabs my elbow. “Watch your step.”
“I’m fine,” I say, a little too confidently. “I just want that rock.”
The mossy stones are slick beneath my boots, and I’m halfway to crouching when one foot slides. A little shriek escapes me as I pitch forward—and then strong arms wrap around me, pulling me back to safety before I hit the water.
My palms land against his chest. Solid. Warm. The fabric of his flannel is soft beneath my fingers, but the muscle underneath is not. I look up—and we’re so close.
He’s watching me with that same unreadable expression. Our faces inches apart. I can feel his breath against my cheek. My heart thunders like it’s trying to break out of my ribcage.
For one wild second, I think he’s going to kiss me.
But then he pulls back. Just enough.
I brace myself for the lecture. For the scolding. For the Axel-like sigh of disappointment.
But instead…
“You really wanted that rock?” he asks, dead serious.
I blink. “Uh. Yeah?”
He squints at the stream. “Which one was it?”
I point to a gray one speckled with blue and green dots. “That one.”
He doesn’t say anything. Just, rolls up his sleeves, kneels, and plunges his hand into the cold stream. A few moments later, he comes up with the stone and holds it out to me.
I stare at it. Then at him.
“For you,” he says simply.
It’s just a rock. Just a smooth little thing pulled from a mountain stream.
But it feels like a treasure.
“Thank you,” I say softly, curling my fingers around it. “That was… incredibly sweet.”
He shrugs like it’s nothing. But I see the faint blush rise in his cheeks.
I slip the rock into my pocket and try to steady my breathing. My body’s still buzzing from his touch, from that almost-kiss. From the simple, quiet way he sees me and doesn’t make me feel silly or dramatic or too much.
There’s something about Knox Callahan. Something still and deep and a little bit wild, just like the land around us. I want to know more. I want to understand him.
“Do you live out here alone?” I ask gently as we start walking again.
He nods.
“No family?”
His jaw tightens. “Not anymore.”
Oh.
I don’t press. But something inside me aches at the way he says it.
As we head back toward the cabin, I glance over and catch him tilting his head strangely. Squinting just slightly, like he’s trying to focus on something in the distance. He turns his head slightly so his left ear is facing in the direction of his previous stare.
I follow his gaze, but don’t see something. The hairs stand up on the back of my neck.
“Is something wrong?”
“No.” He shakes his head. “I was just… checking something.” He clears his throat. “Come on. We should start back. We could both use something to eat.”
We walk in companionable silence, the breeze rustling the trees around us. A hawk circles overhead. Water from the stream trips over more rocks.
And still, I can feel him beside me—this quiet, mysterious man who doesn’t talk much but listens more deeply than anyone I’ve ever met. Who catches me when I fall. Who pulls rocks from streams and doesn’t make me feel like an idiot for nearly dunking myself under water.
I don’t know what I’m doing here. I don’t know what will happen next.
But I know this: I’m drawn to this man. Like June bugs to a porch light.
It’s terrifying. Thrilling. Impossible to say which is stronger.
At the moment, I’m not sure which feeling I’d prefer.