Chapter 2
WILDER
Ishould have left the second she disappeared into the bathroom. Instead, I stood there like an idiot, toolbox in hand, pulse hammering like I’d sprinted uphill.
Three years. Three long years since anything had hit me like this—seeing her in nothing but a towel, steam curling around her, looking untouchable.
Get it together, Wilder.
I yanked my focus back to the heating unit on the wall. Work. That’s what I was here for. Not to stand around acting like some creep gawking at a woman way out of my league—one who probably thought I didn’t know how to knock.
I had knocked. Three times. My left ear was useless, leaving me with half my original hearing capacity. Maybe she’d called out and I hadn’t heard. Maybe she’d been in the shower. Either way, barging in here had been a mistake—a mistake that had my heart clawing its way up my throat.
The vent cover came off easily, revealing what I’d suspected. Dust so thick it looked like a gray carpet, filter choked beyond saving. No wonder the room felt like a walk-in freezer.
Behind me, the shower cut off. Soft movements. A thud. My hands trembled as I pulled out the clogged filter and muttered a curse. This was exactly why I stuck to maintenance gigs. Guests usually treated me like furniture—I could work, get paid, retreat to my cabin, no small talk required.
But she hadn’t ignored me. Even shocked and half-naked, she’d looked me dead in the eye. Most people flinched at my scars—shoulder and arm, impossible to miss. She hadn’t. Maybe she’d been too flustered. Maybe not.
The bathroom door opened. I locked my eyes on the unit.
“Sorry about that,” she said, her voice steadier now. “I wasn’t expecting anyone so soon.”
I didn’t turn. Didn’t trust myself.
“No problem,” I said.
“Is it fixable?”
I held up the filter. “Just needed cleaning. This thing’s been choking for months.”
“Oh.” She moved closer. The scent of vanilla and something warm drifted from her. “That doesn’t look good.”
Mistake number one—I glanced over. Jeans, cream-colored sweater clinging in the right places, damp hair in dark waves around her shoulders. Those eyes—green, flecked with gold—watching me like I was an actual person, not just the hired help.
My throat went dry. “I’ll get you a new filter. This one’s done for.”
“Thank you.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m Sage, by the way.”
“Wilder.”
“Wilder.” She tested the name on her tongue. “That’s a great name.”
I grunted and bent over the vent, grateful for the excuse. Most people thought my name was a joke. My army buddies had called me Wild, back when I’d been bulletproof.
“Are you from here?” she asked.
“Been here a few years.” I flicked on my phone’s flashlight. “You?”
“Just visiting. My best friend moved here recently for a guy.” There was an edge in her tone—not quite bitterness, but close. “I’m here to meet him, make sure he’s good enough for her.”
I almost smiled at that. “And if he’s not?”
“Then I guess I’ll have to hurt him.”
This time I did smile, though I kept my face turned. “Remind me not to get on your bad side.”
“Oh, you don’t want to do that. I grew up on a farm in Georgia. I know my way around sharp objects.”
Her easy humor caught me off guard. Most people stumbled through small talk with me, like they were waiting for me to break. She sounded…comfortable. Like talking to the handyman wasn’t beneath her.
“What’s your friend’s name?” I asked, more to hear that soft Southern drawl again than because I needed to know.
“Sienna. She’s staying with some guy named Blade.”
Blade. Solid guy. Fellow vet. Local construction crew.
“Your friend chose well,” I said.
“Really?” Relief flickered in her voice. “Good. I was worried she’d fallen for some smooth-talking player.”
I slid in the new filter and tested the airflow. Much better.
“Nah. Blade’s the real deal. Quiet, hardworking. The kind of guy who’d give you the shirt off his back.”
“Good. Sienna deserves that.” A beat. “What about you? Are you just visiting too, or do you live here?”
The question hit me sideways. “I live here. Sort of.”
“Sort of?”
Shouldn’t have said that. Curiosity meant more questions, and I was no good at answering them.
“I’ve got a cabin up in the mountains. Do odd jobs.”
“That sounds nice. Peaceful.”
Peaceful. Sure. Lonely was another word, but I wasn’t about to hand that to a stranger.
“It works for me.”
The unit hummed to life, warm air spilling from the vents. I packed my tools, careful not to notice how close she’d moved—close enough that I could feel the heat from her body.
“Thank you,” she said softly. “You’re a lifesaver. I thought I was going to freeze in here.”
I turned, instantly regretting it. She stood right there, looking up at me with those impossible eyes. For half a heartbeat, I let myself imagine cupping her face, seeing if her skin felt as soft as it looked.
Reality hit hard. My scarred hands. My busted hearing. Me, the handyman. Her, everything I wasn’t.
“Just doing my job,” I said gruffly, stepping back.
Something flickered across her face—disappointment? No. Couldn’t be. Women like her didn’t get disappointed when men like me kept their distance.
“Well, thank you anyway.” She held out her hand. “Nice meeting you, Wilder.”
I stared at it a beat too long. When was the last time someone had offered to shake my hand? Looked at me like I was worth knowing?
I reached out. Her skin was warm, soft, exactly like I’d imagined. For a heartbeat we stayed like that, caught in a moment neither of us had planned. Then she smiled—an unguarded smile that loosened something tight in my chest.
“Nice meeting you too, Sage.”
I let go, gathered my tools, and headed for the door, heart hammering like I’d just defused a live bomb. Maybe I had. Because Sage with the green eyes and soft accent felt dangerous in a way I wasn’t built for anymore.
At the door, I paused, looked back. She was still watching me, expression unreadable.
“Enjoy your stay,” I said.
“I will.” She hesitated. “Will I see you around?”
The hopeful note in her voice nearly undid me. “Maybe,” I said, though every instinct screamed to stay away.
I left before I could do something stupid, like ask her to grab coffee or see the town. Because the last thing either of us needed was for me to start believing in things that didn’t happen.
But as I walked down the hallway, I couldn’t shake the image of her smile or the way she’d said my name like it meant something.
For the first time in three years, “maybe” felt like it could turn into “yes.”