Chapter 3
NIA
The truck’s heater hummed, filling the cab with a low, steady warmth.
Outside, snow came down in thick sheets, blurring the world into soft white edges.
Every few seconds the wipers swept across the windshield with a rhythmic scrape, clearing just enough space to see the glow of streetlights and the black ribbon of road ahead.
Nia sat rigid in the passenger seat, hands folded neatly over her purse like she was holding on to something delicate. Her pulse hadn’t slowed since the moment she’d agreed to get into the truck.
Soren’s truck.
The interior smelled like cedar, leather, and faint engine oil—clean and earthy and nothing like the sterile world Nia lived in.
The dashboard was littered with practical things: a pair of gloves, a thermos, a folded flannel jacket.
And there was Soren, one hand on the wheel, one arm draped easily over the back of the seat, looking perfectly at home as if she’d been born out of the mountain itself.
Nia’s usual type didn’t look like this.
Her wife—ex-wife—had worn perfume that cost more than Soren’s truck payment, favored pearls and precise sentences. They’d matched on paper, in posture, in ambition. Everything clean, polished, efficient.
And here she was—sitting beside a woman with sawdust on her jacket and a tattoo peeking above her collar, whose grin had disarmed her faster than any scalpel slip could.
She hated that her heart kept stuttering every time Soren shifted gears.
“This road’s tricky,” Soren said, eyes on the snow. Her voice was low, a pleasant rumble that seemed to fill the cab. “But she handles fine.”
Nia nodded, pretending composure. “I’m sure.”
“Hotel’s on the ridge, right? About fifteen minutes if we don’t end up in a snowdrift.”
“I can walk the rest if the road gets bad.”
Soren shot her a look, amused. “In those shoes? Not a chance, Doc.”
The nickname sent another pulse of heat through Nia, unwelcome and immediate. She turned her face toward the window to hide it, pretending to watch the falling snow. Her reflection in the glass looked too pale, too tense, her lipstick slightly smudged from the whiskey.
What are you doing, Nia?
This wasn’t her. She didn’t sit in strangers’ trucks. She didn’t let herself be flustered by women who smelled like smoke and winter and trouble. She didn’t… want like this.
“You quiet back there,” Soren said softly, glancing at her again. “You okay?”
Nia managed a faint smile. “I’m fine.”
“Sure about that?”
Nia hesitated. The warmth of the cab, the snow’s hush, the hum of the tires—it all blurred the edges of her defenses. “I’m not used to… storms,” she said finally.
Soren’s mouth curved. “Weather or otherwise?”
Nia felt that one in her spine. She should have ignored it. Should have made some dismissive, polite response that put the space back where it belonged. Instead she turned to look at her—really look—and the sight of Soren’s profile in the passing lights knocked the breath right out of her.
Strong jaw, a strand of blond hair falling into her eyes, the beautiful curve of her lips and those intense blue eyes that looked right through her defenses. Confident. Unbothered. Beautiful in a way Nia didn’t have a category for.
The ache low in her stomach deepened.
She pressed her knees together, fingers tightening on her purse. Her heart felt like it was knocking against the walls of her rib cage, searching for a way out.
Soren glanced over, smile tugging gently at her lips. “Almost there,” she said. “You’ll be warm soon.”
Nia wasn’t cold anymore. That was the problem.
She turned back to the window again, watching the headlights cut through the snow, and forced herself to breathe evenly. If she kept her spine straight and her mind focused, maybe she could get through the next ten minutes without doing anything foolish.
Except every time Soren shifted gears, her thigh brushed Nia’s—just enough to spark heat that no amount of willpower could extinguish.
Nia closed her eyes for a second, gripping the strap of her purse. You don’t do this, she told herself. You don’t even think like this.
But the truth whispered back, low and dangerous: You want to.
When the truck turned onto the ridge road, headlights glancing off snowdrifts and pine trees heavy with ice, she caught Soren’s reflection in the glass—dark blue eyes, easy smile—and something inside her gave a quiet, reckless shiver.
She was behaving out of character. And she couldn’t bring herself to care.
Snow still fell thick as silk when Soren pulled the truck in front of the Hawthorne Lodge.
The old timber building crouched against the wind, its roofline strung with half-buried lights that blinked through the storm.
Soren killed the engine, and the quiet that followed made the world feel too close, too small.
“I’ll get your door,” Soren said.
Before Nia could protest, she was already outside, boots crunching through the snow. A moment later the passenger door opened, and cold air swept in, sharp as glass. Soren’s hand extended toward her—steady, waiting.
Nia hesitated. Her fingers hovered in the space between them, her breath catching in the white cloud of her own exhale. Then she placed her hand in Soren’s.
Heat met cold. Rough calluses against smooth skin. It shouldn’t have felt like anything, but it did.
Soren’s grip was sure as she helped her down. Their bodies brushed—Nia’s coat against Soren’s chest, her heel slipping in the slush—and suddenly Soren’s arm was around her waist, holding her upright.
The touch jolted through Nia like an electric current. The scent of pine and smoke clung to Soren’s jacket, to the air between them.
“You okay?” Soren asked, voice low, barely carrying above the wind.
Nia nodded, though her pulse said otherwise. “Yes.”
Soren didn’t move away. Her eyes caught the light from the lodge—dark and intense. Snowflakes landed in her golden hair, melting against her skin.
“Doc,” she said softly. “You keep looking at me like you’re trying not to.”
Nia’s breath stuttered. “I shouldn’t.”
“Then tell me to stop.”
Soren took a half-step closer, until Nia’s back met the cold metal of the truck. The contrast—the heat of Soren’s body, the icy steel behind her—made her dizzy.
Nia’s mind screamed all the right things: You don’t know her. This isn’t you. Get back inside.
Her body didn’t listen.
Soren’s thumb brushed her jaw, a question in the touch. “Tell me no,” she murmured.
Nia’s lips parted. The word wouldn’t come.
The silence stretched, thick and trembling. Then she stopped thinking.
Her hands found the front of Soren’s jacket, curling in the fabric, pulling her closer. The first kiss hit hard—hot, desperate, nothing like the calm control she lived by.
Soren tasted of cider and cold air, of something new and wild. Nia’s pulse broke apart under it. The sound of wind vanished, leaving only breath, the soft scrape of teeth, the half-moan she hadn’t meant to make.
When they finally broke apart, snow clung to Soren’s golden lashes, melting in the heat between them. Nia felt desire pooling sharp and hungry between her legs.
She swallowed, her voice shaky. “Come upstairs with me.”
Soren’s answering smile was slow, certain. “You sure?”
Nia trembled in Soren’s arms. “I want… I need… please…”
Soren brushed her thumb across Nia’s lower lip, then nodded toward the entrance. “Lead the way, Doc.”
They walked through the swirling snow toward the lodge lights, the world narrowing to two sets of footprints that disappeared almost as soon as they were made.
The lodge doors closed behind them, muting the storm to a distant whisper. The lobby was quiet—fire crackling in the hearth, garland draped over the banister, a small Christmas tree glowing with amber lights.
Soren stamped the snow from her boots, then looked back at Nia with that easy, devastating smile. “Guess we made it.”
Nia’s heartbeat hadn’t steadied since the kiss. Her lips still tingled; her palms felt too warm in her pockets. Every part of her was aware of the woman beside her—the weight of her presence, the soft scrape of her breath.
She murmured something polite to the sleepy night desk clerk and took the stairs rather than waiting for the lift. Soren followed without a word. The soft thud of her boots on the steps sounded louder than it should have, echoing in Nia’s ribs.
Outside her room, Nia hesitated. The sensible voice in her head whispered don’t. It reminded her of her reputation, her habits, her perfect discipline.
What on earth was she doing bringing a stranger back to her room? She didn’t have sex with strangers. Certainly not.
But then Soren was close enough that the air between them grew charged again—warm breath against the side of her neck, Soren’s hands on her hips as she unlocked the door.
Nia felt like she would explode even just at the feel of those strong hands holding her.
Soren was promising her something she hadn’t known she needed.
Inside, the room glowed with low lamplight.
A pine wreath hung above the window. Her suitcase sat untouched by the wall, still zipped, as if the woman who’d packed it hadn’t expected to stay long- which she hadn’t.
She would be flying home to Phoenix Ridge tomorrow morning.
She would never see this woman again. So it was fine to let herself enjoy tonight, she rationalized.
Soren closed the door behind them and leaned against it. The sound of the latch falling into place felt like a line being crossed.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Soren’s gaze moved slowly over Nia. The look in her eyes was full of hunger. And Nia felt suddenly like she might want to be devoured.
“You can still tell me to leave,” she said quietly.
Nia shook her head before she could think better of it. “Don’t.”