Chapter 3 Grace
GRACE
I follow Lucian through the woods, rubbing my arms. Cold is seeping into my skin, my sodden clothes making me shiver.
But despite my chattering teeth and the goosebumps erupting on my flesh, I barely notice.
I’m too focused on the giant walking ahead of me.
He clearly knows the forest like the back of his hand, and I watch as he moves effortlessly through the thick trees, his heavy footsteps crunching against the fallen leaves.
I’m pretty mortified about what happened at the river.
I can still hear the water from here, and I cringe at myself, wondering why the heck I tried to make the jump.
It was stupid. Reckless. I need to remember that I’m not in the Hamptons anymore.
This isn’t my parents’ mansion, or the manicured acres around their property.
This is Cherry Mountain. Untamed. Wild. As rugged as the man walking in front of me.
Lucian is just as hot from behind. I feel a throb of desire as I stare at his broad back, his tight ass—perfectly sculpted in a pair of blue jeans.
Somehow being covered in mud only adds to his attractiveness, but I still feel terrible that he ruined his clothes because of me.
Heck, I don’t think I could have made a worse first impression on him if I tried.
No wonder he seems so grumpy. He must think I’m a walking, mud-covered disaster, and he’s not wrong…
but I still want to redeem myself a little. I just need to get him talking.
“It’s beautiful out here,” I say brightly. “Have you lived here long?”
“Twelve years.” He doesn’t elaborate. Lucian seems like a man of few words.
“Cool. Where did you live before that?”
“Alaska.”
“Wow! I’ve never been there, but I’ve heard it’s beautiful. Lots of dramatic scenery, right? Just like out here?”
He grunts in affirmation but says nothing more.
Jeez, he’s really not giving me anything here.
I guess I can’t hold it against him. He must be just as cold as I am in that muddy shirt. No wonder I’m not his favorite person to talk to right now.
“I’m really sorry again for what happened at the river,” I say.
“I know. You don’t need to keep apologizing.”
His tone is gruff—not unkind—but he still doesn’t look around.
He seems determined to avoid my gaze, and I can’t help the pang of hurt that lodges in my throat.
I know I shouldn’t care this much about what he thinks: Lucian is a total stranger, even if he did just save my life.
But I can’t help wishing he would turn and fix me with those stormy gray eyes again.
I remember the way he looked at me back at the river.
Sure, he looked pissed off, but something about the heat of his gaze felt so… right. So safe.
I shake off this crazy thought and follow Lucian the rest of the way in silence. We reach Holden’s cabin a few minutes later, and as we approach the front door, the silence is broken by muffled sounds coming from inside. Moaning. A stifled scream of pleasure.
Oh God.
“Uh…” I mumble awkwardly, “maybe I should wait out here for a few—”
I’m cut off by Lucian striding ahead and hammering on the front door, undeterred. The noises stop. Finally, he looks at me, the weight of his gaze covering me like a blanket.
“They can wait, Grace,” he says. “You can’t.
” My name is a deep growl in his mouth, sending shivers through me that have nothing to do with my cold clothes.
I try to speak, but then the door opens and Holden’s face peers out.
He looks furious, like he’s about to murder whoever dragged him away from my sister.
But his expression changes when he sees me standing there, dripping with mud.
“Grace? Lucian? Jesus, what happened to you?”
Lucian ignores the question, not missing a beat as he says, “She needs to come inside and get out of these clothes. You got a fire going?”
Holden nods, standing back from the door. “Come in, both of you. I’ll get you something hot to drink.”
I step over the threshold, but Lucian hangs back. “Thanks, but I’d better get home.” His eyes flicker to me for a second, then back to Holden. “Take care of her.”
The way he says it catches me off guard. It’s half demand, half plea. He doesn’t meet my gaze, but I swear he seems almost reluctant as he steps away from the door, turning his back on us.
“Will do,” Holden says. “Thanks for bringing her home.” He starts to close the door, but I reach out instinctively, holding it open.
“Thank you for everything, Lucian.”
He’s already walking away as he murmurs, “Don’t mention it.” He doesn’t look back, and something sinks inside me as I watch him go.
Holden closes the door, urging me toward the fire.
A few moments later, Mila appears. Her lips are swollen, hair messy, jeans on back to front, and I feel so guilty as she fusses over me.
“You’re shivering like crazy!” she says fretfully, pulling me toward my room so I can change. “What happened, Gracie?”
I tell her the story, full of shame and apologies. My stupid decision to jump the river has caused everyone so much hassle, and it only solidifies my determination to find a job and get out of Holden and Mila’s hair as soon as possible.
“Thank God that Lucian was there,” Mila says once I’m changed, the two of us sitting by the fire while Holden makes cocoa in the kitchen. “I don’t even want to think about what could have happened if it weren’t for him.” My sister shudders, looking shaken as she wraps an arm around me.
“You’re right. I owe Lucian big time.” I rest my head on her shoulder, letting the warmth of the fire seep through my skin. “I’m sorry for causing such a mess.”
“It’s okay. Just promise me you’ll be more careful next time.”
“I promise.”
Holden brings out the cocoa and hands me a mug before sitting on Mila’s other side.
“Thanks,” I say. “This is just what I need.” As I take a sip, a thought hits me, and I add, “I’m guessing you guys already know Lucian?”
“Not well,” Holden says. “His cabin’s pretty close, so I’ve seen him out in the forest a few times. Only ever said a few words to each other.”
“Does he live alone out here?”
“Think so. Never seen anybody else around his cabin. He keeps to himself.”
I ponder this as I take another sip of cocoa. I’m not surprised Lucian lives alone—he doesn’t seem like much of a people person.
“So he’s not married or anything?” I ask, faking nonchalance.
“No.” Holden shrugs. “Don’t think so.”
I try to ignore the flicker of satisfaction I feel at hearing this.
Lucian’s marital status shouldn’t mean anything to me.
He’s a stranger who saved me from the consequences of a very dumb decision—nothing more.
Heck, I don’t even think he likes me. He could barely look at me on our way back to Holden’s cabin.
But then I remember his words to Holden, the seriousness in his eyes.
Take care of her.
He said it like he truly cared…as if it was the most important thing in the world to him that I was taken care of.
But then he didn’t even look back as he left.
I can’t make sense of it. Nor can I figure out why I care so much, or why I’m analyzing every detail of our meeting, every word, every look.
Even just the memory of Lucian is enough to make my pulse race.
His thick beard and towering height. His grumpy scowl.
The way his muscles bulged as he crossed his arms. His handsome face, lined and weathered like the mountain itself.
All of it sends a bolt of longing through me, something hot and needy blooming deep inside me.
God, I think I’m losing my mind.
I seriously need to stop obsessing over him.
Once I’m all warmed up, I force myself to spend the rest of the day applying for jobs online, scrolling through hundreds of listings.
But my mind is still back at the river with Lucian, and when I finally head to bed around midnight, I sink into a heavy sleep, dreaming of dark gray eyes and a voice deeper than thunder.
I carefully scoop a dollop of batter into each cupcake liner, deep in concentration.
It’s late morning, but Holden and Mila are still in bed—no doubt making up for the interruption yesterday—and I’ve taken over the kitchen in their absence.
Bowls and open packets line the counters, and my hands are sticky as I finally put the cupcakes into the oven and hope for the best.
I’ve never baked before. My parents never let us do stuff like that. They said it was beneath us—that baking was what we paid our personal chef for.
You’re a Van Alstyne, Grace, they’d always say. Act like it.
It sounds crazy now. Van Alstyne is just a name, nothing more.
Coming from a rich family shouldn’t stop me from baking or gardening or getting my hands dirty.
But growing up, my parents discouraged everything that might encourage me to be my own person: any hobby or interest that could spark joy or open my mind in any way.
They wanted me pliant and controllable, and for twenty-two years, that’s exactly what I gave them.
Not anymore.
I dyed my hair purple last week, a pastel shade of lilac that I thought looked pretty. It was my first little act of defiance. Now I’m baking cupcakes and making a mess. To most people, these are just normal little things, but to me, it feels like rebellion. Like freedom.
“Hey, look!” I say aloud, picturing my parents’ haughty faces. “Grace Van Alstyne is baking cupcakes and the world hasn’t ended!”
And they’re going to be the best cupcakes ever.
So screw you, Mom and Dad.
They’re not the best cupcakes ever. When I take them out of the oven, they’re too flat and too brown on top.
But once they’re cooled, I cover them generously in frosting, which adds to the height and hides the color.
I take a bite of one and nod approvingly to myself.
They taste much better than they look, and I set aside a few for Holden and Mila, then place the rest in a plastic container, snapping the lid shut.
But as I carry the container toward the front door, I falter slightly.
Is this really a good idea?
When I went to bed last night, I had no intention of bothering Lucian again. Then I woke up this morning with a weird ache in my chest, a kind of longing to see him. Cupcakes were the best excuse I could think of—some sweet treats to say thank you for yesterday. But now I’m second-guessing myself.
He won’t want to see me after yesterday.
I’ve given him enough trouble already..
But my doubts aren’t enough to stop me. I muster all my courage and stride out into the woods, my heart thudding.
It’s a chilly October morning, fresh and crisp as an apple.
I know roughly where Lucian’s cabin is—Holden mentioned offhand that it was about five minutes up the mountain—so I head uphill through the colorful trees, keeping my eyes peeled.
I’m extra careful as I walk, avoiding the river.
The last thing I need is to end up flat on my back in the mud again.
After a few minutes of walking, I catch sight of a gleam of metal through the trees.
I head toward it until a silver pickup truck comes into view, shining in the morning sun.
It’s parked outside a large chalet-style cabin made of dark wooden logs.
It’s beautiful, like something from the Alps, with wooden shutters and a steeply pitched roof.
Orange and red-leaved trees shroud the clearing, with Sugar Creek running past to the left, the water moving more calmly today.
I feel like I’ve wandered into a storybook illustration.
Clutching the cupcake container, I head up the porch steps to the front door, nerves fluttering in my chest. It’s not too late to turn around and go back to Holden’s.
I could sit on the couch, wrap myself up in a blanket, and eat the cupcakes myself.
I could forget all about Lucian and try to move on with my life.
But even as the possibility skirts around my mind, I know I can’t walk away.
Lucian got under my skin yesterday in a way I still can’t understand.
I haven’t stopped thinking about him since he walked away from Holden’s cabin without a backward glance.
So I take a deep breath, lift my fist, and knock.