Chapter 6 Lucian
LUCIAN
I won’t pretend that I’m usually this damn neighborly.
Storms hit Cherry Mountain all the time, and when they do, I just assume my fellow mountain men can fend for themselves.
But as rain battered against my windows and the lights flickered out, my mind went straight to Grace.
By the time my backup generator whirred to life, I was already halfway out the door. I had to make sure she was safe.
When I arrived to find her cowering beneath the porch, her eyes squinting against the force of the wind, I felt it again—that fierce urge to protect her.
Keep her safe. I’m pissed off that she was left in such a dangerous position in the first place.
She should never have been left alone without matches in this weather.
Power can cut out. Backup generators can die.
Shit happens. Holden should know that. Fuck, if I hadn’t decided to check on her, Grace would be trekking through a storm right now trying to reach my cabin.
“I’d better call my sister,” Grace says from beside me. “She’ll want to know I’m okay.”
I grunt in response, watching in my peripheral vision as she lifts the phone to her ear.
“Mila?” she says after a few moments. “Hi! Yes, I’m okay.” I listen as Grace briefly explains the situation to her sister, raising her voice over the rain hitting my truck. After she ends the call, I feel her gaze on the side of my face.
“All okay?” I ask.
“Yeah. Mila and Holden have booked a hotel in town. They’re hoping the road will be dry by tomorrow so they can come back home. Are you sure you don’t mind if I stay the night?”
“I’m sure. I’ll make up the guestroom when we get back to mine.”
Back to mine…
Grace is coming back to my place. Spending the night under my roof. I know it doesn’t mean anything—she’s only staying because she has to. But all the same, I feel my heart rate quicken in anticipation.
“Thank you, Lucian,” she says with a sigh. “I’m really sorry about this. It feels like you’re always having to rescue me from something or other.”
“Don’t mention it.” I shrug. “Just part of living up here.”
I never manage to say what I mean around Grace.
But the truth is, I like “rescuing” her.
Taking care of her. Hell, it’s something I take very seriously, even though we only just met.
Keeping her safe feels like a priority, a privilege, not some kind of chore I have to put up with as “part of living up here.” But how could I ever explain that to her without sounding like a fucking crazy person?
“Well, all I know is I’m super lucky to have you as a neighbor,” Grace says. “I’m really grateful for everything you’ve done. Thank you.”
Fuck, does she have to be so damn sweet?
“You’re welcome.”
It comes out gruff and forced-sounding. Hell, all I ever manage around her are grunts and monosyllables.
There’s so much I’m holding back. So much I want to say to her.
It bubbles inside me, churning with the force of a river, but I keep it inside—building a dam between us.
I need to keep it sealed tight before I lose control completely.
Remember what you told yourself.
She’s too young. Too sweet. Too good for you.
I run the words over in my head like a mantra, my hands tightening around the steering wheel. Too young, too sweet, too good for you. Too young, too sweet, too good for you. Repeating it helps. It grounds me. Reminds me why I’m torturing myself trying to resist this girl.
We reach my cabin a few minutes later. I tell Grace to stay put, then I jump out of the truck and grab her stuff from the back, putting up an umbrella.
I hold it up for both of us and help Grace down onto the ground, our sides jostling together as we head for the porch.
Then I usher her inside and close the door behind us, the sounds of the storm muffling a little.
Midnight is still curled up by the fire where I left her. She lifts her head and blinks her big amber eyes at us, barely stirring before she repositions herself and goes back to sleep.
“Sorry,” I tell Grace. “That’s as good a welcome as you’re gonna get from Midnight.”
She laughs, shrugging off her coat, which I hang up by the door. “That’s okay. I don’t want to interrupt her sleep.” There’s a beat of silence as she looks away from Midnight and stares around the cabin. “Wow, this place is beautiful! I didn’t expect it to be so big…”
“Thanks.” I follow her gaze, trying to see it through her eyes.
She’s right, my cabin is pretty damn huge—way too big for just me and my cat—and a lot of the rooms at the back are empty and unused.
But the living room is the heart of the cabin, cozy and lived-in, with comfy leather furniture, plush rugs, and a giant brick fireplace on the far wall.
When it’s light out, you can see Sugar Creek flowing past. But it’s too dark to see anything now, especially with storm shutters covering the windows.
My gaze drifts back to Grace. She’s still studying my cabin with wide-eyed curiosity, and I watch as she tucks a lock of lilac hair behind her ear, wetting her bottom lip.
She looks so damn beautiful. Hell, she always does.
Whether she’s soaked in rainwater or covered in mud, she still looks perfect.
“You eaten yet?” I ask.
“No.” She meets my eye apologetically. “I meant to cook something, but then the power went out.”
“You want anything in particular?”
Grace starts to protest. “You don’t need to cook for me…”
“Of course I do,” I cut her off. “You’re my guest. Least I can do is feed you.”
“Well, I don’t know about ‘guest’…I wasn’t really invited. You were just kind enough to let me stay.”
“Sure you were invited,” I say stubbornly. “I picked you up. Brought you here. That’s an invitation.”
She nods. “I guess so.” Then her face splits into a warm smile. “Thanks, Lucian. Honestly, I’m easy. Anything you have would be awesome—even just a sandwich or something.”
Once Grace is settled on the couch in front of the fire, I head into the kitchen and root around for food.
She said she’d be fine with a sandwich, but I want to make her something nice.
There are a couple of steaks in the fridge, so I sear them in a pan, frying up some potatoes with butter and herbs on the side.
When I bring out the food a while later, Grace thanks me, her eyes shining with gratitude.
“It smells amazing,” she says. “It looks amazing, too.”
“Hope it tastes good.”
She takes a bite and assures me it does. “This steak is so tender! It’s even better than Bastian’s.”
“Bastian’s? Is that a restaurant?”
“No, Bastian is my parents’ personal chef.”
I can’t help raising an eyebrow. “Damn. You grew up with a personal chef?”
“Yeah…” Grace looks embarrassed, like she regrets mentioning it. “Sorry, that probably makes me sound really spoiled. My upbringing was super privileged in a lot of ways.”
I’m surprised she comes from money. She’s crashing with her sister and Holden in their modest log cabin—doesn’t seem like the kind of thing she’d need to do if her parents are loaded. Grace seems to sense my confusion.
“I’m cut off from my parents now,” she murmurs, her eyes downcast as she busies herself with cutting her steak. “We don’t talk.”
My heart squeezes with pity at the sadness in her voice. The slight stammer of emotion.
“I’m sorry. That’s rough.” I don’t want to make her more miserable, but I can’t help the curiosity that burns inside me as I ask, “Want to tell me about it?”
She sighs, setting down her fork. “They’ve always been controlling, ever since I was a kid.
Obsessed with money and status. Mila and I were just props to them, but I always hoped things would change one day.
Then last month, things kind of…escalated.
” Grace chews her lip, not looking at me.
“My parents tried to force Mila to marry a stranger—a rich bachelor from some old-money family. But Mila ran away from the wedding. So they tried to marry me off to the groom instead.” She physically cringes at the memory.
“I almost went through with it. But when I finally refused, they cut me off without hesitation. It was the first time I’d ever disobeyed them, and they couldn’t accept it.
They flew straight back to the Hamptons and we haven’t spoken since.
I…I don’t think I’ll ever see them again. ”
My mind reels from her story. It sounds like something out of an old-timey novel, but I can see in her expression that it’s all too real. She looks sad and defeated. A rush of anger surges in my veins when I think of her parents trying to marry her off to a stranger, using her for their own gain.
Thank God she didn’t go through with it.
“Your parents sound like shitty people, Grace,” I say gruffly. “They don’t deserve to be in contact with you.”
My bluntness doesn’t seem to offend her.
Her olive-green eyes flicker up to mine, and she gives me a small smile.
“Thank you. It’s been tough. I’m still kind of adjusting to the ‘real world’.
My life in the Hamptons was so sheltered, and now I’m starting from scratch without a dime.
But it’s the right thing to do. I can feel it. ”
“I know all about starting from scratch,” I say, running a hand over my beard. “You’ll be okay. You’re tougher than you think. I can tell.”
Grace beams at me. “Thanks, Lucian. I’m trying to be.” There’s a pause before she says, “You said you know all about starting from scratch…have you done it, too?”
Something lurches inside me. It was a throwaway remark, but it revealed more than I meant it to. Now Grace’s pretty eyes are on me, waiting for an answer, and it feels like my tongue has turned to cotton wool.
“Yeah,” I grunt uneasily. “I did it once.”
“What happened?”
Her voice is tentative. Cautious. Like she’s expecting me to clam up and close myself off if she says the wrong thing.
I feel like an asshole. I’ve made her feel this way.
Made her feel like she can’t ask me questions.
But what she’s asking about right now…fuck, I don’t know if I can talk about it.
For twelve years, I’ve bottled it up. Kept it inside.
Grace doesn’t deserve to have all that pent-up misery dumped on her right now.
“Sure you want to know?” I ask. “It’s not a pretty story.”
Grace’s eyes soften with sympathy. “I’m sure, Lucian. You can tell me anything.”
I lean back in my chair, thinking it over, trying to decide where to begin.
She doesn’t hurry me. Rain fills the silence, along with the crackle of the fireplace and the last scrape of cutlery as Grace finishes her food.
Every few seconds, her gaze flits back to me, and it hits me all over again how fast I’m falling for her.
How fast I’ve started to trust her. I promised myself I’d keep my walls up, not wanting to taint her with my misery.
But dammit, the warmth in her eyes, the way she waits for me to speak without pressing…
all of it is chipping away at my resolve.
Fuck.
I suck in a shaky breath, my jaw clenched tight. Then, before I can change my mind, I begin to talk.