3. Isabelle
ISABELLE
We follow Wyatt as he guides us around the cabin, showing us every room, each more rustically charming than the last. But I’m struggling to concentrate on my surroundings.
I can’t believe this guy is my dad’s old best friend.
When I walked up the porch steps and saw him for the first time, towering in the doorway like a giant, my knees almost buckled. I steal another glance at him now, while he’s busy pointing out something to my dad. My breath catches all over again.
There’s no escaping the truth…
Wyatt is stupidly handsome.
He’s six and a half feet of thick, solid muscle, his broad shoulders straining against the flannel shirt he’s wearing.
A thick russet beard covers the lower half of his handsome face, and I let my gaze wander up past his strong nose to his pale blue eyes—the color of morning mist rolling over the mountains.
Deep frown lines etch his face, his thick brows furrowing in a way that suggests he’s not the kind of guy who smiles a lot.
But it’s not just his grumpiness that intrigues me—there’s a wildness about him, something raw and masculine that seems to exude from every pore. A man raised by the mountains.
I hear my dad ask something about the cabin’s electricity, and Wyatt’s reply is a deep rumble, sending a shudder through me. I’m not paying attention to the words, just the sound of his voice, and I’m surprised when they both suddenly turn to look at me.
“Sorry, what did you say?” I ask, heat crawling up my cheeks.
“We want to know if you’re okay sleeping in here,” Dad says, raising an eyebrow.
I take a cursory look around the room. It’s small but cozy, with a double bed and a closet in the corner. Like the rest of the cabin, every surface is made of wood, the scent of pine hanging in the air.
“Sure! Looks great.”
Dad frowns at me for a moment before turning back to Wyatt, asking something else about the cabin.
He must be able to tell I’m acting weird.
I’ve never been good at hiding my feelings, and I hope he doesn’t notice the way I’m looking at Wyatt.
I know it’s wrong. He’s twice my age—my dad’s old friend—but I can’t help the heat burning between my legs every time our eyes meet.
I’ve never seen a man like Wyatt before.
Rugged giants like him don’t exist in the suburbs.
He’s a walking fantasy and totally impossible to ignore.
I take a deep breath and force myself to listen to what they’re saying, keeping my eyes on the room instead of Wyatt.
“…last year, so the cabin shouldn’t need too much work,” he’s saying to my dad. “I did my best to keep it in good shape for Ralph. Could do with some modernization though. Might help us sell the place faster.”
Dad considers him. “You think we should sell, then?”
“Sure.” Wyatt cocks his head. “I assume you do, too?”
“Yeah.”
“Good. We’ll sell up and split the proceeds. Just need to spruce the place up first. Won’t take long.”
“Will a week be enough to fix everything?”
Wyatt nods. “Should be if we work fast.”
“That okay with you, Izz?” Dad looks at me. “If we stay here for a week and fix the place up?”
I feel something buzz in my chest at the thought of spending a week here with Wyatt, but a pang of guilt quickly drowns out the thought.
Focus. You’re here to help Dad, remember?
“Sounds like a good plan,” I say.
For a second, I swear I see Wyatt’s lip quirk beneath his beard, but when I look at him again a moment later, his expression is a mask.
“There’s another guestroom across the hall,” he tells Dad. “Make yourselves at home. Must have been a long journey.”
I check the time on my phone, surprised to see that it’s nearly midnight.
We left Denver at five p.m. after Dad closed the auto shop, expecting to arrive at the cabin by ten.
But the traffic was awful leaving the city, and we had to stop for food and gas, so the journey ended up taking much longer than planned.
I should probably be tired after spending so long on the road, but I feel wide awake, adrenaline fizzing in my veins every time I catch Wyatt’s eye.
Dad is clearly pooped, though. He yawns deeply, grabbing his keys.
“I’ll go get our luggage out of the truck,” he mumbles. “Back in a minute.”
Suddenly, he’s gone, and I’m alone with Wyatt. It feels like the walls of the guestroom are pressing in on me, squeezing my lungs. Wyatt’s pale blue eyes fix on mine, and I flash him an awkward smile, my heart somersaulting in my chest.
“So…” I draw out the word, desperately thinking of something to say. “My dad says you have your own cabin out here?”
“Yeah, about ten minutes away.”
God, does his voice really have to be that deep? Every time he opens his mouth, I have to press my thighs together, trying to ease the ache inside me.
“Is your cabin similar to this?” I ask a little breathlessly.
“Not as big, but there’s a lake just a few yards from my backdoor.”
“Sounds like heaven.” I can feel his eyes on me, my pulse skittering as I pretend to inspect a cobweb in the corner. “It must be a beautiful place to live. I’m more used to the suburbs. Strip malls and housing developments, you know?”
Wyatt grunts. “You gonna be okay out here for a week? No Starbucks for miles.” There’s a twinkle of a smile in his eyes, teasing, even if it doesn’t reach his mouth.
“It won’t be easy.” I heave a fake sigh, clutching a dramatic hand to my chest. “How will I cope without my daily Caramel Frappuccino?”
This time, Wyatt’s lip definitely quirks. “I think you’ll do just fine out here, Pixie.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Pixie?”
He nods at me, eyes on my hair. “That’s what they call it, right? A pixie cut.”
I laugh, more than a little surprised that this wild-looking mountain man knows what a pixie cut is. “Yep, that’s right. I cut it all off on a whim a few years ago and never looked back.”
“Suits you.”
Wyatt’s steady gaze makes me shudder, and suddenly I’m hyperaware of how close we’re standing, all alone in this tiny bedroom. He takes up so much space—his height, his hulking frame—it feels like he’s bearing down on me, pulling me under.
The front door bangs open nearby. We hear the sound of my dad heaving luggage across the threshold, his footsteps heavy as he walks through the cabin toward us.
Instinctively, I step back from Wyatt, and a moment later, Dad appears in the doorway with my suitcase.
Guilt squirms in my gut as he gently sets it down on the bed for me.
If he knew how Wyatt was making me feel, he’d shove our luggage right back in the car and drive us back to Denver in a heartbeat.
“Got everything you need?” he asks, glancing around the room.
“I’m good, Dad. Thanks.”
“Alright.” He leans in to press a quick kiss on the top of my head. “Night, Izz. Sleep well.”
“Goodnight.”
He doesn’t go right away. He’s looking at Wyatt expectantly, waiting for him to leave the bedroom first.
“See you tomorrow,” Wyatt says, nodding at me as he retreats toward the door.
“Yeah…” I smile weakly. “Goodnight.”
Dad closes the door behind them, leaving me alone.
There’s still a hint of Wyatt’s masculine scent lingering in the air—musk and sandalwood—and I breathe it in eagerly as I unpack my clothes and toiletries.
There’s a small bathroom attached to the guestroom, and I head inside to brush my teeth before pulling on a pair of pajamas and getting into bed.
It’s cloud-soft, the sheets fresh and cool against my skin. But I can’t sleep.
Wyatt.
I wonder if he’s still here or if he drove back to his own cabin for the night. I didn’t hear his truck leave, so I’m guessing he stayed. He could be right on the other side of the wall right now, his muscular body sprawled on the bed.
I wonder if he sleeps naked.
The thought makes me groan, irritated with myself.
Why is it so hard to stop thinking about this guy?
We only just met, yet I’m already losing sleep over him.
I’m not used to feeling this way. I wasn’t interested in any of the guys at college—frat boys, finance bros, football players—none of them ever made my heart pound like this.
But it’s not just Wyatt keeping me awake.
It’s being back here in Cherry Hollow. This is where I’m from—the place where it all began for me.
I might have no memory of it, but the past feels closer here somehow, hovering over me like a shadow.
It’s stirring up feelings and questions that have been buried inside for a long time, and my brain whirs as I look up at the ceiling, a million thoughts rushing through my head.
Something tells me I won’t be sleeping anytime soon.