5. Isabelle
ISABELLE
I wake up late the next morning, the sun already high in the sky as I rub the sleep from my eyes and hop in the shower.
As the hot water rushes over me, I think back to last night, my hushed conversation with Wyatt in the living room.
It felt good to talk to him, to open up about being back here for the first time—the place where my birth parents left me on the fire department’s doorstep.
I feel bad anytime I wonder about them, like I’m betraying Dad somehow.
But Wyatt made me feel better, and I’m glad he finally explained what happened between him and Dad, even if he was pretty vague on the details.
Why did Wyatt quit the fire department in the first place?
What made him withdraw to his cabin and avoid the world?
The questions consume me as I rinse the peach-scented shampoo from my hair.
Wyatt is a mystery. A frustratingly sexy mystery.
My skin tingles when I remember the way he looked at me last night, those baby blue eyes piercing mine, rooting me to the spot.
The thought of seeing him again sends a buzz of excitement through me, and I hurriedly wash the rest of my body, drying and dressing in record time before I head into the living room.
Dad and Wyatt are already busy, each in their own corner of the room. The TV plays an old episode of Murder, She Wrote , filling the tense silence. I’m guessing that’s why they turned it on in the first place.
Dad is re-caulking one of the windows while Wyatt fits a new light fixture.
Both of them have their backs to me, and for a moment, I stay quiet, watching Wyatt’s biceps bulge beneath his shirt as he works.
His ass looks amazing in the jeans he’s wearing, and I stare openly until Dad turns around and spots me.
I quickly meet his gaze, trying to act like I just walked in.
“Morning,” I say.
In my peripheral vision, I see Wyatt turn to look at me, hear him say good morning. But I don’t dare glance at him while Dad’s watching me. He’d see my feelings written all over my face.
“Hey, Izz,” Dad says, reaching out to ruffle my hair. “How’d you sleep?”
“Fine,” I lie, smiling at him. “Sorry you had to start without me. I didn’t mean to sleep in so late.”
“That’s okay. Long journey yesterday. I was tired, too.” He sets down his caulking gun. “We were just about to stop for lunch, anyway. Figured we’d grab something from Cherry Hollow.”
Something squeezes in my belly, a mixture of excitement and apprehension.
It was too dark to see properly last night, but now I’m finally going to get a good look at the town where I was found.
The town my dad is from. It’s just lunch, but it feels like a big deal somehow, and Dad seems to sense the effect of his words because he adds, “That okay with you? We can go somewhere else if you want.”
“No, it sounds great.” I smile at him. “I’d love to see your hometown.”
He nods, patting my shoulder before turning to Wyatt. “Ready to go?”
“Sure.”
We follow Wyatt outside to where his giant truck is parked.
He opens the rear door for me, and for the first time this morning, I tilt my head back to meet his gaze.
I swear he looks even hotter than yesterday, towering over me like the surrounding mountains.
His beard is more red than brown in the sunlight, those light blue eyes burning into me until I swear my heart will crash straight out of my chest. I could stare at him all day, but I’m all too aware of my dad waiting for us in the passenger seat.
I scramble up into the truck and Wyatt closes the door behind me.
It smells like him in here—sandalwood and musk, with a hint of pine from the forest.
Smells like heaven.
None of us talk much on the way to Cherry Hollow.
I look out the window at the looming peaks, jutting up against the forget-me-not blue sky.
It’s a sunny August afternoon, sunlight making the trees glow bright green, turning the landscape into a painting as we drive down the mountain.
I keep catching Wyatt’s eye in the rearview mirror, my pulse racing with every flash of blue.
There’s something conspiratorial about it, like we’re sharing a secret that only the two of us know, and it’s not until we reach the town that I finally force myself to refocus on my surroundings.
Cherry Hollow is gorgeously quaint, lined with historic buildings and colorful facades.
We pass a bakery, a pub, and an antique store, all of them decked out with flower boxes, spilling over with pink and yellow blooms. People wander up the wide streets, wearing sun hats and shorts, eating ice creams beneath the glowing midday sun.
“What do you think, Izz?” Dad asks, looking at me over his shoulder.
“It’s so beautiful!” I suck in a breath and add, “Can we see the fire station?”
“Of course.” He turns to face the front, but he reaches his arm back and grabs my hand.
The station is smaller than I imagined, an old brick building with three big bay doors.
One of them is rolled up halfway, and I glimpse a bright red fire truck inside.
There’s a regular-sized door beside the three bays, and I stare at it as Wyatt lets the engine idle.
That must be where I was left all those years ago.
“Still looks the same,” Dad says, squeezing my hand.
I don’t answer. My throat is tight, a million thoughts rushing through my mind.
About my birth parents. About what drove them to leave me there.
Abandon me. But most of all, I feel a well of gratitude so overwhelming that it makes my eyes burn.
Of all the people who could have found me that day, I’m so glad it was Holden Mitchell.
Now I just need to stop being weird about his old best friend.
“You okay, Izz?” Dad asks quietly, his words meant just for me.
I nod. “It’s a lot…but I’m good, Dad. I’m glad we came.”
He gives my hand one last pat before letting go, and we drive away from the fire station, back toward Main Street. We stop at a pizzeria and grab an extra-large cheesy pizza before crossing the road and heading for the river that runs beside the town.
“Sugar Creek,” Dad tells me. “Spent a lot of time swimming out here when I was a kid.”
The three of us sit on the riverbank, Dad and Wyatt on either side of me as we eat our pizza and watch the water drift languidly past. It’s peaceful, but the atmosphere is strained.
It’s like Dad and Wyatt don’t know how to act around each other, let alone talk to each other, so I fill the silence with ideas for the cabin, things we can do to spruce it up.
“…and maybe a new mirror in the bathroom? Some new tiles?” I take another bite of pizza. “Blue would look nice, or?—”
The words catch in my throat as Wyatt’s leg brushes mine, our thighs touching for the briefest of moments. The contact is gone as fast as it came, but it was still enough to make me lose the power of speech, and I want to groan in frustration.
What the heck is happening?
Why do I melt into a puddle every time this man is near me?
It’s a stupid question, really. The answer is pretty obvious when I glance at Wyatt from the corner of my eye.
He looks gorgeous as ever, his long legs stretched out on the grass in front of him.
I catch a glimpse of the scars I spotted last night, pale and puckered against his tanned skin, just visible beneath his sleeve.
Burns from his firefighter days?
I look away before Wyatt can catch me staring, taking another bite of pizza as my dad’s phone starts to ring. He answers it.
“Yes?” he says gruffly.
Dad hates his phone—hates being available to people all the time. He needs it for work, but if he had it his way, he’d probably toss it into the river right now.
There’s a moment of silence as the person at the other end says something. I feel Dad shift beside me, straightening up.
“What?” His tone makes me pause, and I set my pizza down.
“Fuck…when did this happen?” He sounds pissed.
Panicked and pissed. My heart lurches unpleasantly as I try to figure out what’s going on.
“Have you spoken to Nick? He’s my employee, so he can tell you—” There’s a long pause, and Dad’s expression darkens.
“Yeah. Okay. I’ll be there. Five hours max. ”
He ends the call, letting out a deep growl of annoyance. Wyatt and I watch him expectantly.
“That was the police back in Denver,” he says bitterly. “The shop’s been broken into.”
I gasp. “Oh my God.”
“Shop?” Wyatt asks.
“My auto shop.” Dad runs a hand through his hair. “Cops are there now. They’ve spoken to Nick, and he says we’re missing a ton of parts, tools, and my fucking motorcycle, too.”
“Shit,” Wyatt mutters.
“I need to get back to Denver.” Dad pushes himself off the ground, scowling. “I need to talk to the cops. See what else the bastards stole.”
My stomach sinks as I follow him back to the truck.
We get in before Wyatt floors it out of Cherry Hollow and up the mountain toward Ralph’s cabin.
I feel awful for my dad. I know how much the shop means to him—how much work he’s put into making it a success.
But I don’t want to leave this place. Not yet.
I could lie to myself and say it’s because of the beautiful landscape or Ralph’s cozy cabin, but it has nothing to do with that…
and everything to do with the handsome mountain man in the driver’s seat.
“Sorry about this, Wyatt,” Dad mutters. “We’ll come back once all this has been straightened out, then we’ll finish up the cabin. Maybe in a couple of days, hell, maybe sooner if?—”
“I can stay,” I blurt out, interrupting him.
Dad looks back at me. “What do you mean, Izz?”
“I…well, there’s no point in me going home with you if you’re planning to come back so soon. I might as well stay here and work on the cabin while you’re gone. We can finish it faster that way.”
I try to sound calm and logical, blinking innocently at my dad.
He hesitates. Scans my face like he’s searching for a lie.
I know he’s caught me looking at Wyatt a few times, but I’ve tried to play it off—to stop him from getting suspicious.
I’m not sure if it’s worked. He seems to be fighting with himself, having some kind of internal debate, but eventually my benign expression seems to win him over.
“Alright. Makes sense, I guess. That okay with you, Wyatt?”
I catch a flicker of movement in the rearview mirror and see those pale blue eyes burning into me before he says, “Sure. Whatever you want.”
Just like that, it’s settled. I’m staying here with Wyatt.
The two of us, alone in the cabin. The thought sends a shiver through me, warmth flooding between my legs.
I told myself I needed to stop thinking like this, but I can’t help it.
I know he’s Dad’s friend. I know he’s off-limits.
But he’s already under my skin, taking over, bubbling like adrenaline in my veins…
and I’m starting to realize there’s nothing I can do about it.