Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
Holt
The clouds have mostly broken, and the sky is starting to clear by late afternoon. Normally, I’d be happy to see a major storm move through and leave the mountain alone again.
Today is different.
The air outside still carries the damp, earthy scent of rain-soaked pine, but the late afternoon golden sun streaks are cutting through the shadows as if nothing happened.
There are some branches down I’ll have to clear from around the house and the drive.
We’d received a ton of moisture that will be spilling over the banks of some of the smaller creeks down the mountain.
And I have no doubt there are one or two washed-out roads, but it won’t take long for things to start to dry out.
Which means the roads will be passable again, and whatever this is…won’t have the excuse of weather anymore.
I glance from the stove, where I’m browning some beef for a stew, over to the couch where Tessa is curled up with her journal.
My breath catches at the sight of her, so easily at home in my cabin, wearing only my shirt, which is slipping off her shoulder just enough to reveal the top of her creamy shoulder.
Whether we’d known it or not, the storm had given us cover to get close without asking too many questions.
Clear skies will bring options. They’ll bring Luke.
I swallow hard and turn my attention back to making us dinner. I can’t think of my best friend yet, or the fact that he’s already called to let Tessa know he’s rescheduled his last meeting and will be on his way back to the mountain sooner than thought.
Time is truly ticking for us and whatever it is we were doing here. We have a day. Two at most.
It doesn’t feel like enough.
“That smells delicious.”
I lift my head to see her watching me, a sly smile on those pretty lips that only a few hours earlier had been wrapped sinfully around my cock.
My body comes to life at the mere thought of her and what we’d done, but I quickly shut down that train of thought.
As much as I’d happily take my girl again and again, she needs to rest. She’s got to be sore after what we did, and I don’t want to overwhelm her.
Though something tells me that won’t happen.
“You’re delicious,” I reply, making her laugh. “I’m making stew,” I tell her. “You need to keep up your strength.”
“Is that right?”
She’s so sassy. Even from a distance, I can see the way her eyes flash with challenge. She likes to tease and push me. And God help me, I like to be pushed by her.
“Finish what you’re doing,” I tell her. “I’ll come join you as soon as this is ready to simmer.”
Like the brat she is, Tessa runs her tongue along her lower lip before sucking the end of her pen into her mouth with a wicked grin.
I shake my head and turn my attention back to the vegetables that need slicing, or we’re never going to eat.
Just like my work in the shop, the steady rhythm of the knife anchors me.
Measure. Cut. Repeat.
It’s simple and predictable.
Unlike everything else in my life at the moment.
My gaze drifts back to her again. She’s once more immersed in her writing. The flicker of the firelight dances over the bare skin on her legs, and the late afternoon sun casts her in a warm glow.
She looks content.
I let that thought travel through me. Could Tessa truly be happy here on the mountain? With me?
Would she even be sitting here right now if the storm hadn’t brought her to me? If my best friend hadn’t been away on a business trip? If things hadn’t lined up the way they had, would we have crossed that line?
Would my heart be feeling things it hadn’t felt in years—no. It hasn’t felt them ever.
Outside, the sky keeps clearing, the light stretching across the rough floorboards.
But instead of relief, all I feel is a quiet dread of what will happen when she doesn’t have to stay anymore.
I let myself feel that. But only for a second before I let it go.
Because standing here worrying about tomorrow isn’t going to buy me an extra hour with her.
I steal another look at my girl. Her pretty face is screwed up in thought as her pen scribbles furiously on the page in front of her.
She’s not counting the minutes. So why the hell am I?
Maybe the storm didn’t just trap us together. Maybe it handed me something I’ve been too damn stubborn to realize was missing.
I don’t know what’ll happen in the coming days, but I do know that right now she’s here. With me.
I turn the heat down under the pot and put the lid back on, leaving it to simmer.
I learned long ago that I can’t control the future. Tomorrow will bring with it what it will.
But tonight…she’s mine.
Tessa
The whole cabin smells like garlic, onions, and some delicious combination of herbs I can’t even begin to guess. Cooking has never been my strong suit, but judging by the rich, comforting smell coming from the kitchen, it’s definitely Holt’s.
And I am not complaining.
I’ve just closed my journal when he crosses the room with two glasses of red wine in his hand. “It needs to simmer for a while,” he says as he hands me a glass.
“Wine?” I ask, lifting a brow. “You don’t really seem like a red wine kind of guy.”
He shrugs, one shoulder rolling casually. “Found it in the back of the cabinet. I must have picked it up somewhere along the way. Tonight felt like it called for something a bit special.”
I can’t stop the little smile that crosses my face, because I completely agree.
I wait until he’s lowered himself to the far end of the couch, leaving a careful stretch of cushions between us. As much as I’d like to be snuggled up to him right now, I like this perspective, too.
I move to tuck my legs beneath me to give us more room, but before I can get fully comfortable, his hand closes gently around my ankle.
“Feet,” he says.
I blink. “What?”
“Give me your feet,” he commands, his voice almost rough before he swallows and tries again. “Please,” he adds, softer this time.
I let him draw my feet into his lap. With his free hand, he presses a thumb into the arch slowly, firmly. There’s no heat in it, just a steady pressure that almost makes me groan with a completely different kind of pleasure.
It’s such a simple gesture, and somehow it seems so much more intimate than anything that happened earlier.
The wine is smooth. The cabin is warm, and as the sun sets outside, draping the room in long shadows, I can’t help but feel exactly, perfectly at home.
Holt doesn’t pull me any closer; he just keeps rubbing my feet, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
He’s left his wine mostly untouched, using both his hands now, and I’m not complaining.
“So,” he says after a while, his eyes still focused on what he’s doing. “Are you going to tell me why you’re really here?”
My heart stutters, and I take another sip of wine to buy myself a second, watching the way the firelight reflects off the glass instead of looking at him.
“The storm,” I say lightly. “And my dad wasn’t home. Remember?”
His thumbs don’t stop moving, but I feel the way his grip shifts a little.
“Oh, I remember.” His voice is low and controlled. “I remember very well. But that’s not an answer to my question, and we both know it.”
We fall back into silence for a moment, but it’s not uncomfortable. Holt doesn’t push like most people in my life: my professors, classmates, and my parents. They all want answers and explanations. They all want to tell me what to do, what makes sense, what I should feel and think.
The steady pressure of his hands on my feet grounds me. I let the warmth of the cabin wrap around me. It feels like I’m in a safe bubble with him here, like nothing can touch me and there are no consequences.
I’m not naive enough to believe it, but for the moment, it feels real.
I let out a slow breath.
“I was supposed to graduate in a few months,” I say.
His hands pause.
“Supposed to?” he asks carefully.
I nod. “I withdrew.”
The words feel heavier in the silence of the room than I expected. It’s the first time I’ve said them out loud.
“I didn’t fail,” I add quickly. “I just…quit.”
Now, his hands still completely. But he doesn’t push me to say more.
I force myself to keep talking. “It’s not that I can’t finish,” I add.
“My GPA is good; I’m a solid student. And maybe I should just…
” I shake my head, more for myself as I remember what it felt like to be at school.
“But I can’t. I’d sit in class and read my books, study for assignments and exams, and it just didn’t feel right.
Every time I thought about what would come next, I’d panic.
My classmates all got excited about graduating and accepting positions in the finance world, and for me, just thinking about it made me feel claustrophobic, like I was slowly suffocating. ”
The confession loosens something inside me, making it easy to keep talking.
“I’ve been following this plan for so long, I don’t think I realized when it stopped being my plan and became everyone else’s. If it ever was mine.”
The fire pops softly in the hearth. I take another sip of wine before I admit the rest of my truth. “I haven’t told anyone else yet,” I say. “You’re the first.”
Holt’s thumb resumes its slow movements against my skin.
“Did you come to tell Luke?”
I nod. It feels safer to tell Dad before I break it to my mom. Like, he might at least understand. Mom is not going to understand.
“I was going to surprise him,” I say with a half-smile. “And then keep going.”
“Going? What’s the plan now?”
I swallow because this is the part I’m not sure about anymore.
“I want to travel,” I say quietly. “Not like a vacation. But just…go somewhere new. See something different. Do you know I’ve never really gone anywhere?”
He doesn’t answer my rhetorical question.
“My mom took me out East once to visit an old friend, but she didn’t really have a lot of extra money growing up, and traveling wasn’t really a priority.”
Holt nods. “It’s never a bad idea to see life through a different set of eyes,” he says carefully.
“Right? I just want to…I don’t know, see what happens when I’m not trying to meet anyone else’s expectations.
Maybe I can write, or…” I lift my shoulders in a weak shrug because, truthfully, I don’t know what I’m hoping to find out in the world.
And somehow, in the last few days, my desire to pack up and leave has completely gone away.
Now I think I want something else. Someone else.
We’re quiet for a moment before Holt speaks again. “And what if you don’t find what you’re looking for out there?”
I meet his eyes then.
It’s an honest question. And an unexpected one.
I open my mouth with the easy answer.
Then at least I tried.
But the words don’t come, because suddenly I’m not so sure that’s the truth anymore.
I glance down at his hand on my feet and then up to the firelight flickering over his face. I’ve never been here before. Never even been to the mountain. But for the first time in my life, I feel like I’m home.
It doesn’t make any sense. Not really. But somehow, I feel like I fit here. I’m settled. Calm.
“I don’t know,” I admit quietly.
The confession surprises both of us. His hands slow.
“I thought I might feel clearer once I left,” I say carefully. “Like maybe the change of scenery would help me realize what I was missing from my life.”
He watches me, his expression unreadable.
“But I’m starting to think that maybe it’s not about finding what’s been missing but more about finding what makes me whole.”
He nods once.
“If leaving is what you need,” he says quietly, “you should go.”
I’m not sure why, but his words leave me unsettled for the first time since I arrived. Does he really want me to leave?
For the first time since I quit school and walked away from my life, I’m no longer sure running away is what I need.
I just don’t know what that means yet.
And I’m definitely not ready to say that out loud.