Chapter 7
EVERLY
I follow Gunnar away from the lake and into the trees, trying to keep up with his giant strides. I know I’m being reckless by agreeing to go back to his cabin. Heck, I’ve been making reckless decisions ever since I set eyes on this man.
I’ve always been the kind of girl who plays it safe. Sticks to the trail. But something about Gunnar makes me want to leave the trail behind, run straight into the wilderness, and never look back.
We walk in silence—the air charged as our footsteps echo through the trees. There was a moment back at the lake…a moment when his gaze flitted to my lips. For one crazy second, I was sure he was going to kiss me. I can’t help wishing he had.
God, this is getting messy.
I’ve only been home from college for a week.
I have no job, no clue what I’m doing or what’s going to happen next.
And now I’ve thrown a gorgeous older mountain man into the mix—swimming in lakes with him, following him back to his remote cabin in the forest instead of acting like a responsible adult.
But I can’t resist.
Gunnar does something to me. Something I’ve never felt before.
Something wild and giddy, like a runner’s high but a million times more intense.
I feel like he’s shocked my body to life, stirred up my most primal instincts and desires.
It took every ounce of restraint not to sneak a peek when he got out of the lake, when all I wanted to do was see him. All of him.
He must have toweled himself dry with his shirt like I did, because he’s carrying the sopping plaid under his arm, his bare torso exposed. I snatch glances at him as we walk—his broad back, the swell of his biceps.
It should be illegal to be that hot.
I spot his cabin a few minutes later, nestled in a thicket of pine trees—a log cabin made of dark wood with a roof covered in vivid green moss. It’s bigger than my sister’s, with large windows and a view of Sugar Creek, which snakes behind the cabin like a silver ribbon.
“This is home,” Gunnar grunts as we approach the front door.
He pushes it open and ushers me in first, my heart fluttering as I brush past him.
The cabin smells like him—pine and earth, along with something wild and musky that I can’t place.
I breathe it in deeply as I walk into the living room, taking in the rustic furniture and sparse décor.
Something tells me Gunnar doesn’t spend a whole lot of time at home.
He seems too busy roaming the woods to care about interior design.
But the cabin doesn’t need décor to be beautiful—the view outside the windows is more than enough: the swaying pine trees, the glitter of the creek in the sunlight.
“This place is amazing,” I say, smiling at Gunnar. It’s the first time I’ve been indoors with him, and he seems to fill the whole space, his size making the cabin look like a dollhouse.
“Thanks.”
“Is there any chance you have Wi-Fi out here?” I ask, slipping off my sneakers. “I just want to message my sister and let her know I’ll be late back.”
To my surprise, he nods. “Got a satellite connection. Patchy as hell, but might be enough to shoot off a message.”
He reels off the password, and I open my messaging app, clicking on Amelia’s name.
Hey! Just texting to say I’ll be home late.
I’m having lunch at Gunnar’s cabin.
I also might have swum in the lake with him.
And he might have been naked.
And he maybe almost kissed me.
I’ll text you later.
The messages deliver and my sister replies immediately.
WHAT
I pocket my phone, stifling a smile.
“Thanks,” I tell Gunnar. “It worked.”
He nods, watching me steadily from the open doorway to the kitchen. Then he gestures to the door on my right. “Bathroom’s through there. You can use the shower if you want to wash the lake off. I’ll find you something dry to wear.”
“That would be awesome,” I say with a rush of gratitude. My skin feels clammy in my wet bra and panties, sediment from the lake still clinging to my hair. A shower sounds like heaven.
Gunnar disappears into another room for a moment, then brings out one of his plaid shirts, holding it up. “This okay?”
I’m a big, curvy girl, but Gunnar’s shirt will still be enormous on me. I can easily wear it like a dress.
“Perfect,” I tell him.
“Just leave your wet clothes outside the door. I’ll hang them up outside.”
I thank him again and head into the bathroom with his shirt, before stripping off and opening the door just wide enough to toss my clothes out. Then I step into the shower and wash my body, smothering myself in Gunnar’s soap and shampoo.
Once I’m clean and dry, I pull on the fresh shirt and button it up. It falls to my knees, the fabric soft against my skin, and as I step out of the bathroom, I’m hyperaware of the fact that I’m completely naked underneath.
And Gunnar knows it.
With a shudder, I walk back into the living room, suddenly hit by the smell of bacon coming from the open kitchen door.
As I head toward it, Gunnar appears holding two plates in his hands, a box of something wedged under his arm.
To my delight, he’s still shirtless, and I have to force myself not to stare at the thick muscles of his chest.
“Made us BLTs,” he says. “Got a cherry pie for dessert.”
“It smells amazing. Thank you.”
He waves off my thanks. “Want to eat by the creek?”
“I’d love to.”
I take the plates from Gunnar while he opens a cupboard and grabs a rolled-up picnic blanket.
He wedges it beneath his free arm, then takes the plates from me once more, ignoring my requests to help carry something.
I follow him back outside into the sunny afternoon, and he unravels the blanket beside the creek.
We sit on it side by side and tuck into our BLTs, which are more B than anything else—salty and delicious.
“This is really good,” I say, humming with satisfaction.
“Glad you like it.”
The rush of the creek fills the air as we lapse into silence for a moment. I finish my bite of sandwich and chance a glance at Gunnar, studying his handsome profile. It reminds me of when I first saw him, standing side-on with that familiar scowl on his face.
“Have you always lived out here?” I ask, already anticipating his answer.
“Always. Could never live anywhere else.”
“Me neither. I tried city life in Chicago, but it wasn’t for me. Cherry Mountain is home.”
Gunnar nods, asking me about my favorite places on the mountain.
The trails, animals, and seasons I like best. It feels good to talk to someone who loves this place as much as I do.
Heck, he even seems interested in all my tangents about wildlife biology, asking more about the different species out here.
“I’d love to see a mountain lion one day,” I tell him with a sigh. “I’ve seen plenty of tracks and scratch marks, but never an actual lion.”
“Careful what you wish for.” Gunnar stretches his legs toward the creek, face bathed in sunlight. “I saw one in my twenties. Damn thing went straight for me.”
“You’re kidding!” I stare at him wide-eyed. “Where was it? What did it look like? Do you know if it was an adult or a cub?”
“Was too busy trying not to get my head bitten off to pay much attention.”
“Yeah…I guess that’s fair enough.”
Once we finish our sandwiches, we dig into the cherry pie.
It’s from Buttercup Bakery, the best bakery in all of Crave County, and every mouthful is sweet, flaky, and delicious.
As we eat, our talk turns to Gunnar’s guided hikes, and I listen eagerly as he tells me all about the worst tourists he’s dealt with.
Every time one of his stories draws a laugh from me, I see his mouth tug into the tiniest of smiles, and it makes my chest flutter every time.
We finish the pie, and Gunnar stands up to take our empty plates back inside.
“Thank you for lunch,” I tell him. “It was delicious.”
“Don’t mention it.”
As he takes a step back toward the cabin, a fork slides off one of the plates he’s carrying, falling onto the grass.
I move to grab it, but Gunnar gets there first, reaching down.
Suddenly, he freezes, sucking in a sharp breath.
His face contorts, and I feel a cold splash of concern.
He looks like he’s in serious pain, but he pushes through it to grab the fork.
“Gunnar, are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” His voice is tight with pain. “My fault. Shouldn’t have reached out like that.”
He turns away before I can say anything else, carrying the plates back inside the cabin. When he comes back out, he looks a little better, but there’s a tightness in his jaw that wasn’t there before, like he’s trying to hide the discomfort he’s in.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” I ask as he sits down beside me.
“I’m sure,” he says.
But I don’t believe him.