Chapter 2
Garrett
If I had my way, I’d never have to open my door for another soul as long as I live. That was the whole point of all this…coming back, buying the land, building the cabin, stacking the woodpile higher than my own damn head.
Quiet.
Routine.
Hell, I’ve spent years perfecting the art of being left alone.
But now Annie is standing in my living room, dripping rainwater all over my custom-stained floors, shivering, trying to act like the whole situation isn’t as bad as I know it could have ended up being. And the worst part, what pisses me off most, is that I don’t want her to leave.
She’s still got this look about her, like she’s still in shock that she made it out of the storm in one piece.
Cheeks flushed, a mess of stringy golden hair plastered to her face, but her wide hazel eyes, which reflect the firelight, don’t dare shy away from mine.
She’s made herself at home, her small hands wrapped around the mug of tea, as she sips.
Wearing one of my flannel shirts, which looks like a dress on her.
She should look ridiculous.
But she doesn’t.
She looks like she belongs here, and that’s what shakes me up the most. I’ve had enough strangers in my life, enough betrayals.
My old man always said trust is a tool you don’t hand out unless you want it broken. My so-called best friend proved that three years back. I’ve kept to myself ever since.
It’s simple.
It’s safe.
Or, it was, until Annie showed up.
“You always glare at your guests like that, or am I just special?”
“Don’t get many visitors out here,” I grunt, keeping my answers short.
She stands and starts wandering around the room, her eyes taking in the beams overhead, the custom stonework. All the while, I’m more focused on the way my shirt is playing peekaboo on those tanned, toned thighs of hers. Making my fingers flex, wanting to know what they feel like under my touch.
“This place is incredible. Did you build it yourself?”
“Yeah,” is all I say, not bothering to elaborate.
She stops in her tracks, grinning. “Seriously? Like, from scratch? That’s badass.”
I shrug. “It’s what I do.”
She comes back to the sofa, perched on the edge, directly in front of where I’m still leaning up against the doorway. “So, are you from around here, or did you just pick a spot on the map and go full Grizzly Adams?”
Once again, I just nod, trying to keep my gaze from focusing on those long legs of hers.
She laughs, running her fingers through her tangled hair. “You’re a man of few words, Garrett. What do you do…when you’re not rescuing women who get lost in the woods or building things?”
“Cabins. Furniture. My own business,” I say, leaving out all the messy details…the years I wasted on people who didn’t give a shit about me.
“Okay.” She nods. “Well, I work for this insane fashion designer in Charlotte. Elliot. He’s got pink hair; dresses head to toe in pastel every day…
looking like a bottle of Pepto had a baby with a disco ball.
I swear, he can’t remember my name half the time, but he sure as hell remembers if I bring his latte with one sugar instead of two.
Half my job is organizing his chaos, and the other half is apologizing for whatever disaster he’s left in his path. ”
She’s talking so fast, trying to make it sound funny, but I can hear how tired she is in her voice, and there’s an edge she thinks I don’t pick up on.
I just stand here and listen, letting her words fill the space I’ve tried to keep silent for so long.
Then, in the middle of her rambling, her stomach growls, loud.
She tries to talk over it, but I catch the way her cheeks start to turn red.
I shake my head and mutter, “When’s the last time you ate?
” My voice is rougher than I mean for it to sound, and there’s more concern than I want to show.
She tries to brush it off, but I’m already heading toward the kitchen, pulling out bread and cheese, heating the skillet, and setting a pot of coffee to brew.
Behind me, I hear, “Garrett, you really don’t have to cook for me. I’ll be fine. I’m not that hungry anyway.”
I shoot her a look over my shoulder. “Your stomach says otherwise.”
She huffs, folding her arms, being stubborn. “I can wait till I get back to town. I’m not helpless.”
The knife in my hand clatters on the counter as my patience snaps. “Damnit, woman! Let me take care of you.” My voice echoes off the wooden beams, harsher and needier than I meant.
She clamps her lips shut, caught off guard by my sudden outburst. Hell, I think it stunned us both.
I grip the edge of the counter, my head down.
The silence is thick, electric. All I can think about is how empty this place felt before she showed up, and how easy it’s going to be to let the silence swallow me whole again once she’s gone.
I force myself to look up at her hazel eyes, big and searching. She doesn’t run away or even flinch.
I let go of a long breath. “I’m sorry,” I say in a lower, gruff but honest voice. “Didn’t mean to snap at you like that. I just…it’s been a while since I had anyone to look after.”
Her lips twitch, softening at the edges, and in that moment, something gentle passes between us…understanding. Maybe she knows what it’s like to be alone, too.
“It’s okay,” she says, barely above a whisper. “You can yell at me as long as you keep making grilled cheese.”
I let go of a sound that sounds close to a laugh, easing the tension in my chest just a bit. Our gazes connect, and for a brief second, I let my guard slip…just a crack. But it’s enough for something new to slip in…something that feels good…like hope.
I slide a plate and a steaming mug her way. “Eat, city girl.”
She devours the sandwich, moaning around each bite, as her eyes flutter shut. Every sound is going straight to my cock, making me shift, trying to arrange the bulge straining against my jeans. Fuck. This woman is going to be the death of me.
“This is the best thing I’ve eaten in weeks. You could open a food truck out here, call it ‘Grump’s Grilled Cheese.’” She flashes me a grin.
“I don’t do business with people,” I say, but my mouth forms a small smile. I can’t help it, not when she looks at me like that.
She talks while she eats, filling the silence with stories about her boss, her apartment, the time she tripped down the stairs in heels on her first day, and spilled coffee on Elliot’s expensive shoes.
She makes me laugh, an honest-to-God real laugh, before I catch myself and shut it down.
Something inside me is shifting. I’m not supposed to want this. I’m not supposed to want her.
She finishes her food and sips the coffee, sighing like she’s satisfied. “Don’t you get lonely out here?”
My jaw tightens. “No.” But it’s a lie. And I think she knows it, because she lets it go, doesn’t push it.
I notice the way her eyes soften when she looks at me now. I want to touch her, want to slide my hands up her thighs, under my flannel, strip it off, and see every inch that’s hidden.
I want to take her to my bed, press her into the mattress, and make her forget about that city life. I want to lose myself in her, just for a night.
My fists clench, and I force myself to look away.
I shouldn’t think like this. She’s young, she’s just passing through, she’ll probably laugh at the idea of staying one night longer than she has to.
But the ache in my chest is real, and the heat in my gut burns hotter every time her knee brushes mine under the table.
“Storm is letting up,” I finally say. “Your clothes will be dry soon.”
She nods, but the look of disappointment doesn’t go unnoticed.
The dryer buzzes.
“Saved by the bell!” she sings.
I jump up and grab her things. They are still warm as I hand them over to her, and our fingers brush. The jolt is sharp, making my breath catch.
She heads to the bathroom, and I catch myself watching the sway of her hips, the way her hair tumbles down.
When she comes back out, she looks more herself, but softer, more vulnerable than before.
“I guess I should head back,” she says, hesitating in the doorway.
I want to tell her to stay. Instead, I say, “I’ll drive you. Roads will be slick. No sense risking it.”
On the drive back to town, she goes on about the stars, how they look different in the country than in the city, how she’s always wanted to see a real mountain.
I let her talk and just listen, grunting in response, keeping my eyes fixed on the road. While every muscle in my body is tense with want for her. Every time she laughs, something inside me thaws.
We reach the edge of town as the sun begins to dip behind the mountains; the rain having completely disappeared now. Her stomach growls again, and she laughs, embarrassed.
“Damn, city girl.” I can’t help but chuckle. Nothing wrong with a woman who likes to eat.
“Would it be weird if I asked you to get dinner with me? As a thank you?” She glances over toward me, nervous.
I surprise myself by nodding. “The Cozy Corner’s open. Best pie in town.” She lights up, and it does something to me. I want to see that look every damn day.
“Correction, Grizzly Adam’s…best cinnamon rolls in town.”