Chapter 4 Aria
ARIA
I follow Thorne back to his cabin, sneaking glances at him as we walk. When I knocked on his door earlier, I was expecting an old man. A crabby-looking Santa Claus with an axe and a scowl.
I was not expecting the hottest guy I’ve ever seen.
Thorne is a giant. At least six and a half feet tall, with stupidly broad shoulders and biceps the size of my head. The fabric of his red plaid shirt strains around his muscles. I can’t stop staring.
There must be something in the water up here.
He looks like he’s in his early forties, still too old for a twenty-two-year-old like me to be drooling over.
But somehow, his age only makes him hotter.
The frown lines, crow’s feet, silver streaks in his russet beard—all of it adds to his rugged maturity.
I like that he’s older. I like it more than I should.
Even though Thorne isn’t the crabby Santa Claus I expected, I was right about the scowl.
His dark brows draw naturally downward, creasing over his piercing green eyes.
Frowning seems to be his default. If this man told me he’d never smiled before, I’d believe him without a doubt.
Grandma sure wasn’t kidding when she said he was grumpy…
It’s just a shame she forgot to mention that Thorne Dalton is the most infuriating man in Crave County.
I knew he wouldn’t be thrilled to see me. It’s not like I was expecting a welcome party, but it’s as if Thorne physically can’t bear my presence. I think he might genuinely be allergic to me.
Maybe city girls bring him out in a rash.
“This doesn’t change anything, princess,” Thorne says, snapping me back to reality with his deep, rumbling voice. “As soon as I fix my truck, I’m taking you back to Cherry Hollow.”
Butterflies erupt in my belly every time he calls me princess.
I pretend not to like it. Heck, I definitely shouldn’t like it, since he clearly means it as an insult.
Pampered princess. Spoiled brat. Entitled.
It’s pretty obvious what Thorne thinks of me, but the butterflies still show up. Every time.
Like I said before…
Infuriating.
I don’t reply to Thorne as I follow him back to the cabin, trying to keep my eyes on the ground or on the snowflakes tumbling from the sky. It’s easier said than done. I can feel his gaze burning a hole in the side of my face, like he’s hoping I’ll disappear if he stares at me hard enough.
The cabin is deliciously warm as we step inside. Snowflakes melt in my hair as I move to stand by the fire, still not looking at Thorne. I hear him stomping deeper into the cabin, reemerging a few minutes later.
“Going to fix the truck,” he says.
I finally meet his gaze. He’s scowling in determination, holding a shiny green toolbox in his right hand and a metal thermos in his left.
With a small jolt, I realize that the hand gripping the thermos is missing two fingers.
His middle and index fingers end bluntly at the middle joint, like they’ve been cut off.
A woodchopping accident, maybe?
I bury my curiosity and say, “Do you want any help?”
I don’t know the first thing about fixing a pickup truck, but it seems polite to ask.
“No.” Thorne is already heading for the door. “Help yourself to food. Drinks. Whatever.”
It’s the most hospitable thing he’s said to me so far, but his voice makes it sound more like a disgruntled command.
“Thanks.”
He’s gone before I can say another word, the wind catching the door and slamming it closed behind him.
This really isn’t how I expected my meeting with Thorne to go.
The man is stubborn as a bull, but as I look around the cabin, it’s hard to blame him.
He obviously takes great care of this place.
It’s small and cozy, full of plush rugs and brown leather chairs.
Giant windows look out toward the swaying fir trees outside, and a large brick fireplace blazes with heat.
It’s not just an old logging shack anymore—it’s a home.
Nosiness gets the better of me, and I decide to give myself a quick tour of the cabin.
It doesn’t take long. There’s a cramped kitchen with wooden cabinets and a gorgeous view of the frozen river outside.
A surprisingly generous-sized bathroom with a walk-in shower and stone tiles. And finally, Thorne’s bedroom.
I sneak inside and turn on the light, moving quietly even though I know he’s not here.
It smells like Thorne—woodsmoke and spices.
I breathe in his scent as I peer around the spacious room.
Most of it is taken up by an enormous four-poster bed, with crisp white sheets and a thick quilt.
There’s a closet in the corner, a small fireplace, and two windows with a view of the same frozen river cutting through the clearing.
I have to resist the urge to snuggle up in Thorne’s bed. It looks so inviting, but I drag myself away from his bedroom and collapse on the couch once more. Then I grab my phone from my pocket and shoot Grandma a quick text.
Hi. I’m stuck at Thorne’s place for now. He’s not happy to see me. Wants me to leave but his truck won’t start.
P.S. I know you said he was grumpy, but wow…
This man would make a root canal look cheerful.
She replies.
Uh-oh. He’s a grouch alright. Don’t worry, I’ll talk to him about the cabin another time and give him a piece of my mind! Just give me a few minutes and I’ll come get you, honey. Be there soon.
Alarmed, I reply instantly:
No!
Thanks for offering, you’re the best, but please don’t drive up here. It’s snowing like crazy right now!
A few minutes pass, and I worry that she might have already left. I’m just about to call her when she finally responds.
Okay honey. Be safe.
I reassure her that I’ll be fine. Then I grab a glass of water and open up a streaming app on my phone.
Thorne doesn’t have a TV, and I have no idea how long I’ll be waiting here, so I put on an old episode of Friends and start to watch.
Hours pass. The episodes keep playing automatically, but I’m only half concentrating.
Thorne comes back twice to fill up his thermos or grab something to eat, and my heart races each time.
But he barely glances at me before he leaves again.
It’s dark outside when he finally returns.
“It’s the damn sensor,” he mutters as he shuts the front door.
I blink at him. My eyes are blurry from staring at my phone, and it takes my gaze a second to focus. But when it does, my breath catches. Thorne looks deliciously disheveled, his plaid shirt rumpled, thick forearms blackened with motor oil.
“Uh…sorry, what did you say?”
“The crankshaft sensor.” He shrugs off his jacket, glowering at nothing in particular. “Been trying to figure out what’s wrong all day. Battery’s fine. Starter’s fine. Fuel’s fine. Had to tear open the whole truck to find the problem, and after all that, it’s the crankshaft.”
I have no idea what any of this means, but I nod like I understand. “Is it fixable?”
“No. The part needs replacing.” He runs a hand through his russet hair, slick with melted snow. “I called the garage in town. They’re gonna order it. But for now, looks like we’re stuck.”
I might not know what a crankshaft sensor is. But I know what “stuck” means.
“So…I’m staying the night?”
Thorne nods curtly. There’s a pause before he says, “I should probably make you some food.”
“It’s okay,” I tell him, easing up off the couch. My limbs are stiff from not moving for hours. “I owe you for letting me stay the night. I can cook for us.”
“No.” It’s only one word, but Thorne says it so emphatically that it steals my breath away. “I want to cook for you.”
I stare at him, speechless. This man is a total mystery to me. One second he can’t stand being in the same room together; the next, he’s insisting on cooking for me.
“Thanks,” I say hesitantly. “That would be really nice.”
Our gaze holds for a beat too long, Thorne’s eyes pinning me to the spot. Then he heads for the kitchen, hovering in the doorway for a moment. When he looks back at me, his familiar scowl is in place.
“Hope you like stew, princess. ‘Cause that’s what you’re getting.”
Then he disappears into the kitchen.
Okay, so he’s still not exactly Prince Charming.
The stew is delicious: fresh vegetables, red wine sauce and beef so tender it melts in my mouth. I sit at the table opposite Thorne as we eat together. He’s back to avoiding eye contact, grunting one-word answers when I try to make small talk.
This would be the perfect opportunity to discuss the cabin.
Heck, that’s what I came here for. But I don’t bring it up again.
Thorne is doing me a favor by letting me stay, and I keep reminding myself that I wasn’t invited.
I showed up unannounced and messed up his whole day. For now, the cabin can wait.
We finish eating, and Thorne mutters something about timber, shrugging his jacket back on.
“You’re going back out there?” I ask, gawking at him. “It’s pitch-black and freezing cold.”
He shrugs. “Got a big order to fill for the sawmill outside town. Need to get started as soon as possible.”
“Can’t you do it tomorrow?”
“I’m already late on the first batch.”
He grabs a huge flashlight and is gone again before I can argue. I wonder if he’s ever considered starting a magic show. He’s pretty good at the whole disappearing act.
I send Grandma a text to say I’ll be staying the night here, then set up a makeshift bed on the couch.
It’s not even nine yet, but there’s nothing else to do, so I might as well try to get some sleep.
I use a cushion as a pillow and pull a throw blanket over me.
It’s pretty cozy, being curled up by the fire like this, but I have to bend my legs and crook my neck awkwardly to fit on the couch.
My body feels stiff and achy almost immediately.
I’m still wide awake when Thorne comes home later. My chest flutters at the sound of his heavy footsteps. Even when I can’t see him, I can feel him. His presence seems to suck the air from the tiny living room, making it harder for me to breathe.
“What are you doing?”
His growly voice makes me shudder. Without opening my eyes, I say, “Sleeping.”
“You’re not sleeping on the couch.”
“Yes, I am. That’s literally what I’m trying to do right now.”
“Get up, princess.”
I open my eyes, my heart spasming when I see Thorne standing over me. He looks even taller from this angle, towering over the couch, piercing me with those forest green eyes.
“There’s only one bedroom,” I say, rubbing my aching neck as I look at him. “I’m not taking your bed, Thorne.”
“You bet you are.” He scowls at me. “I might not be from the city, but I’m not an animal.”
With a sigh, I close my eyes again. But Thorne doesn’t move. He stands there, waiting. It’s maddening, feeling his gaze burning into me, my veins thrumming with heat that has nothing to do with the fire. Finally, I give up.
“Okay, caveman. You win.”
I heave myself off the couch, grimacing at the ache in my knees. As I step away, I watch Thorne take my place, lying on his back.
Oh for goodness’ sake.
It’s almost comical. Like trying to fit a grizzly bear into a dog bed. Thorne’s legs hang off the end of the couch, his body at least twice as wide as the cushions trying to hold him. If he moves even an inch, he’ll tumble right off the edge.
“Thorne, I really appreciate the chivalry, but this is ridiculous.”
“Go to bed, princess.”
I frown at him, ignoring the familiar flutter in my chest at the nickname. “Look, if you seriously refuse to let me sleep on the couch, then we might as well just…share the bed.”
The suggestion sounded more normal in my head. More logical. Less suggestive. But it’s too late to take it back now.
Thorne sits up on the couch and looks at me. “What?”
“I…well, look, it’s a big bed. Plenty big enough for two.”
“How’d you know it’s a big bed?” he asks, raising an eyebrow at me. “You been snooping in my bedroom, princess?”
My cheeks burn. “It’s…I…oh just listen, caveman! All I’m saying is there’s a perfectly good bed in this cabin and we might as well use it.” Shoot, that came out wrong. “To sleep! We can both get a good night’s sleep.”
Thorne considers me for a long time. He looks like he’s wrestling with himself, debating something internally. My face feels like it’s about to explode into flames, but finally, he nods.
“Works for me.”
“Right.” I swallow hard. “Fine. Good.”
Thorne gets off the couch. For a moment, we just look at each other. It’s like we’re two pieces in a chess game, neither of us sure where to move next.
Ugh, this would all be much simpler if this man wasn’t so distractingly handsome.
The firelight catches the silver hairs in his beard, making his green eyes glint at me—like frost glittering on a fir tree.
He looks bigger than ever, backlit by the fireplace, shadows dancing over his hulking frame.
I should probably feel intimidated at the thought of sharing a bed with him.
He’s so much older than I am. A grumpy goliath of a man who could probably snap me in half if he wanted.
But I’m not intimidated.
I’m turned on.
Really, really turned on.
Heat blooms between my legs as I look at Thorne, and I have to clamp my thighs together tight. My nipples pebble against my bra, the fabric rubbing against the hard, sensitive buds. I’ve never felt desire like this. It’s dizzying. Overwhelming.
Thorne might be the most infuriating man in Crave County…
But right now, my body doesn’t seem to care.