Chapter 8 Aria
ARIA
I give up trying to make Thorne rest. I’m starting to realize that arguing with stubborn mountain men is futile. He insists on making me breakfast, so I wait at the table in the corner of the living room, running my fingers over the knotty grooves in the wood as I try to control my heartbeat.
God, I’m acting like a giddy teenager with a crush.
I know Thorne was teasing me with the whole “pinning him in bed” thing.
But my cheeks haven’t stopped flaming ever since he said it.
It doesn’t help when he emerges from the kitchen—still shirtless—holding two stacks of pancakes.
My eyes keep drifting to his thick muscles, the tanned skin of his chest, the dark ink swirling up his arms. He’s so big.
A tattooed mountain of a man. The angry red claw marks only make him look wilder.
More rugged. They’re proof that he fought off a mountain lion and won.
“Thanks,” I say a little breathlessly as he sets the pancakes down. He sits opposite me and we start to eat. The pancakes are thick, fluffy, and swimming in maple syrup—just how I like them.
Great. Another reason to obsess over Thorne. His awesome pancakes.
“These are delicious,” I tell him, taking another bite.
“Glad you like them.”
There’s silence for a few moments but for the scrape of cutlery. I chance a glance at Thorne and my heart jolts when I see he’s looking right at me.
“So. How long are you in town for, princess?”
It’s a simple question, but I don’t know the answer. Cherry Hollow was always meant to be temporary. But right now, my life in New York feels a long way away.
“Maybe a few months,” I say vaguely.
Thorne’s permanent scowl lifts a little. I can tell I’ve surprised him.
“Damn. Your job doesn’t mind you taking off for that long?”
I take my time chewing my pancakes, trying to think up an answer. I could just tell the truth. Admit to Thorne that I lost my job and my dad’s company after he died. I don’t want to lie, but I also don’t want to get into the whole sob story after what Thorne has been through today.
“I’m kind of between jobs right now,” I say eventually. “Things have been a little…complicated since my dad passed.”
Vague, but not a lie. And thankfully, Thorne doesn’t push it.
“I’m sorry again about your dad,” he says, those intense green eyes softening a little. “Never easy losing a parent, but it sucks you lost him so young.”
“Thanks, Thorne.” I smile at him sadly. “It’s been tough, but I’m lucky to have my grandma. It was her idea for me to come to Cherry Hollow.” I’m eager to take the focus off me, so I ask, “Have you always lived around here?”
“Grew up in town,” Thorne says. “Left when I was eighteen to join the military.”
“Army?” I guess.
He nods. “Served for twenty years. Was a sniper for eight of those.”
My fork freezes in mid-air.
A sniper.
Even the word sounds dangerous.
It should probably scare me knowing Thorne is trained to kill.
Trained to make life-or-death calls. Trained to pull the trigger.
But I’m not scared. Instead, I feel a strange sense of safety, sitting here in his living room eating pancakes with him.
This man clearly knows how to handle danger, and it feels like nothing could ever hurt me with Thorne around. Not even a hungry mountain lion.
As I process his words, my eyes slide to his left hand. To the missing fingers—index and middle. I’d assumed he lost them in a woodchopping accident, but maybe it was in the line of duty.
Thorne notices my gaze.
“Put an end to the sniping pretty damn fast,” he says, wiggling his fingers. “Went back to infantry until I retired.”
“What happened?”
“Frostbite.” He shrugs. “Nothing glamorous. Was on a mission in Kunar Province in sub-zero temperatures. Didn’t move for hours. Couldn’t risk blowing the operation.” He glances at his missing fingers. “They don’t cause me much trouble. The body adapts.”
He takes another bite of his pancakes, wiping away a string of syrup from his beard.
This man literally makes spilling food attractive.
It’s impossible not to want Thorne. He’s still infuriating.
Still twenty years older than me. But he does something to me, this rugged veteran.
My body reacts to every look from his frowning green eyes, every word in his gruff and growly voice.
I feel taut as a rubber band, ready to snap as I think back to my dream.
Thorne’s giant body moving on top of mine.
I suck in a breath and press my thighs together beneath the table, wishing I was wearing underwear.
“So…” I say, desperate to distract myself. “Uh…so, when did you retire from the military?”
“Three years ago. That’s when I started fixing up this place.”
His words jolt me back to reality.
The cabin…the whole reason I came here in the first place.
I glance around the living room. The flickering fire casts a warm glow over the leather chairs and plush rugs, turning the wooden walls the color of caramel.
My gaze drifts outside, taking in the towering trees and the glittering ribbon of the frozen river.
Tiny snowflakes drift to the ground, slowly covering the rusty smears of blood near the tree trunk.
“You did a great job with this place,” I say. “It’s a beautiful cabin.”
Thorne’s eyes meet mine, darkening with something I can’t decipher. I feel a pinch of unease in my gut. The mood has shifted. Now we’re both thinking the same thing. The reason I’m here.
“Why do you care about this place, princess?” Thorne asks eventually.
I swallow. “What do you mean?”
He’s surveying me like I’m a puzzle he can’t figure out.
“I know you inherited a share,” he says. “Not gonna pretend otherwise. But what does a city girl with millions want with half a log cabin? Can’t get my head around it.”
The pancakes turn to glue in my mouth. I look down at the table, focusing on the rough grain of the wood. Anything to avoid Thorne’s scowl. The silence stretches for several beats too long.
“Aria?”
“I…I know how you must see me,” I murmur.
Another pause. I can feel Thorne’s eyes burning into me, but I don’t look.
“How do I see you?” he asks quietly.
“You think I’m a spoiled brat.” My throat constricts, but I keep talking. “You think I’m an entitled princess who came here on a whim, just because I can. Trying to mess with your life and take everything you’ve worked for—”
“Aria,” he growls. “Look at me—”
“You’re right about the spoiled brat part.
” I force myself to meet his gaze as I interrupt him, willing my tears not to spill.
“Dad was always spoiling me. He paid for my car, my vacations, my clothes. When I graduated high school, he gave me a great job at his company, which I definitely didn’t deserve. But it’s all gone now.”
Thorne’s jaw tightens. “What do you mean?”
With a shuddering breath, I let it all rush out.
How I came home to find my dad slumped on the sofa, not breathing.
The grief. The gut-wrenching letter from the bank after he passed.
Losing our home, the company, my job, and everything else Dad spent his life working for.
Thorne listens as the words tumble out of me, his expression giving nothing away.
“The only thing the bank couldn’t take was this place,” I say, clumsily wiping my tears.
“It’s all I have left. I came here because I wanted to sell my share to you.
But I…I don’t deserve it.” My heart squeezes tight, aching beneath my rib cage.
“You’ve put all this work in and made this place your own.
I’m sorry…I-I should never have come here. ”
The sobs are choking me now. My throat is thick, nose streaming as I get up from the table.
I feel so stupid for breaking down like this.
I need to get away. Hide in the bathroom until I can face Thorne.
But I’ve barely taken two steps before I hear him stand up, his hands gripping my waist from behind. He spins me around to face him.
“Aria, listen to me.” His eyes are stormy and urgent. “I’m not gonna lie to you. When you first showed up, yeah, I did think those things. I was pissed off. Couldn’t understand why a city girl with money would come out here just to claim a share of this place.”
His grip tightens on my waist.
“I didn’t know the full story,” he says. “Had no idea you’d lost everything.”
“It’s my fault for not telling you.” I force myself to breathe slowly. “I just…I didn’t want you to feel like I was guilting you into anything.”
Thorne nods, his brow creasing. “I get it. But hell, truth is, the circumstances don’t change anything. This cabin is half yours, half mine. Always was. Neither of us earned it—we inherited it—and I don’t have any more claim to this place than you do.”
“But you put in all the work—”
“My choice,” he says firmly. “Didn’t have a gun to my head.
The fact I fixed this place up doesn’t make it any less yours.
I know that. Hell, I knew it from the start.
But I was pissed off about it and took it out on you.
” He runs a hand through his russet hair, agitated.
“I’m sorry, Aria. I was an asshole. I fucked up. ”
“You had every right to be angry…”
“No, I didn’t. And I definitely didn’t have the right to take it out on you.” He lifts a hand to my face, rubbing away my tears. “I don’t think you’re a spoiled brat. Don’t want you thinking that even for a second, okay? I think you’re sweet and kind and tough as hell.”
My heart lifts, some of the tension seeping from my body. My sobs have faded into quiet sniffs and hiccups, and Thorne wipes away the last of my tears.
“Thank you,” I tell him, my voice thick. “It means a lot to hear you say that.”
“I should have said it sooner.” His eyes are still fixed on me, his fingers brushing a lock of hair behind my ear. “Still gonna call you princess, though.”
I chuckle. “As long as I can still call you caveman.”
“Deal.”