5. Chapter Five
Chapter Five
Eden
S team curls in the air, misting the mirror as I slide deeper into the clawfoot tub, letting the hot water chase away the cold from the storm. My muscles relax, tension melting away with each passing second.
After the chaos of fixing the roof and that embarrassing fall, this feels like absolute heaven.
The bath smells faintly of lavender and soap—Gage's soap, I realize with a flutter in my chest. Something so masculine and earthy, yet comforting. My skin glows pink from the heat, all goosebumps finally banished.
The bathroom is rustic yet surprisingly luxurious. Dark wooden walls stretch up to exposed beams, and a vintage mirror hangs above an old antique sink.
The beautiful clawfoot tub takes up most of the space, deep enough that the water covers my shoulders. A stack of thick, fluffy towels sits on a wooden stool nearby. They're well-worn but soft, probably from years of washing.
Candles flicker on the windowsill, their warm glow reflecting off the glass panes that showcase the moody storm still passing over us outside. Rain patters against the window, creating a cozy symphony that makes me sink deeper into the water.
I stretch my legs, feeling loose, boneless, warm for the first time in hours. The water laps against the porcelain sides as I move.
"Is this the life or what?" I smile to myself, fingers trailing along the surface of the water, creating little ripples that catch the dim bathroom light.
The quiet of the mountains surrounds me as I let my eyes close. The muted rain on the roof, the distant rumble of the storm, the crackle of logs in the living room fire.
No traffic noise. No neighbor's thumping music. No urgent emails pinging on my phone.
Just... peace.
It feels right. And that thought shocks me.
I've spent years trying to fulfill a promise to a ghost, chasing a career I never wanted, living in places that never felt like home.
Yet here, in this rustic cabin with a hole in the roof and a grumpy, gorgeous man who barely speaks in proper sentences, I feel more at home than I have since Dad died.
I sink lower until the water touches my chin, trying to make sense of it.
I should be panicking right now.
My car's probably totaled, buried in snow somewhere on that mountain road. The interview I spent weeks preparing for? Gone.
And Mom—oh god, Mom's going to have an absolute meltdown when she finds out I missed it.
But as I lie here, submerged in this perfect warmth, watching shadows dance across the ceiling from the candlelight... I can't bring myself to care.
The pine scent drifting through the window mingles with Gage's soap, creating this intoxicating woodsy perfume that makes my head swim. Wind whistles through the trees outside, a wild, haunting melody that speaks to something deep inside me.
I've always been the responsible one. The planner. The girl with color-coded calendars and perfectly organized diaries.
But here? In this moment?
The world outside could disappear entirely and I wouldn't notice. That realization alone should terrify me… Instead, it settles in my chest, sitting there like it's as natural as breathing.
Maybe Dad knew something I didn't when he used to talk about these mountains. About finding yourself in the wilderness. About how sometimes you have to get lost to end up exactly where you're meant to be.
Dad's words echo in my head from this morning's conversation with Gage—about the accounting job, about playing it safe.
" Life's for living, baby girl. Not just surviving ."
The truth hits me like a wet slap across the face.
I wasn't chasing that job in Denver. I was running away. From uncertainty. From having to figure out who I really am without the safety net of expectations.
Dad always knew exactly what to say. Even now, years later, his wisdom cuts straight through my carefully constructed excuses.
God, I miss him.
Through the bathroom door, I hear Gage moving around the kitchen. The heavy thud of his boots against wooden floors. Metal scrapes and clinks as he sorts through tools, probably still fixing what the storm destroyed with his bare hands.
A soft grunt breaks the pattern—he must be lifting something heavy. The sound shoots straight through me, settling low in my belly.
I sink deeper into the water, but it doesn't help.
I've dated before. Had crushes. Thought I knew what attraction felt like.
But this? This is different.
It's not just his body—though God knows that's distracting enough.
It's his presence. The way he fills a room without saying a word. How my skin prickles when he's near, like there's electricity in the air before a storm.
He's fixing his cabin right now, but earlier? The way he jumped down that ladder when I fell? How carefully he cleaned my scrapes, those rough hands turning gentle against my skin?
Something warm unfurls in my chest. It's foreign and familiar all at once, like a song I've forgotten the words to but still know by heart.
I've always been the one taking care of others. Making sure Mom was okay after Dad died. Being the responsible one. The reliable one. The one who never needs help.
But Gage... he makes me want to lean in. Let go. Trust that those strong arms could catch me if I fall.
Would it really be so terrible? To let someone else be strong for a change? To let him be the one who—
A knock rattles the bathroom door, pulling me from my thoughts.
"Fresh clothes by the door, sunshine. You right in there?"
Sunshine.
The word hits me like warm honey, spreading through my chest and settling somewhere beneath my ribs.
I bite my lip, trying to contain the smile threatening to take over my face.
"Yeah," I call back. "I'm good, thanks."
I hear him shift his weight outside, boots creaking against the floorboards. He doesn't move away immediately, and I imagine him standing there, one hand maybe pressed against the door frame, debating whether to say something else.
My heart thuds against my ribs, and I hold my breath, waiting. Just when I think he's gone, I catch the faintest exhale from the other side.
Then his footsteps retreat down the hall, each one slower than the last, like he's forcing himself to walk away.
I could get used to this.
To his grumpy care-taking, to the way he tries to maintain distance but keeps finding excuses to check on me.
To being someone's ' sunshine ', even if he doesn't want to admit it yet.