Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
ASHER
The world outside looks like a painting.
Clean and white, as if it’s been scrubbed of every sharp edge.
The storm passed sometime during the night, leaving behind a powdery stillness that hangs in the air like a held breath.
The sky stretches wide, unbroken above the trees, a color so blue it almost feels cruel.
Pine branches bow under the weight of snow, sparkling in the cold light.
Even the birds have gone quiet, as if the forest itself is watching.
So am I.
She’s standing in the middle of the clearing, squinting up at the sun, bundled in half my closet.
Her cheeks are pink from the cold, hair tucked beneath a knit hat that’s too big for her, and her gloved hands are wrapped around the handle of an axe like it might bite.
She shifts her weight awkwardly from one foot to the other, planted in snow up to her shins.
Everything about her is wrong for this. Too soft, fragile, and way too fucking beautiful, to be out here chopping wood.
Yet in typical Sloan fashion, my sweet doe is out here trying anyway.
My chest tightens.
“You’re doing it wrong,” I call as I lean against a tree, arms crossed, watching the way her boots slip on the packed snow.
She turns just enough to glare over her shoulder. “I’m literally just standing here.”
“Yeah. Like Bambi on a frozen lake.”
She rolls her eyes, and I grin. That spark in her is back. The one I thought I’d lost when the fever nearly took her. I push off the tree and start toward her, trudging through snow that sucks at my legs like wet cement.
“Feet shoulder-width apart. Hips squared. Hands lower down on the handle. You’re too stiff.”
“If you mansplain firewood one more time, I’m going to bury this axe in your shin.”
I stop behind her, close enough to feel the heat radiating from her body even through all those layers. My hands settle on her hips without asking. She doesn’t flinch this time. Just mutters something under her breath that might be a curse.
“I’m not mansplaining,” I murmur, lowering one hand to guide her grip. “I’m teaching you.”
She barks out a laugh. Short and surprised. It punches warmth straight through my chest. I’d kill to hear that sound every day for the rest of my life.
“Now swing.”
She exhales hard, then raises the axe over her shoulder and brings it down in a crooked arc. The blade glances off the edge of the log and bounces, barely making a dent.
I wince. “That was... ambitious.”
She huffs and glares at the log like it personally insulted her. “Your wood sucks.”
“You’re gonna bruise if you keep manhandling my wood like that.”
She turns and gives me a look that’s half amused, half exasperated. “You’re the worst.”
“Maybe, but I think you kinda like it.”
She doesn’t deny it. Instead, she nudges her face against the scarf I wrapped around her neck this morning, eyes half-lidded, lips parted with cold.
“Again?” she asks.
I step back to give her room, adjusting the log for a cleaner cut.
She sets her stance again, biting her bottom lip, tongue flicking out briefly as she concentrates.
Her arms lift, tight with tension, and this time the axe sinks halfway through with a satisfying crunch. She gasps like she surprised herself.
“Hell yes,” I say.
She spins to face me, face flushed with pride, breath fogging between us. “Did you see that?”
“Really? I thought you knew by now that when it comes to you, baby, I see everything.” I reach for her, hand grazing the curve of her waist through the coat. “You looked good doing it, too.”
She laughs again, eyes lighting. And for a moment, there’s nothing else in the world but her face, her breath, the way her smile slowly curls, full of trouble and fire.
This is what I always wanted.
Not a clean slate. Not a second chance. Just this.
Her. A reason to come back from the dark every time it starts to pull.
A voice in the quiet. A body beside mine.
Something real enough to hold onto. She chops a few more pieces, each swing a little better than the last, and I start stacking them off to the side.
My fingers are numb and my legs ache from the cold, but I don’t care.
Because she’s still swinging, and for once, she’s laughing. Genuinely fucking laughing.
When she finally drops the axe, arms limp, she staggers toward me like a drunk and lets herself collapse into my side. I wrap an arm around her shoulders and kiss the top of her head.
“Okay,” she pants. “I’m never doing that again.”
“You say that now. But it’s not so bad actually. Helps when you’re angry, or frustrated.” I grin and brush snow off her shoulder. “You did good though for your first time. Better than I expected, honestly.”
“Gee, thanks. High praise from the mountain psycho.”
I lean closer, lips brushing her ear. “Say that again when I have you bent over the chopping block later.”
She makes a wounded noise. “You’re insufferable.”
“You’re turned on.”
She groans. “God help me.”
We head back toward the cabin, boots crunching through the snow, smoke curling from the chimney.
Everything around us feels like it was carved out of a dream.
Untouched. Ours. When I open the door, warmth floods around us.
She peels off her gloves and coat, letting them fall in a heap.
Her cheeks are still flushed. Her nose red, but fuck does she look like she belongs here.
Like I imagined her long before she ever walked into my life. Or was dragged,I guess.
I unload the wood by the hearth while she fills the kettle.
Her fingers shake a little as she lights the stove, but she doesn’t ask for help.
I watch her move, small and steady. It hits me differently now.
I’ve always known her—long before she ever stepped foot inside this cabin.
I knew the way she took her tea, the titles of the books she read when she couldn’t sleep, the shape of her silhouette when she thought no one was watching.
I memorized the curve of her smile from across crowded rooms. Traced her life through shadows and screen light.
I knew her laugh before I ever earned it.
Knew her tears before I ever dried them.
But now, I know what it feels like to deserve it.
To have her hand brush mine without flinching. To watch her move through a space that was once only mine and see the pieces of her woven into everything.
She brings me my mug, fingers brushing mine. I take it without looking away from her. Not because I’m still trying to figure her out—but because for the first time, she’s letting me in on what I already knew. Letting me hold and keep it.
Letting me have her.
“What are you thinking about?” she asks.
“Alaska.” I lie.
She blinks. “That’s random.”
“I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately.” Not a lie. “Somewhere deep enough that no one would ever find us. Somewhere quiet. With nothing but trees and snow and time.”
She sips her tea, watching me over the rim. Her voice is lighter when she asks, “Would I have Wi-Fi?”
I chuckle. “Depends how good you are.”
She hums low in her throat, then sets the mug down and nudges herself into my side.
Her body fits against mine like she’s always belonged there.
Her fingers find mine and they tangle loosely.
Her breath slows. I press a kiss to her temple, letting my lips linger, inhaling the clean, familiar scent of her skin and the faint woodsmoke curling in her sweater.
The scent is comforting now. Home. A need to protect her claws deep in my chest and refuses to let go.
We sit like that for a while. No words. Just the sound of the fire and the wind outside. Just the steady beat of her heart against me.
“I’ve been thinking,” I murmur finally, voice low, thick. “If we ever did go north… I’d build everything from scratch. Better than this place. Stronger. Bigger. Solar panels, water tanks, a proper greenhouse. A real workshop.”
She doesn’t pull away or make a joke yet. Just rests her head against my shoulder and whispers, “I want a window seat.”
That catches me off guard. “Yeah?”
“With a cushion. Big enough to curl up with a book and tea and ignore you completely.”
I laugh under my breath. “You’d ignore me?”
“Oh, absolutely. You’d be chopping wood shirtless in the yard, and I’d be up in my reading nook pretending not to notice. But I’d notice.”
I grin. “I’ll make the cushion extra wide. So I can join you.”
Her fingers trace slow patterns across my knuckles. “You’d just distract me.”
“That’s the plan.”
She turns her face into my neck, breath warm against my skin. “Can I have a bathtub?”
“I’ll build you the biggest one I can find. Deep enough to drown in.”
“Romantic,” she teases, and I can hear the smile in her voice.
“I’d hold you under and kiss you while the water stole your breath,” I mutter against her hair, deadpan, and she smacks my chest with a laugh.
“You’re not allowed near the bathroom plans.”
“No promises.”
She exhales a soft, pleased sound. I can feel it more than hear it. Her next words are quieter. “I want a garden, too. Not just for vegetables. Flowers. Big, colorful ones. I want to paint the fence stupid colors and hang wind chimes that drive you crazy.”
“You’re already driving me crazy.”
“Then it’s working.”
I shift beside her, brushing her hair behind her ear, studying her like I’m trying to memorize her face all over again. “You’d stay?”
She meets my gaze. “If you build the tub, without drowning me in it, and the window seat…I’ll consider it.”
I trace my thumb over the curve of her cheek. “Done.”
“And I want a cat.”
I blink. “A cat?”
“A fat one. With attitude. I’ll name him Chainsaw.”
“You can’t name a cat Chainsaw.”
She turns to face me fully, eyebrows raised, eyes locked on mine like I’ve just grown a second head. “You named me after a fucking prey animal,” she says slowly, voice dripping with disbelief, “but you get hard every time I bite back? Are you actually serious right now?”
“Touché.” I chuckle.
Her mouth curls into that grin that makes my chest ache. The one she doesn’t try to hide anymore. The one she only gives me.
I slide my hand over her thigh, palm hot through the fabric of her leggings, my fingers slipping just beneath her oversized sweater. She watches me, lashes low, pupils blown wide. Her breath shudders, but she doesn’t pull back.
“Is this your way of bribing me into running away to the middle of nowhere?” she asks, voice teasing but her eyes already half-lidded.
“No.” I lean in, my lips brushing her jaw. “This is my way of showing you what your life could feel like if you let it.”
She hums again, but this time it’s deeper. Throatier. Then she kisses me—slow and warm, her lips pressing into mine like a promise.
When I guide her back into the cushions, she follows without resistance. Her body fits against mine like she belongs there—because she does. We don’t strip. We don’t rush. This isn’t about lust. It’s about anchoring her to me. Keeping her exactly where I want her. Right fucking here.
Her fingers clutch the front of my shirt like she needs something to hold onto.
My hand stays under her sweater, palm splayed against the warm skin of her waist, dragging slow and deliberate over every inch I’ve claimed.
I want her to feel it. To know she’s mine down to the bone.
Mine to touch. Mine to keep. Mine to fucking ruin, if I have to—just to rebuild her in my image.
She sighs into my mouth.
Soft and trusting.
“I think I want chickens,” she whispers against my lips.
I blink.
“Real ones. Not decorative. With names. Ones I can talk to when you piss me off.”
“Then I’m naming the rooster after your Alex. He always was a giant fucking cock.”
She snorts. “He’ll get eaten first.”
“Fitting.”
We kiss again. Slower this time. Her hands grip tighter. Mine roam freer. The fire crackles low beside us. Outside, the world stays silent. Snow falls in flakes so soft they disappear when they hit the windowpane. There’s no threat here. No eyes. No doors waiting to be kicked in.
There’s just this.
Her body against mine.
Our breath shared between mouths and the heat of this cabin, finally feeling like something we both want to stay in.
For the first time, we’re not fighting the storm.
We’re in it.
Together.