Chapter 6
Lexie
It’s after lunch the next day when the storm finally breaks.
Not all at once. Just slowly enough that I do not notice at first, too busy sitting at the tiny table by the window, staring down at my laptop and trying to process the fact that my whole life seems to have changed in less than forty-eight hours.
Outside, the world has gone bright and white and dripping. Snow still clings to the trees, but the sky has cleared to a pale blue, and sunlight glints off everything like the mountain decided to show off after trapping us inside.
Weston noticed the road first.
He stood by the window for a long second, looking out, then turned back to me with that steady, unreadable expression that does ridiculous things to my pulse.
“I’ve got to check on a few things,” he said. “Some deliveries. Make sure nobody’s got storm damage.”
I tried not to look too disappointed.
Failed, probably.
Because his whole face softened, and he came over, cupped the back of my neck, and kissed me with the kind of hunger that made leaving me for a couple of hours seem like a personal offense.
“I’m coming back,” he murmured against my mouth.
Which was a very unfair thing to say to a woman already half in love with him.
So now he is gone.
And I am still sitting at the tiny table by the window, staring at the blinking cursor on my laptop and trying to decide whether starting a blog because a rugged mountain man told me to believe in myself is romantic or insane.
Probably both.
I have a title doc open.
Lovestone Ridge.
Under that, I have written exactly three lines before deleting all of them.
Apparently it is easier to announce a life change to the universe than it is to write the first sentence.
My phone buzzes beside me.
I glance down and smile before I can help it.
Weston: Roads are clear enough. You behaving?
A laugh slips out of me.
Me: Define behaving.
The typing bubble appears almost immediately.
Weston: Trouble.
Warmth spreads through me.
Me: I’m trying to write.
Weston: Good. Proud of you.
And there it is again.
That simple, impossible support that still feels unfamiliar enough to make my chest ache.
Before I can answer, there is a knock at the door.
I blink.
Weston would not knock.
Maybe it is one of the town ladies. The matchmaking committee, or whatever version of it this place has. Maybe someone is bringing pie. Or storm leftovers. Or unsolicited relationship advice. Maybe they want to congratulate me for finally taming their grumpiest lumberjack.
The thought makes me grin as I stand and cross the cabin.
Then I open the door.
And my whole body goes cold.
Darren stands on the porch.
For one stunned second, I just stare at him.
He looks exactly the same. Hair stiff with too much gel. Expensive sneakers he did not pay for himself. That practiced expression he always wears when he wants something.
My stomach turns.
“Lex,” he says, like this is normal. Like showing up at a mountain cabin hundreds of miles away is a perfectly reasonable thing to do.
I grip the door harder. “What are you doing here?”
He glances past me into the cabin like he belongs near any part of my life. “Can I come in?”
“No.”
His face tightens. “Lexie, come on.”
“No,” I repeat, sharper this time. “What are you doing here?”
He exhales like I am being difficult. “I saw your post on social media.”
Of course he did.
The stupid picture I put on my story this morning. Just the mountains and my tea and a caption about snowed-in inspiration. Apparently enough for Darren to start asking questions or stalking around until he found me.
“I made a mistake,” he says. “I know that.”
I almost laugh.
Almost.
“A mistake?”
“Yeah.” He runs a hand through his hair. “I was stressed. You were stressed. Things got ugly.”
Things got ugly.
Like he did not tell me I should be grateful he wanted me at all.
Like he did not drain my savings and then dump me the second I stopped being useful.
“You don’t get to rewrite this,” I say quietly.
His jaw shifts. “I’m not rewriting it. I’m trying to fix it.”
“No,” I say. “You’re trying to fix what’s convenient for you.”
His expression changes for half a second, and that is all I need.
Because there it is.
Not regret.
Calculation.
Before I can call him on it, my phone rings on the table behind me.
Darren’s eyes flick toward the sound.
Mine do too.
Unknown number.
Normally I would let it go to voicemail.
Something in my gut says not to.
“Stay there,” I snap, and his face hardens at the order, which honestly improves my mood a little.
I snatch up the phone and answer. “Hello?”
“Lexie? This is Nina.”
My whole spine goes rigid.
Nina. My former boss.
I turn partly away from the door, pulse kicking hard. “Hi.”
There is a pause on the other end. Then, “I owe you an apology.”
I close my eyes.
Oh.
“Nina...”
“No, let me finish.” Her voice is tight, professional, embarrassed. “We completed the internal review this morning. The publishing error wasn’t yours. The file was altered after it left your queue. You were blamed for something that was not your fault.”
For one second, the room sways.
I grip the edge of the table.
Behind me, Darren is still standing on my porch.
Listening.
“We’d like to reinstate you,” Nina says. “Immediately, if you’re willing. Full back pay for the missed time, obviously. And Lexie... I’m sorry.”
I laugh once, short and disbelieving, because if I do not, I might cry.
“Okay,” I say, voice thin. “Thank you for telling me.”
We end the call two minutes later.
I lower the phone slowly.
And then I understand.
Every piece of it.
I turn back toward the door.
Darren is watching me too carefully now. Too intently.
Like he is waiting.
Like he already knows.
The disgust that rolls through me is so sharp it almost makes me dizzy.
“You found out, didn’t you?” I say.
His brows draw together in a bad attempt at innocence. “Found out what?”
“That I got the job back.”
He says nothing.
That says plenty.
I stare at him.
And suddenly I am not hurt anymore.
I am just done.
“You didn’t come here because you missed me,” I say. “You came here because you thought I was useful again.”
“Lexie, that’s not fair.”
I laugh in his face.
Fair.
That word, from him.
“You used me,” I say, stepping closer now, anger burning hot and clean through my veins. “You took my money, insulted my body, dumped me when you thought I had nothing left to give you, and now you show up the second you think there’s something in it for you again?”
His mouth tightens. “I said I made a mistake.”
“No,” I snap. “You showed me exactly who you are.”
The look in his eyes goes mean then, the mask finally slipping.
“Seriously?” he says. “You can’t do better than me.”
The words have barely left his mouth when a truck door slams outside.
Darren’s head jerks toward the sound.
Mine does too.
Relief hits me so hard it feels like laughter.
A second later Weston comes up the porch steps.
He takes in the scene in one sweep. Me. Darren. My face. Darren’s too-close posture near my door.
And everything in him changes.
He goes still.
Cold.
Dangerous.
“Problem?” he asks, voice flat as a blade.
Darren straightens, trying for swagger and missing by a mile. “I’m talking to my girlfriend.”
Weston’s gaze cuts to him.
Then to me.
I do not hesitate.
“No, you’re not.”
Something dark settles in Weston’s expression. Final.
He steps up beside me, close enough that his shoulder nearly brushes mine, and the difference between the two men is so absurd it would be funny if it were not so satisfying.
“You’re talking to my woman.”
Darren notices it too.
“Lex,” he says, trying again, “come on. You can’t be serious. He’s joking, right? It’s not true.”
I look him dead in the eye.
“It is.”
His face blanks.
I reach for Weston’s hand.
His fingers close around mine instantly.
And that, more than anything, seems to land the blow.
“I’m staying,” I say. “Here. With him.”
Darren actually scoffs. “You’ve known him for, what, a day? Two days?”
Weston steps forward then, putting just enough weight into the movement that Darren takes a step back before he can stop himself.
Good.
Weston’s voice stays quiet.
“You need to leave.”
Something primal and deeply feminine in me thrills at that.
Darren tries to recover. “Or what?”
Weston looks at him for a long second.
Then says, very calmly, “Or you can find out how patient I’m not.”
Silence drops over the porch.
Even Darren is not stupid enough to miss the promise in that.
His gaze flicks from Weston to me and back again, calculating. Angry. Embarrassed.
Then he sneers because men like him always do when they are losing.
“This is insane,” he mutters.
“No,” I say. “This is over.”
His nostrils flare.
But then he turns and heads down the steps, shoulders tight with temper.
I watch him get into his car.
Watch him drive away.
Only when he disappears down the road do I realize how hard my heart is pounding.
Weston turns to me immediately. “You okay?”
And maybe I should laugh at how often he asks me that.
Maybe I will, later.
Right now I just nod and throw myself at him.
He catches me without effort.
His arms wrap around me hard and sure, and I bury my face against his chest and breathe him in.
Gone is all I can think.
Gone.
He presses a kiss into my hair. “He touch you?”
I shake my head.
“Good.”
The word is rough. Dangerous.
I lean back enough to look at him. “I got the job back.”
His brows lift.
I laugh, half dazed, half wild with it. “It wasn’t my fault. They called. They apologized. They want me back.”
Weston’s hand slides to the back of my neck. “You taking it?”
I look past him into the bright white world, then back at the cabin.
At him.
At the life that suddenly does not feel impossible anymore.
“No,” I say softly.
His eyes darken.
“No?”
I smile.
“I think I’m going to build something better.”