Chapter 3 #2
The bathroom is small and clean and smells like cedar. I shut the door and stare at my reflection in the mirror.
My cheeks are flushed. My eyes look too bright.
I hold the flannel up.
The thing is, it’s a good shirt. Soft. Thick. The kind of flannel that would swallow me whole and make me feel small in a way that isn’t entirely unpleasant.
I pull my hoodie off, then pause, hand on my bra strap, because now I’m standing in a stranger’s bathroom in a mountain cabin, and the stranger is Wyatt Cooper, and he’s outside the door with the kind of voice that makes my knees weak.
I mutter, “Get it together,” then shove my arms into the flannel.
It slides over my skin like a claim. It smells like smoke and soap and him. It hits mid-thigh. The sleeves hang past my wrists.
I look ridiculous.
I look like I belong to him.
My stomach flips.
I open the door and step back into the cabin.
Wyatt’s gaze snaps to me and holds. Hard.
For a second, he doesn’t speak.
His eyes drag down my body in that flannel like he’s imagining his hands on my thighs, his mouth on my neck, his teeth on the pulse that’s hammering there.
Then he lifts his gaze to mine and says, quiet and rough, “Fuck.”
Heat rushes through me so fast it’s dizzying. I plant my feet. “It’s just a shirt.”
“It’s my shirt,” he corrects.
I roll my eyes because if I don’t, I’ll melt. “Congratulations.”
Wyatt steps closer. “Turn around.”
I blink. “No.”
“Ellie.”
The way he says my name makes it feel like an order.
I cross my arms. “Why?”
His eyes flick to my crossed arms. “Because I want to see what it looks like on you.”
“That’s not a reason.”
“It’s the only reason you need.”
I glare, but I turn anyway because my body is a traitor and because some part of me wants to see how far he’ll push.
I feel his presence behind me, close but not touching. I can feel the heat of him like a second skin.
“Too long,” I say, voice strained. “Too big.”
Wyatt’s voice rumbles behind me. “Perfect.”
I whip around. “That’s not what perfect means.”
His mouth tilts. “It does when it’s on you.”
My breath catches again.
I hate this. I hate how fast my composure is evaporating. I hate how he stands there like he owns the air in the room.
“You’re supposed to be protecting me,” I say, trying to anchor myself.
“I am,” he says.
“And this is… protection?” I gesture between us.
Wyatt’s gaze darkens. “This is me having self-control.”
A knock hits the door.
Hard.
Both of us freeze.
Wyatt’s head turns first, instincts snapping into place. His whole body shifts, going still and lethal in a way that makes my skin prickle.
He holds a finger up at me—silent, commanding—then moves toward the front door.
I stay where I am, heart thudding, the flannel suddenly not cozy at all.
Wyatt opens the door a crack.
Cold air spills in along with two familiar voices.
“Routine check,” a man says—calm, official.
“Wyatt,” a woman adds, amused. “Please tell me you didn’t finally murder someone.”
Wyatt opens the door wider.
Ethan stands there in a ranger jacket, tall and composed, eyes scanning the cabin with practiced calm. Beside him is Maddie—blonde hair tucked under a beanie, smile sharp, gaze already locked on me.
Her eyes flick down the flannel.
Then back up to my face.
Maddie’s mouth quirks. “So… you’re doing mail-order brides now?”
I feel my face ignite.
Wyatt doesn’t even flinch. “Routine check?” he asks, voice flat.
Ethan nods once. “Backcountry cabins. Just making sure everything’s good. Storm’s coming.”
Maddie steps inside without waiting to be invited, the way women do when they’ve decided the rules don’t apply to them. She circles me once like I’m a display at a market, then stops and looks at Wyatt.
“You’re in trouble,” she says calmly.
Wyatt’s eyes narrow. “Why?”
“Because she’s wearing your shirt,” Maddie says, like she’s delivering a weather report, “and she looks like she wants to bite you.”
I choke. “I do not.”
Maddie’s gaze slides to mine. “You do.”
Wyatt’s mouth twitches like he’s fighting a smile. “She needed clothes.”
“Uh-huh,” Maddie says. “And the mail-order bride ad?”
My pulse spikes. I glare at Wyatt. “You didn’t tell them?”
“I didn’t tell anyone,” Wyatt says.
Ethan’s eyes sharpen. “Mail-order bride ad?”
Wyatt’s gaze stays steady. “Drop it.”
Ethan’s jaw flexes. Then he nods once like a man who understands when something is a security issue.
Maddie, however, is not a man.
She looks at me. “You okay?”
I force my chin up. “Define okay.”
Maddie’s eyes soften just a fraction. “Got it.”
Ethan turns toward the window, scanning the treeline. “Wyatt. Can I see around the property line?”
Wyatt nods, already moving. “Yeah.”
They head outside together, leaving Maddie in the cabin with me.
Maddie looks me up and down again, then sighs. “You’re really doing this.”
“I’m not doing anything,” I snap. “I’m just—temporarily… here.”
“Temporarily,” Maddie repeats, gaze sliding toward the door Wyatt exited through. “Sure.”
I open my mouth to argue.
A crunch of boots on snow outside.
Then Ethan’s voice—tight, alert.
“Wyatt.”
My stomach drops.
Wyatt’s voice answers, instantly sharp. “What?”
Ethan says, “These prints aren’t yours. And they’re not Ellie’s.”
My blood turns cold.
Maddie’s gaze snaps to mine, all humor gone.
Outside, Wyatt’s voice goes quiet and dangerous. “Where?”
Ethan answers, “Circling the cabin. Like someone’s been watching.”
And behind Maddie, the front door clicks—Wyatt stepping back inside with a look on his face I’ve never seen before.
Not irritation. Not control.
Something else.
Something that says the rules just changed.