2. Jace
Jace Wilder had lived alone long enough to know exactly what belonged in his cabin.
Firewood stacked by the hearth.
Boots lined neatly near the door.
Coffee tin beside the stove.
One battered leather chair angled toward the fireplace.
Everything in its proper place.
Silence.
Silence especially belonged in his cabin.
What did not belong was a runaway bride standing in his entryway wearing one purple duck boot, one satin bridal heel, and a torn wedding dress large enough to qualify as its own weather radar.
Sophie Lane looked around his cabin with wide eyes and snow melting in her hair.
Then she clutched the bouquet to her chest and said, “This is very cabin.”
Jace shut the door behind them.
“Usually.”
She turned toward him. “Usually?”
“Usually there’s less wedding.”
Her mouth opened.
Then she laughed.
Not the shaky, half-panicked laugh from the roadside. This one was softer. Warmer. Like it had surprised her on the way out.
Jace felt that sound land somewhere inconvenient.
He ignored it.
Mostly.
The cabin was warm from the fire he’d left banked before heading into town. Orange light flickered over the log walls, the handmade shelves, the wool blanket thrown over the couch. Snow tapped against the windows, but inside, the air smelled like cedar, smoke and coffee.
Sophie stood in the middle of all that quiet like chaos wrapped in lace.
Her dress was wet at the hem, muddy near one side, and ripped where it had caught on her car. A few curls had escaped her elegant bridal updo. Her makeup was smudged under one eye, and her cheeks were pink from cold and embarrassment.
She looked like trouble in a wedding dress.
Soft, funny, trembling trouble.
Jace’s hands curled once at his sides.
He was not a man who collected trouble.
He had built a good life by avoiding it.
“You need dry clothes,” he said.
Sophie glanced down at herself.
“I was afraid you’d say that.”
“You want to stay in the dress?”
“No. But taking this off requires either three bridesmaids, a detailed instruction manual, or possibly a small engineering team.”
Jace’s gaze moved over the line of tiny buttons running down her back before he could stop himself.
He looked away immediately.
“Bathroom’s down the hall. I’ll get something for you to wear.”
“Thank you.” She paused, then lifted the bouquet. “Where should I put this? Do you have a designated area for emotionally significant floral evidence?”
“Kitchen counter.”
“Casual. I like it.”
She carried the bouquet into the kitchen and set it down beside his coffee tin, where it looked ridiculous and delicate and completely out of place.
Jace stared at it for one second too long.
Then he went to the hall closet.
He found an old flannel shirt, a pair of drawstring sweatpants, and thick wool socks. None of it would fit her properly, but it would be warm.
When he returned, Sophie was standing near the fireplace, holding her hands toward the heat. She had lost the bridal heel somewhere near the front door and now stood in one purple boot and one bare foot.
Jace looked down.
“You lose shoes often?”
“Not as a lifestyle.”
“Today’s special?”
“Today has had many specials.”
He handed her the clothes.
Her fingers brushed his.
A small contact.
Nothing.
It should have been nothing.
Instead, awareness moved through him sharp and immediate.
Sophie felt it too. He saw it in the way her eyes lifted quickly to his, the brief catch in her breath.
Then her phone started buzzing from somewhere inside the dress.
The moment broke.
She sighed.
“That thing is going to haunt me.”
“You want me to find it?”
She looked down at the layers of fabric.
“That depends. Are you certified in bridal excavation?”
“No.”
“Then we risk losing you.”
Jace almost smiled.
Almost.
Sophie noticed.
Her expression brightened, despite the exhaustion in her face.
“Oh. There it was.”
“What?”
“Almost a smile.”
“Wasn’t.”
“It absolutely was.”
“You’re cold and distressed. Your judgment’s unreliable.”
“My judgment has been questioned a lot today, but I stand by this one.”
The phone buzzed again.
Sophie winced.
Jace’s amusement faded.
“Bathroom,” he said. “Change. Warm up. We’ll deal with the phone after.”
She looked relieved enough to make something in his chest tighten.
“Okay.”
She walked toward the hallway, dragging the dress behind her like defeated royalty.
Halfway there, she stopped and looked over her shoulder.
“If I don’t come out in ten minutes, assume the buttons won.”
“I’ll bring tools.”
“That is either comforting or terrifying.”
“Both can be true.”
Her smile was small but real.
Then she disappeared into the bathroom and closed the door.
Jace stood in his living room, listening to the muffled rustle of fabric, the wind outside, the fire popping in the hearth.
His cabin had never felt smaller.
Or less empty.
He went to the kitchen because motion was useful and thinking was not. He filled the kettle, set it on the stove, and pulled out a mug. Then a second mug.
He stared at the second mug.
When was the last time he’d made tea for a woman?
Too long ago to matter.
Long enough that the answer felt like something from another life. A distant memory.
Jace Wilder did not dislike people. He worked with them all the time.
Fixed cabins. Repaired porches. Hauled lumber.
Managed a handful of rental properties outside Maple Peak.
He nodded to folks at the hardware store, bought coffee at the diner, shoveled his elderly neighbor’s steps without mentioning it.
But people in his cabin?
No.
This place was his.
His quiet.
His order.
His proof that a man could build something sturdy enough not to leave him.
Then Sophie Lane appeared tonight, in a snowbank, wearing a wedding dress and one duck boot, and now there was a bouquet on his kitchen counter.
The bathroom door opened.
Jace turned.
And forgot what he had been thinking.
Sophie stood in the hallway wearing his red-and-black flannel, the sleeves rolled several times and still falling over her hands. The sweatpants pooled at her feet, cinched tight at the waist, and the wool socks swallowed her ankles.
Her hair was down now, loose curls falling around her face. Without the dress, without the veil, without the bridal armor, she looked smaller.
Not weak.
Just real.
Soft.
Tired.
Beautiful in a way that hit him harder than the gown had.
She lifted both arms slightly.
“I look like a very confused lumberjack.”
Jace’s throat worked.
“You looked warm.”
“That was extremely diplomatic.”
“Best I could do.”
Her gaze moved over his face, and for one quiet second, the humor between them shifted.
Jace felt the pull.
He did not move toward it.
The kettle whistled.
Good.
He turned to the stove.
“Tea.”
“Thank you.”
She came into the kitchen and sat carefully on one of the stools at the island.
The phone buzzed again from the mound of wedding dress now draped over his bathroom hamper.
Sophie closed her eyes.
Jace set a mug in front of her.
“Drink first.’
“That sounds like an order.”
“It is.”
She looked at him over the mug.
“I just ran from a man who gave a lot of orders.”
Jace went still.
Not because her tone was sharp, but because it wasn’t. It was quiet – almost careful. He leaned in his hands on the counter, keeping space between them.
“Then call it a suggestion.”
Her face softened.
“I’m sorry. That wasn’t fair.”
“Sounded honest.”
She stared into the tea.
“Honest has not been my strongest skill lately.”
“You ran from a wedding in a snowstorm. Seems honest enough.”
A laugh escaped her, but her eyes shone.
“That is a generous interpretation.”
“I’m not generous.”
“No?”
“No. Just don’t see the point in marrying a man you have to outrun.”
She looked up.
The words landed. He saw them land.
Her fingers tightened around the mug.
Outside, snow struck the windows in cold white bursts.
Inside, Sophie swallowed her tea.
“That’s the simplest anyone has made it sound.”
“Maybe it is simple.”
“It doesn’t feel simple.”
“No. But the truth usually is. Getting there’s the mess.”
She looked down at the flannel sleeves covering her hands.
“I left everyone there. My mother. My friends. Guests. Preston.” She winced. “The photographer. Oh God, the photographer probably got pictures.”
“Probably.”
Her eyes widened.
“That was not comforting.”
“You want me to lie?”
“A little.”
“Then no. No pictures were taken. The photographer was blind.”
She huffed a laugh into the tea.
Jace felt it again. That inconvenient tug in his chest.
He crossed to the hallway and retrieved her phone from the dress. It took some work. The thing was buried in a hidden pocket under enough fabric to upholster a couch.
By the time he returned, it was buzzing again.
The screen lit up.
PRESTON.
Sophie went pale.
Jace set the phone face down on the counter.
‘You don’t have to answer.”
“I know.”
But she stared at it like the thing had teeth.
Jace stayed still.
He knew fear when he saw it. Not the sharp fear of being physically unsafe. Something older. Smaller. The fear of disappointing people until they decided you were selfish for wanting air.
The phone stopped.
Then buzzed with a voicemail notification.
Sophie reached for it, hesitated, then pulled back.
“I should listen.”
“Why?”
“Because I owe him–” She stopped.
Jace waited.
Her mouth twisted.
“I don’t know. Something.”
“You owe yourself heat, tea and a good night’s sleep.”
She blinked at him.
“That is a very specific debt structure.”
“Interest compounds in snowstorms.”
Another laugh.
He was getting addicted to those.
Bad sign.
Very bad sign.
She set the tea down.
“This is the second wedding I’ve run from.”
“I heard.”
“Right. I announced that at your door. Very sensible of me.”
“Not the strangest thing I’ve seen.”
Sophie narrowed her eyes.
“Now I need to know the strangest thing.”
“No.”
“That means it’s good.”
“It means no.”
“Fine. Keep your mysterious mountain secrets.”
His mouth almost moved.
She pointed. “Again. Almost.”
“You’re imagining things.”
“I am wearing your flannel after fleeing a wedding and being rescued by a man named Jace Wilder. I am absolutely imagining things, but that smile was real.”