2. Jace #2
Jace looked at her.
She was tired. Embarrassed. Scared beneath the jokes.
But she was still there, sparring with him in his kitchen as if she hadn’t just blown up her entire life.
Tough woman.
Maybe she didn’t know it.
He did.
“Why’d you run the first time?” he asked.
The question erased some of the humor from her face.
Jace regretted it immediately.
“You don’t have to answer.”
“No.” She wrapped both hands around the mug again. “It’s okay.”
She took a breath.
“The first time, I was twenty-five. His name was Daniel. College boyfriend. Sweet, really. Not a bad guy. Everyone loved him. Everyone said we were perfect together because we’d been together so long.”
She looked toward the fire.
“I think I mistook history for destiny.”
Jace said nothing.
Her voice softened.
“The night before the wedding, I was sitting in the bathroom looking at this robe with ‘Mrs. Sophie Carter’ embroidered on it, and I felt like I was staring at a stranger’s name. So I called it off.”
“Good.”
Her eyes cut to his.
“Good?”
“Better than doing it after.”
She stared.
Then burst out laughing.
“True. See, that was considerate of me.”
“Practically noble.”
“I should put that in my apology texts.”
“Maybe don’t.”
She smiled, but it faded quickly.
“This time was worse.”
“Why?”
“Because I should have known better.”
Jace studied her.
“No.”
“No?”
“You did know better. That’s why you left.”
Her expression went still.
The phone buzzed again.
She flinched.
Jace had never wanted to throw a phone into a snowbank so badly in his life.
This time, the screen showed MOTHER.
Sophie squeezed her eyes shut.
“I can’t.”
“Then don’t.”
“She’ll be furious.”
“Probably.”
“You’re not supposed to agree with that.”
“Lying still isn’t my thing.”
Her lips trembled.
“She said I can’t keep doing this.”
Jace’s chest tightened.
He kept his voice steady.
“Doing what?”
“Ruining things.”
The words were small.
Too small for a woman who had just driven into a storm to save herself from the wrong life.
Jace came around the island slowly.
Sophie looked up as he stopped beside her.
“You didn’t ruin a marriage,” he said. “You stopped one that shouldn’t have happened.”
A tear slipped down her cheek.
She looked embarrassed by it.
Jace lifted his hand, then stopped.
“Can I?”
She nodded.
He brushed the tear away with his thumb.
Her skin was warm now. Soft. Her breath caught at the touch.
His did too.
Dangerous.
Sophie looked up at him with wide eyes, and every protective instinct in Jace’s body sharpened into something deeper.
Want.
Not just physical, though there was plenty of that.
He wanted to feed her. Warm her. Make her laugh again. Stand between her and every person who thought her life was something they could schedule, manage, or correct.
He had known her less than an hour.
Ridiculous.
Still true.
Her phone buzzed again.
Jace looked at it.
Preston.
Sophie whispered, “He doesn’t like being ignored.”
Jace’s jaw tightened.
“Then he’s having a bad night.”
That startled another laugh from her, watery but real.
Jace stepped back before he did something stupid, like pull her into his arms.
“You should sleep.”
She glanced toward the windows.
“I don’t think I can.”
“You’re exhausted.”
“I’m also hiding from a wedding in a stranger’s cabin.”
“Fair.”
“And I’m wearing pants that could fit two of me.”
“Also fair.”
“And there’s a bouquet next to your coffee.”
Jace looked over.
The bouquet was, in fact, still next to his coffee.
“Temporary.”
“Like me.”
He looked back at her.
The words had been light.
Her eyes were not.
Something heavy moved through his chest.
He should agree. She was temporary. Passing through. A stranded bride in a storm. By morning, the tow truck would come, the road would clear, and Sophie Lane would drive back to the world that had made her run.
That was better. Safer. Simpler.
Jace liked simple.
But the sight of her in his flannel, sitting in his kitchen with tear-bright eyes and a stubborn little smile, made simple feel grossly overrated.
He picked up the bouquet and placed it in an empty mason jar near the window.
Sophie watched him.
“What are you doing?”
“Keeping it alive.”
Her expression softened in a way that made him feel unsteady.
“It’s just flowers.”
“Still survived the crash.”
“So did I.’
His gaze met hers.
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “You did.”
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
The fire cracked in the living room.
Snow moved over the dark windows.
Sophie’s phone finally went silent.
Jace took her mug and refilled it.
Then he set it back in front of her and leaned one hip against the counter.
“House rules.”
Her eyebrows rose.
“You have rules?”
“Few.”
“Of course you do.”
“No wet boots by the fire.”
“I only have one wet boot.”
“Still counts.”
She nodded solemnly. “Understood.”
“No lying about being fine.”
Her mouth opened.
Then closed.
His gaze held hers.
“And no answering calls you don’t want to answer.”
Sophie looked down at the phone.
Then back at him.
“That last one seems less like a house rule and more like emotional terrorism prevention.”
“Can be both.”
Her smile came slow this time.
Real.
Tired.
Beautiful.
“Okay, Jace Wilder. Your cabin. Your rules.”
Something in his chest pulled tight.
Because she was wrong.
The rules had been his.
But the moment Sophie Lane walked into his cabin with one symbolic duck boot, a torn wedding dress, and a bouquet that refused to die, the place had stopped feeling like his alone.
And Jace had the unsettling feeling that if he wasn’t careful, by morning he might not want it to be.
***