3. Sophie #2
“I’m trying,” she said.
Jace nodded.
“Good.”
Sophie studied him across the island.
“You are surprisingly good at this.”
“At what?”
“Not rescuing me in an obnoxious way.”
His expression turned dry.
“I’ll try not to let it go to my head.”
“No, I mean it.” She leaned forward slightly. “Most people either panic around emotional mess or try to sweep it up before asking what broke. You just… sit there.”
“Been told I’m stubborn furniture.”
That laugh came easier.
“Who told you that?”
“Old neighbor.”
“Were they right?”
“Usually.”
“I like stubborn furniture.”
The words slipped out before she could stop them.
Jace’s eyes warmed.
Not much, but just enough to shift the air.
Sophie became aware of the low firelight, the snow outside, the warmth of his flannel against her skin. The fact that Jace’s forearms were strong and dusted with dark hair. The fact that his hands were rough and capable and had touched her face so gently she still felt it.
Dangerous.
Extremely dangerous.
She had run from a wedding that afternoon.
She had no business noticing the man’s hands.
And yet. There she was.
Jace’s gaze dropped briefly to her mouth.
Her breath caught.
Then he looked away and stood.
“Dishes.”
Sophie blinked.
“Dishes?”
“Yeah.”
“Did you just flee into chores?”
He took her bowl.
“No.”
“You absolutely did.”
“You’re imagining things again.”
“Jace Wilder, you are a large, bearded retreat into domestic labor.”
He paused at the sink.
Then, to her deep satisfaction, he laughed.
Not a huff.
Not an almost-smile.
A real laugh.
Low.
Rough.
Short, but real.
Sophie’s heart did something entirely unhelpful.
“Oh,” she said softly.
Jace went still with his back to her.
“What?”
“You laughed.”
“No.”
“You did.”
“Didn’t.”
“That was not an involuntary cough. That was joy with a beard.”
He turned, and there it was again. That tiny warmth at the corner of his mouth.
“You always talk this much?”
“When nervous.”
“You nervous?”
She should have said no.
She should have joked.
Instead, she looked at him and said, “A little.”
The humor faded.
Jace dried his hands slowly on a towel.
“Because of me?”
“Yes.”
His expression shuttered.
Not cold.
Careful.
Sophie realized immediately what he was thinking.
She stood, the too-long sweatpants dragging under her borrowed socks.
“Not in a bad way.”
“Sophie.”
“No, listen. I’ve had enough men decide what I’m feeling today.
Possibly this decade.” She stepped closer, stopping on the opposite side of the island.
“You make me nervous because I’m attracted to you, and that seems wildly inconvenient considering I arrived in your life dressed as a cautionary tale. ”
His eyes darkened.
“Sophie.”
“There’s that voice again.”
“What voice?”
“The one that sounds like you’re about to tell me I’m vulnerable.”
“You are.”
“Yes. And I am also observant, fed, hydrated, and apparently fond of stubborn furniture.”
He gripped the edge of the counter.
“You ran from a wedding today.”
“I remember. There was music.”
“You’re upset.”
“I am.”
“You’re confused.”
“Less than you think.”
His jaw flexed.
The attraction between them was no longer subtle.
It stood in the kitchen with them, warm and undeniable.
Sophie’s heart beat faster, but beneath the nerves was something steadier.
Choice.
No one had nudged her into this moment. No one had arranged it, approved it, scheduled it, or chosen the color palette.
It was just her.
Jace.
Snow.
Firelight.
And the first man in years who made her feel more like herself instead of less.
She rounded the island slowly.
Jace did not move.
When she stopped in front of him, he looked down at her like she was both temptation and trouble.
Fair.
She was definitely at least one of those things.
“I don’t need you to do anything,” she said quietly.
His gaze searched hers.
“What do you need?”
The question nearly undid her.
Not what do you owe?
Not what will people think?
Not how do we fix this?
What do you need?
Sophie’s voice softened.
“I need to know I’m not crazy for wanting a life that feels like mine.”
Jace’s expression changed.
He lifted a hand and brushed a loose curl from her cheek.
His touch was careful.
Almost too careful.
“You’re not crazy.”
Tears stung again.
This was becoming inconveniently frequent.
“I don’t think I’m afraid of marriage,” she whispered. “I think I’m afraid of disappearing.”
Jace’s thumb stilled against her cheek.
The fire cracked behind them.
Outside, the storm pressed close.
Inside, everything narrowed to the space between them.
“You won’t disappear here,” he said.
Her breath caught.
The words sounded too much like a promise.
Too much like something she wanted.
Her gaze dropped to his mouth.
Jace went very still.
“Sophie.”
This time, the warning in his voice was weaker.
She looked up at him.
“Yes?”
He swallowed hard.
“You should get some rest.”
“Probably.”
Neither of them moved.
His hand was still near her cheek.
Her pulse was loud in her ears.
For one suspended second, Sophie thought he would kiss her.
Wanted him to.
Then her phone buzzed again on the counter behind them.
Both of them turned their heads.
The moment cracked.
Sophie let out a breathless laugh.
“Honestly, I’m starting to think the phone is the villain.”
Jace’s mouth tightened.
“Starting?”
She stepped back reluctantly.
The screen flashed with another text from Preston.
Preston: I know you’re being dramatic because you’re scared. I forgive you. Come back before this gets worse.
Sophie stared.
The words were so perfectly Preston that something inside her finally cooled.
Not broke.
Not panicked.
Cooled.
Jace read over her shoulder.
His voice went flat.
“He forgives you.”
“Apparently.”
“For not marrying him.”
“Very generous.”
Jace’s eyes were hard.
Sophie picked up the phone, stared at the message, then turned it off completely.
The silence afterward felt glorious. The pandora’s box was finally shut.
Jace looked at her.
“That seems healthy.”
“I know. I’m growing as a person.”
“Fast work.”
“I’m on a deadline. Wedding cancellation creates urgency.”
This time, when he smiled, it was real enough to make her chest ache.
Sophie stepped away before she did something reckless.
“Where am I sleeping?”
“Bedroom.”
“What about you?”
“Couch.”
“This is your cabin.”
“And you’re my guest.”
“I’m a catastrophic guest.”
“Still counts.”
She looked toward the hallway.
The idea of sleeping in Jace Wilder’s bed while he took the couch should have felt awkward.
Instead, it felt like one more careful kindness.
She turned back.
“Thank you.”
He nodded.
“For the cabin,” she said. “The clothes. The food. The rules. The stubborn furniture routine.”
“Anytime.”
Her smile faded a little.
“Don’t say that unless you mean it.”
Jace’s gaze held hers.
“I mean what I say.”
The warmth in her chest deepened into something dangerously close to longing.
Sophie hugged the oversized flannel around herself and headed toward the bedroom.
At the doorway, she looked back.
Jace stood in the kitchen, broad and quiet, watching her with an expression she could not quite name.
Protective.
Hungry.
Careful.
All three, maybe.
“Goodnight, Jace.”
His voice was rougher than before.
“Goodnight, Sophie.”
She closed the bedroom door softly behind her and leaned against it.
Her heart was still racing.
Her life was still a disaster.
Her wedding dress was still drying in a stranger’s bathroom.
But for the first time in longer than she could remember, Sophie did not feel like she was disappearing.
She felt seen.
And that was far more terrifying than running.
***