Chapter 7
SEVEN
JOVIE
The knock echoes through the cabin again.
Rhodes plants himself between me and the door, broad and solid, like he can block the entire storm with his shoulders. I grip the edge of the sofa, my pulse pounding so loudly I almost miss the way the wind dips for a second.
He opens the door just a crack.
The cold hits first.
Then the voice.
“You okay out here, Rhodes?”
Relief breaks through me so fast my knees go weak.
A man stands on the porch in a thick firefighter jacket, snow crusting the hood. He’s carrying a flashlight and looks like he stepped straight out of a calendar. A really nice one.
Rhodes steps aside a little. “Brenton. You shouldn’t be out in this.”
Brenton shrugs. “Department’s doing wellness checks. Storm’s throwing fits. Power’s out across half the ridge.”
He leans to see inside the cabin, and his eyebrows shoot up.
“Oh,” he says. “You’ve got company.”
Heat floods my face.
Rhodes doesn’t even look at me, which should annoy me, but instead makes something warm curl low in my stomach. Like he’s trying to shield me without making a big deal about it.
“She’s stuck up here until the roads clear,” Rhodes says.
I lift a hand in what I hope is a casual greeting. “Hi. I’m Jovie. I promise I’m not a serial killer.”
Brenton laughs. “Good to know. Welcome to Wilder Mountain.”
There’s something in his eyes—an easy friendliness, nothing suspicious—but I see the way he glances between me and Rhodes. Something knowing. Something amused.
Rhodes steps forward just enough to block the doorway again.
“We’re fine here,” he says. “Got the fire going. She’s warm.”
I don’t know why the word warm coming from him does something to me, but it does. Brenton seems to notice that too, if his raised eyebrow is any indication.
“Well,” Brenton says, “if you lose heat or need help, call the station. We’ll have people running checks all night.”
“Got it,” Rhodes says.
“Stay safe.” Brenton flicks the flashlight in a little salute. “Storm’s blowing sideways. Don’t let it spook you.”
He heads back into the white-out. By the time Rhodes shuts the door, the storm swallows Brenton whole.
Rhodes turns the lock.
The silence after is thick.
Heavier than before.
Charged in a way that makes every nerve in my body sit up and pay attention.
“You okay?” he asks.
I nod. “Just… a little on-edge.”
“That’s normal,” he says quietly. “Mountain storms can get loud.”
“And unexpected,” I add.
He looks at me.
Really looks.
And I know he’s thinking of the kiss.
The fire.
The way I leaned into him without hesitation.
My pulse hums under my skin.
He moves toward the sofa and grabs the blanket I dropped earlier. “Come here,” he says.
I do. Without overthinking it. Without pretending I’m not dying to be close to him again.
He wraps the blanket around my shoulders, but he doesn’t step away. Instead, he stands there, close enough that his warmth blends into mine. Close enough that I can smell cedar and smoke and something warm that’s just him.
“You sure you’re warm enough?” he asks.
I look up at him.
“I was,” I say. “Then you kissed me. Now I’m not sure about anything.”
His breath catches in the smallest, most damning way.
He steps even closer. “Jovie.”
“Yes?”
“That kiss…” He shakes his head once. “I shouldn’t have done it.”
I drop my gaze. “Right. I know.”
“And I shouldn’t want to do it again,” he adds.
I look back up.
His eyes are darker now. Warmer. The firelight makes gold flicker at the edges.
“But you do?” I whisper.
He doesn’t answer.
Not with words.
He lifts a hand and brushes a stray curl off my cheek. His fingers skim my skin, light and slow, like he’s memorizing the shape of me.
Heat pools low in my stomach.
“I’m trying to be smart about this,” he says.
“Same,” I whisper.
“Not sure we’re doing a great job.”
“No,” I agree. “We’re doing awful.”
Something like a smile ghost-flickers across his mouth.
The fire pops softly behind us. The storm kicks against the window again, but we’re wrapped in something warm and quiet and electric.
I shift closer.
He doesn’t step back.
“Rhodes,” I say, soft. “We’re adults. We’re stuck here. We’re not doing anything wrong.”
“That’s exactly when trouble shows up,” he murmurs.
“Do you want trouble?” I ask.
He drags a hand down his face like he’s trying to steady himself. “I want—” He cuts himself off. “Doesn’t matter.”
“It does to me,” I say.
He meets my eyes again. Something cracks open in his. Something real. Something deep.
“Jovie,” he says, almost a whisper, “I want you.”
The words hit like heat spreading through every inch of me.
Before I can say anything—before I can even breathe—the wind slams the cabin again.
The lantern flickers.
Something thuds hard against the outer wall.
I gasp.
Rhodes steps in front of me on instinct. “Stay behind me.”
“What was that?” I whisper.
He listens for half a second.
Then his jaw sets.
“That,” he says, “wasn’t the wind.”
He reaches for his coat.
And every cell in my body lights up with fear, adrenaline, and something else:
This is no longer just a storm.
And whatever is out there is coming closer.