Chapter 3 Sierra
SIERRA
Iwake to the scent of fresh coffee and something sweet—maybe cinnamon.
For a moment, I forget where I was, until I sit up, groggy, and stare at the low wooden ceiling of a mountain cabin that definitely doesn’t come with maid service like my cousin had promised.
It had sounded like the perfect escape at the time. Right now? I could kill her for it.
I grab my phone. No bars. I can’t even call her to bitch her out.
Groaning, I push the covers back and shuffle into the kitchen barefoot, wearing leggings, an oversized hoodie, and a messy bun that could frighten wildlife.
Hunter is at the stove, already dressed like a lumberjack straight out of a catalog—plaid shirt, jeans, scowl, and a neatly trimmed beard. He has the look down perfectly. He glances over his shoulder when I enter, his eyes flicking briefly down my body, then away again.
“There’s coffee,” he says, nodding to the pot.
I pour myself a cup and take a long, blessed sip, not caring that it scorches my throat. I need caffeine to live.
“I knew you had some redeeming qualities buried under that serial-killer stare.”
“I slept better not hearing your mouth for six hours.”
“Aw. Was that almost a joke?”
He doesn’t answer, but his lips twitch slightly. If I was keeping score, and I kind of was, that counted as a quarter-smile, which was basically a full laugh by Hunter standards.
I take another sip and lean against the counter, cradling the mug in both hands. Outside, the snow was really piling up, and I couldn’t tell if it was the wind blowing it around or if it was still coming down. Great.
“So what’s on the agenda today? Glowering? Brooding? Building a rocking chair out of pine with nothing but your teeth?”
He shoots me a sideways look. “You always ask this many questions?”
“Only when I’m awake.”
He grunts and sets a plate of something hot and golden on the table. It looks like French toast and smells incredible.
I blink. “You made me breakfast?”
“I made breakfast. Whether you eat or not is your problem.”
But as he sits down, he slides a second plate across the table, pushes the syrup toward me, and even sets down a fork. For a man who claims to not want company, he was surprisingly good at hosting, or at least not letting me starve.
I take a bite, watching him. “This is good. Like, really good. Did the military teach you this?”
“No,” he mutters. “The military taught me how to function on three hours of sleep and eat things that come in plastic bags.”
“Sexy.”
His eyes flick to mine again, lingering a moment too long, and my heart stutters. He’s so big and gorgeous and… big.
“Your face does this thing when you’re trying not to laugh,” I say.
“I don’t laugh.”
“Liar.”
His eyes drop quickly from mine, and we eat in silence while outside, the snow keeps falling. Icicles frame the windows, and the world looks quiet and tucked in. It’s peaceful here. I just wish the original plan had worked out.
I exhale slowly. “It’s weird being disconnected. No phone or internet. No texts I can pretend to ignore.”
He nods, still focused on his plate. “Silence makes people itchy.”
“I didn’t realize how much noise I lived with until now. Notifications and a lot of opinions I didn’t ask for.” I pause. “I always thought if I left the city, I’d miss it. But right now, this place is looking pretty damn good.”
He looks at me for a moment, then asks, “What are you running from?”
The question hits hard but I should’ve expected that from him. When Hunter talks, he doesn’t sugarcoat it.
“I’m not running,” I say quickly, then sigh. “Okay, maybe I am. I lost my job. Or gave it up, depending on which press release you believe. Turns out standing up to sleazy ad execs gets you blacklisted faster than sending nude selfies.”
Hunter’s jaw ticks, but he stays silent.
“I realized the fast-paced marketing world wasn’t for me. There were too many lies, rumors, and people telling me to ‘let it go’ or ‘play nice’ because that’s just how things are. I was tired of being quiet to keep everyone else comfortable.”
He leans back in his chair. “So you exploded your life.”
“I did,” I say with a small, proud shrug. “On purpose.”
He doesn’t speak right away, just watches me like he’s trying to figure out what to say, or maybe trying to figure me out.
Then, so quietly I almost miss it, he says, “Good.”
That one word hits harder than I expect.
I swallow the lump in my throat. People had told me I was wrong.
That I shouldn’t have done it. That I should learn to “deal with it.” Because I was a woman, and, worse, an overweight woman in a man’s world.
But his simple answer felt like approval.
Like he was proud of me, without even knowing me. And damn, that felt good.
“So what about you?” I ask softly. “What did you blow up to end up here?”
He tenses, his jaw ticking as he chews the last bite on his plate. I don’t think he’ll answer, but then he says, “I made a wrong call in the field.”
My heart clenches. When he doesn’t elaborate, I figure that’s all I’ll get. Unwrapping this man was turning into a full-time job.
I reach across the table, my fingers brushing his. “You can’t carry the world, Hunter.”
“Yeah, well, that particular world was mine to carry.”
We hold each other’s gaze, our hands just barely touching. “You don’t have to tell me, but sometimes talking about things that sit too long hel—”
He pulls his hand back and defaults to what he does best. “You ever shut up?”
“That’s the third time you’ve asked me that. I’m starting to get a complex.”
“Well, do you?”
“Only when I’m kissed,” I tease, voice thick with sarcasm.
He holds my stare with one eyebrow raised and the corner of his mouth curves into a real, dangerous smile. “That so?”
My breath catches in my chest. “Guess you’ll never find out, huh?”
He stands slowly and leans across the table, deliberately close. His eyes sparkle with amusement, but his face stays unreadable. I hold my breath as he comes even closer, then snatches the fork right out of my hand.
“Hey!” I protest.
“Breakfast’s over,” he mutters.
I blink, and he’s out the door, leaving me sitting here with my heart in my throat and words on the tip of my tongue.