Chapter
Three
LACEY
By the time we reach the cabin, the last of the daylight bleeds out over the valley, staining the sky in copper and rose. Crickets hum through the tall grass, and the wind carries the scent of damp earth and pine sap.
My eyes adjust slowly to the shift from that fading gold to the softer interior glow of Anson’s A-frame cabin—warm light pooling over the wooden floors. The change feels like stepping into another world. Like my nerves adjusting to his lodging proposition: hesitant, uncertain, a little dazzled by the warmth after the autumnal chill outdoors.
He moves ahead of me, broad shoulders filling the doorway. Amber spills across his profile, catching in his hair. I pause on the threshold, heart racing. I told myself this was practical. Professional. But standing here, wrapped in his mountain quiet, practicality feels like a lie I almost believe. My fingers tighten on the strap of my purse until the leather squeaks.
Constructed from light-blond logs and finished to a honeyed gleam, masculinity and coziness collide—warmed pine, worn handles, golden light throwing honeyed pools across the floor. Floor-to-ceiling windows drink the day’s last light. Outside, thepeaks catch fire with sunset. Inside, every line of wood seems to hum with stored heat.
“This is breathtaking.”
“Better than the inn,” he murmurs, voice rough as gravel, striding past me with a tilt of his head. I follow, hesitant, until he nudges open a wide doorway to a room anchored by a rustic, hand-hewn bed. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves line the opposite wall, neatly stacked with ancient, leather-bound volumes.
I catch it again—his scent, all spice and wood smoke. Against it, my own perfume blooms, a hint of apple blossom and vanilla that makes my chest ache. Sweet meeting strong. Heaven meeting earth.
“Got to change out the sheets. Wasn’t expecting a guest?—”
“No,” I interrupt. “I don’t want to put you out or—” I stop before admitting what I really mean … bring trouble to your door.
He turns, one brow raised. “Not staying at the Forest Grove Inn. End of story.”
I open my mouth to argue, but the words dry up. He’s right, probably. The red-bearded man in town hadn’t had kind things to say about the place either.
Anson’s expression softens a shade. “Tea or coffee?”
“Tea, please.” My voice comes out smaller than I mean it.
His storm-gray eyes narrow, and he runs a hand over his chin. The delicious masculine scratch of hair against his work-hardened hand awakens a throb in a place I refuse to admit. “I’m gonna to go out on a limb. But you strike me as an apple-cider-tea kind of girl. Or maybe green-apple?”
The corners of my mouth tip up before I can stop them. The moment feels fragile, too intimate. “Why would you guess that?”
“Because of the fond, far-off look you got describing your grandparents’ apple orchard. It meant something to you.”
I look away, the sudden sting behind my eyes catching me off guard. It’s been a long time since anyone paid attention to what matters to me.
He clears his throat and steps toward the stove. “Teas are all house-made here—herbs, fruits, vegetables from the ranch. Only thing I don’t grow myself are a few spices and nuts. Locally sourced where possible. Responsibly sourced otherwise. You got any allergies I should know about?”
“No allergies,” I say softly. “Thank you for asking.”
He fills the kettle and nods, gas stove hissing as he lights the burner.“That’s the beauty of growing and cooking your own food. You know every piece of what goes into it.”
The kettle hums to life, and warmth begins to seep through the room—metal on flame, fire on air—until the cabin feels like a heartbeat we share.
He pours the steaming water into a wide mug, the scent of apples and cinnamon unfurling like a memory. Steam ghosts between us, blurring his face for a heartbeat before clearing again. He slides it toward me, fingers brushing the handle but never mine.
“Careful,” he says. “Still hot.”
“You aren’t having any?”
“After a shower.”
I cradle the mug despite his caution, letting the warmth seep into my palms. “This smells incredible.”
He half-smiles, nodding toward the living room. “Make yourself at home while I get a fire going.”
