I shake my head but set another log in place. My shoulders roll, muscles loose from repetition and heat, and I let the blade fall with a clean, satisfyingcrack.The wood splits in two and lands with a thump in the snow.
I hear her exhale. Not a word. Just a sound. A kind of breath you don’t notice unless you’re listening for it.
Which I am.
God help me,I fuckingam.
I should hate being the object of someone’s attention. I’ve spent years ducking it—preferring the horses, the barn, the forest. Quiet things that don’t ask questions or point cameras or tilt their heads when they look at me.
But Ivy doesn’t stare like she’s prying. She watches like she wants to understand.
That might be worse.
I glance over, and she lowers her phone. Her cheeks are pink from the cold, and her eyes are shining with that unshakableenthusiasm she carries like a superpower. She’s smiling—soft and secret—and I feel it like a punch to the chest.
Last night, in the loft…
I almost didn’t leave that bed.
Her arm across my chest, her breath warm near my neck. The way she murmured something and nestled in closer, completely unconscious, like her body already trusted mine.
She doesn’t remember. I could tell the moment she came down the ladder this morning. No pause. No blush. No flicker of recognition when she looked at me.
Just a cheery “Morning!” and a bright-eyed smile that nearly knocked me flat.
So I didn’t mention it.
Didn’t mention her hand over my heart, or the kiss she pressed—half-dream, half-dagger—against my jaw.
Because if she didn’t know, I wasn’t going to take it from her. And if shedidknow but didn’t want to remember, then I sure as hell wasn’t going to make her.
So I made breakfast instead.
And now I’m chopping wood like it’s penance and praying I can keep my damn hands to myself for however long this storm has us snowbound.
My phone buzzes. I wipe my gloves off, tug it free from my pocket, and check the screen.
Sheriff Dayle.
I answer with a clipped “Ryder.”
“Hey, Rhett. Just checking in on your ridge. You and that PR girl okay?”
“We’re fine. Tree’s down across the road, but we’ve got food and heat.”
He grunts. “Good. ‘Cause we’re a little backed up clearing the main pass. Ridge roads are secondary priority until tomorrow afternoon. Might be another day or two before we get a crew out there.”
I glance toward the cabin where Ivy’s set up a tripod. “Copy that.”
“Keep warm. And stay safe.”
I hang up and stare out across the snow-covered path.
Anothertwo days.
I can barely keep myself in check forone.She’s been here less than forty-eight hours and I’ve already had a full-blown emotional crisis under a quilt. If I spend another night in that cabin listening to her breathe while I pretend I don’t want to touch her?
Game over.
