But then what? She’d be leaving soon, job offer or no job offer. Her life was elsewhere…had always been elsewhere. The thought of leading him on, of starting something she couldn’t finish, had stopped her cold.
Yet here she was, preparing to cook him dinner in her cabin. Alone. Just the two of them.
“Brilliant plan, Sorcha,” she muttered, sliding chopped vegetables into a pan where olive oil was already heating. The sizzle and fragrant steam momentarily distracted her from her swirling thoughts.
She needed to call Doreen. To let her know she was extending her stay. To discuss the job offer. To anchor herself in reality before she floated away on this cloud of infatuation that seemed to have hijacked her common sense.
Sorcha wiped her hands on a dishcloth and retrieved her phone from her bag. Three missed calls from Doreen already, her editor was nothing if not persistent. She hit the callback button before she could lose her nerve, cradling the phone between her ear and shoulder as she continued stirring the sauce.
“There you are!” Doreen’s voice was crisp with impatience. “I was beginning to think you’d been eaten by a bear.”
The image of Christopher—strong, gentle Christopher with his quiet watchfulness—flashed through Sorcha’s mind. Curious.
“Sorry,” Sorcha said, forcing professionalism into her voice. “I’ve been researching. This place has more to offer than I expected.”
“That good, huh?” Doreen’s tone softened with curiosity. “Have you been thinking about the position?”
Sorcha stirred the sauce more vigorously than necessary, the tomatoes breaking down under her wooden spoon. “I have. It’s an incredible opportunity.”
“But?” Doreen prompted, always quick to catch the unspoken.
“But I need another couple of days here,” Sorcha said, surprising herself with the firmness in her voice. “To finish the article properly. I’ve arranged to stay longer at the cabins.”
A knowing pause stretched through the phone line. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with that mountain man you mentioned, would it?”
Heat rushed to Sorcha’s cheeks. Was she that transparent? “I’m being thorough,” she insisted. “It’s a Christmas piece—I want to capture the full experience.”
“Mm-hmm,” Doreen hummed skeptically. “Well, take the time you need. The position doesn’t start until after the holidays, anyway. But Sorcha…”
“Yes?”
“Don’t make any career decisions based on holiday magic and a pretty face. I’ve seen too many talented journalists get sidetracked by romance. Remember what you’ve worked for.”
The words hit Sorcha like a splash of cold water. Doreen was right. Years of building her reputation, of proving herself, of creating exactly the life she’d always wanted. Was she really considering throwing that away for—what? A man she’d known for two days?
“I know what I’m doing,” Sorcha said, wishing she felt as confident as she sounded. “I’ll call you when I’m heading back.”
After they hung up, Sorcha stood motionless in the middle of the kitchen, Doreen’s warning ringing in her ears. The saucebubbled on the stove, bringing her back to the present. She turned down the heat and checked the time…thirty minutes until Christopher would arrive.
She hurried to the bedroom, rummaging through her suitcase for something appropriate. Not too casual, not too formal. Not too revealing, but not too buttoned-up either. She settled on a soft emerald sweater that brought out the green in her eyes and a pair of jeans that flattered her figure.
In the bathroom, she brushed out her hair, letting it fall in loose waves around her shoulders instead of pulling it back as she usually did. A touch of mascara, a hint of lip color. Enough to feel confident but not like she was trying too hard.
Who was she kidding? She was trying desperately hard…to appear normal, to seem like she wasn’t coming apart at the seams with this overwhelming attraction.
Sorcha returned to the kitchen to finish dinner preparations, setting the small table with the mismatched dishes provided by the cabin. She found a pair of candles in a drawer and hesitated, debating whether candlelight would send the wrong message.
Or the right one.
Before she could overthink it further, a knock sounded at the door. Her heart leaped into her throat, pulse hammering so loudly she was sure he would hear it when she opened the door.
“Just dinner,” she reminded herself firmly. “Just a thank-you for showing me around.”
But as she crossed to the door, she knew she was lying to herself. Nothing about this felt like “just” anything. It felt like she was standing on the edge of something huge,one step away from falling into something she couldn’t control.
Sorcha paused with her hand on the doorknob, drawing in a deep breath to steady herself. Then she opened the doorto Christopher, standing tall and solid against the gathering darkness, his eyes lighting up at the sight of her as if she were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.
And in that moment, despite all her reservations, despite Doreen’s warning, despite the years of carefully avoiding exactly this kind of entanglement, Sorcha knew she wasn’t falling.
