He doesn’t flinch. “Marines.”
“Figures.”
He looks sharply at me. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
I shrug. “You’ve got the vibe I’ve read about. Lots of discipline, some built-up anger. That ‘don’t-talk-to-me’ energy.”
He looks back to the pot he’s stirring slowly. “You think you’ve got me figured out?”
“I ask questions and try to go from there.”
“I don’t answer many.”
“I see that. Guess I’ll make my own assumptions about you, then.”
Silence stretches between us again, the only sound is the bubbling chili and the hiss of the fire.
Then, without turning around, he says, “Don’t unpack. You’re leaving the first chance you get.”
My throat tightens. I don’t know why that stings. Maybe because it reminds me of every guy who decided I was too much before they bothered to really see me.
“Don’t worry,” I say, biting my tongue. “I don’t make a habit of overstaying where I’m not wanted.”
He says nothing in return, and that silence hurts more than it should.
3
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.
