The itinerary slides out of my coat pocket and lands in my lap. I scowl at it.
Honeymoon suite with Harper Fox.
Harper in my space—
I freeze.
The thought came out of nowhere, but hits hard.
What if… What if I talked her into staying here instead of that fancy lodge room? It would be quieter. More private. Less attention. Less pressure. Less … everything.
And then the thought unravels just as fast. Harper Fox in this cabin? I look around at the leaning stack of firewood by the stove.
At the three bins of “useful metal scraps.” At the kitchen table buried beneath maps, bolts, and a toaster I need to repair.
At the loft bed with quilts I haven’t shaken out since October. At the dusting of sawdust covering everything like rustic glitter.
This place isn’t fit for a woman. Especially a woman like Harper. She’s soft. Not weak — but soft in the way that makes you want to handle her gently. She smells like something sweet when she walks past. She’d take one look at this disaster and run screaming. The lodge it is.
I get up and move around the cabin, because sitting still makes the thoughts louder. I stack wood, reorganize tools, fix a drawer that’s been sticking since last winter. I keep my hands busy. My mind fails to follow.
Every time I stop moving, I see her. Blue eyes with a nervous smile. Soft voice when she said she didn’t want to make this difficult. She looked like she meant it. She looked … relieved that it was me. Dangerous thought.
I stop by the woodstove and add another log carefully choosing the smallest one because the bigger ones should be saved for colder nights. Waste not. Always waste not.
I catch myself.
Great. Now I’m thinking about how she’d react if she saw me saving every scrap of wood, every nut and bolt, every piece of string that “might be useful someday.” She’d probably smile or tease me.
I rub the back of my neck, uncomfortable with the feeling inching up my spine. I don’t want her to pity me. Or fix me. I don’t want her to try and understand the parts of me shaped by loss.
This cabin is the only place I feel safe. Tomorrow, I have to leave it. Tomorrow, I have to stay in a honeymoon suite. With a woman who makes my loins tighten just by looking at me.
A week. A whole damn week. And when I remember the way Harper looked backstage — wide-eyed, flushed, lips softly parted—my whole body reacts. I don’t know what to do with that feeling. I never have.
I sink into my chair again and stare at the itinerary. I scrub a hand over my beard.
“I can survive a week,” I mutter.
Just as I say it out loud, the cabin creaks like it’s laughing at me.
Chapter 7
Harper
Ihave never stared at an empty suitcase for this long in my entire life. It sits open on my bed like a gaping mouth waiting to swallow my dignity, my anxiety, and my questionable fashion decisions all at once.
“What am I supposed to wear for a week-long … whatever this is?” I mutter, pacing across my bedroom.
A week with Ethan Kinkaid. In the honeymoon suite at the Grand Lodge. We will be doing couple activities. My stomach does a slow, painful somersault.
The stack of clothes on my bed looks pathetic. A couple of sweaters. One pair of decent jeans. A dress that might work for a tree lighting if nobody looks too closely. Pajamas that are cute but also … a little tight since I’ve been stress-snacking through the fall season.
I pinch the fabric of the dress between my fingers. “Do I look like someone who belongs in a holiday romance package?” My reflection in the mirror lifts an eyebrow.
Curvy. Petite. Soft. Not the kind of soft that melts romantically in the snow — but the kind that overthinks everything and wonders if she’ll blend into the wallpaper next to a man like Ethan. I sigh and flop onto the edge of the bed.
I’m good at making memories — for other people. Glass ones. Perfect ones. Controlled, glued down, can’t move ones.
