"I'll sleep outside. Done it plenty of times."
"That's ridiculous. You can't?—"
"I can and will." He crosses his arms over his chest, and I try to ignore the way my core clenches at the sight of his shirt stretching over the muscles. "Make yourself comfortable. I'll start dinner."
The bathroom is small but functional. A shower stall, toilet, sink. I splash water on my face, rinse my mouth, try to tame my wild blonde hair. The mirror reflects a stranger—face flushed, green eyes too bright, freckles standing out against my pale skin.
Wyatt's earlier comments were actually pretty polite considering.
When I emerge, Wyatt is in the small kitchen area, chopping vegetables with ease. The large knife looks like a toy in his hands.
I hover uncertainly. "Can I help?"
"No need. Sit."
Oh, thank God because I wouldn't know how to help.
I perch at the table, watching his movements. For such a large man, he moves with surprising grace. Economical. Nothing wasted.
"So..." I search for conversation because I've never been too comfortable with silence. "You live out here alone? No neighbors for miles?"
"Just how I like it." He adds something to a pot on the small stove.
"How long?"
"Five years."
I grab my camera and fidget with the strap. "Don't you get lonely?"
He looks up, those blue eyes piercing. "Difference between alone and lonely. Besides, I have my cats."
"Fair point."
Silence falls again, but it's not uncomfortable anymore. I check my camera for damage. It's fine—probably tougher than I am.
"Can I take photos here?" I gesture to the camera. "If you don't want, that's totally fine."
He shrugs, which I take as assent. I snap a few shots—the play of firelight on wood, his hands working the knife, the steam rising from the pot. When I review them on the small screen, I'm struck by the beauty of simplicity captured.
Wow.
"Hey, you're good." His voice startles me. He's looking over my shoulder at the screen.
"Thanks. It's the only thing I actually love doing." The words tumble out before I can stop them.
He returns to the stove, stirring whatever smells so amazing. "What do you do when you're not getting lost in my mountains?"
"Your mountains?" I can't help smiling. "Wow. I had no idea this was private property. I'm so sorry for trespassing, Monsieur Thorne Range."
The corner of his mouth twitches. Not quite a smile, but close. "Answer the question."
"I'm finishing my senior year. Business administration." Even though he can't see, I roll my eyes. "Very fun and interesting course."
"You sound thrilled."
"My parents' choice, not mine." I set the camera down, suddenly restless. "The Carter family business plan—Archie and Meredith decided my future before I was born. Dad's a corporate lawyer, Mom's in finance. They expect me to follow the same path."
"And what does Emma want?"
