“It’s the damn sensor,” he mutters as he shuts the front door.
I blink at him. My eyes are blurry from staring at my phone, and it takes my gaze a second to focus. But when it does, my breath catches. Thorne looks deliciously disheveled, his plaid shirt rumpled, thick forearms blackened with motor oil.
“Uh…sorry, what did you say?”
“The crankshaft sensor.” He shrugs off his jacket, glowering at nothing in particular. “Been trying to figure out what’s wrong all day. Battery’s fine. Starter’s fine. Fuel’s fine. Had to tear open the whole truck to find the problem, and after all that, it’s the crankshaft.”
I have no idea what any of this means, but I nod like I understand. “Is it fixable?”
“No. The part needs replacing.” He runs a hand through his russet hair, slick with melted snow. “I called the garage in town. They’re gonna order it. But for now, looks like we’re stuck.”
I might not know what a crankshaft sensor is. But I know what “stuck” means.
“So…I’m staying the night?”
Thorne nods curtly. There’s a pause before he says, “I should probably make you some food.”
“It’s okay,” I tell him, easing up off the couch. My limbs are stiff from not moving for hours. “I owe you for letting me stay the night. I can cook for us.”
“No.” It’s only one word, but Thorne says it so emphatically that it steals my breath away. “I want to cook for you.”
I stare at him, speechless. This man is a total mystery to me. One second he can’t stand being in the same room together; the next, he’s insisting on cooking for me.
“Thanks,” I say hesitantly. “That would be really nice.”
Our gaze holds for a beat too long, Thorne’s eyes pinning me to the spot. Then he heads for the kitchen, hovering in the doorway for a moment. When he looks back at me, his familiar scowl is in place.
“Hope you like stew, princess. ‘Cause that’s what you’re getting.”
Then he disappears into the kitchen.
Okay, so he’s still not exactly Prince Charming.
The stew is delicious:fresh vegetables, red wine sauce and beef so tender it melts in my mouth. I sit at the table opposite Thorne as we eat together. He’s back to avoiding eye contact, grunting one-word answers when I try to make small talk.
This would be the perfect opportunity to discuss the cabin. Heck, that’s what I came here for. But I don’t bring it up again. Thorne is doing me a favor by letting me stay, and I keep reminding myself that I wasn’t invited. I showed up unannounced and messed up his whole day. For now, the cabin can wait.
We finish eating, and Thorne mutters something about timber, shrugging his jacket back on.
“You’re going back out there?” I ask, gawking at him. “It’s pitch-black and freezing cold.”
He shrugs. “Got a big order to fill for the sawmill outside town. Need to get started as soon as possible.”
“Can’t you do it tomorrow?”
“I’m already late on the first batch.”
He grabs a huge flashlight and is gone again before I can argue. I wonder if he’s ever considered starting a magic show. He’s pretty good at the whole disappearing act.
I send Grandma a text to say I’ll be staying the night here, then set up a makeshift bed on the couch. It’s not even nine yet, but there’s nothing else to do, so I might as well try to get some sleep. I use a cushion as a pillow and pull a throw blanket over me. It’s pretty cozy, being curled up by the fire like this, but I have to bend my legs and crook my neck awkwardly to fit on the couch. My body feels stiff and achy almost immediately.
I’m still wide awake when Thorne comes home later. My chest flutters at the sound of his heavy footsteps. Even when I can’t see him, I can feel him. His presence seems to suck the air from the tiny living room, making it harder for me to breathe.
“What are you doing?”
His growly voice makes me shudder. Without opening my eyes, I say, “Sleeping.”
“You’re not sleeping on the couch.”
