Butterflies erupt in my belly every time he calls me princess. I pretend not to like it. Heck, I definitelyshouldn’tlike it, since he clearly means it as an insult. Pampered princess. Spoiled brat. Entitled. It’s pretty obvious what Thorne thinks of me, but the butterflies still show up. Every time.
Like I said before…
Infuriating.
I don’t reply to Thorne as I follow him back to the cabin, trying to keep my eyes on the ground or on the snowflakes tumbling from the sky. It’s easier said than done. I can feel his gaze burning a hole in the side of my face, like he’s hoping I’ll disappear if he stares at me hard enough.
The cabin is deliciously warm as we step inside. Snowflakes melt in my hair as I move to stand by the fire, still not looking at Thorne. I hear him stomping deeper into the cabin, reemerging a few minutes later.
“Going to fix the truck,” he says.
I finally meet his gaze. He’s scowling in determination, holding a shiny green toolbox in his right hand and a metal thermos in his left. With a small jolt, I realize that the hand gripping the thermos is missing two fingers. His middle and index fingers end bluntly at the middle joint, like they’ve been cut off.
A woodchopping accident, maybe?
I bury my curiosity and say, “Do you want any help?”
I don’t know the first thing about fixing a pickup truck, but it seems polite to ask.
“No.” Thorne is already heading for the door. “Help yourself to food. Drinks. Whatever.”
It’s the most hospitable thing he’s said to me so far, but his voice makes it sound more like a disgruntled command.
“Thanks.”
He’s gone before I can say another word, the wind catching the door and slamming it closed behind him.
This really isn’t how I expected my meeting with Thorne to go. The man is stubborn as a bull, but as I look around the cabin, it’s hard to blame him. He obviously takes great care of this place. It’s small and cozy, full of plush rugs and brown leather chairs. Giant windows look out toward the swaying fir trees outside, and a large brick fireplace blazes with heat. It’s not just an old logging shack anymore—it’s a home.
Nosiness gets the better of me, and I decide to give myself a quick tour of the cabin. It doesn’t take long. There’s a cramped kitchen with wooden cabinets and a gorgeous view of the frozen river outside. A surprisingly generous-sized bathroom with a walk-in shower and stone tiles. And finally, Thorne’s bedroom.
I sneak inside and turn on the light, moving quietly even though I know he’s not here. It smells like Thorne—woodsmoke and spices. I breathe in his scent as I peer around the spacious room. Most of it is taken up by an enormous four-poster bed, with crisp white sheets and a thick quilt. There’s a closet in the corner, a small fireplace, and two windows with a view of the same frozen river cutting through the clearing.
I have to resist the urge to snuggle up in Thorne’s bed. It looks so inviting, but I drag myself away from his bedroom and collapse on the couch once more. Then I grab my phone from my pocket and shoot Grandma a quick text.
Hi. I’m stuck at Thorne’s place for now. He’s not happy to see me. Wants me to leave but his truck won’t start.
P.S. I know you said he was grumpy, but wow…
This man would make a root canal look cheerful.
She replies.
Uh-oh. He’s a grouch alright. Don’t worry, I’ll talk to him about the cabin another time and give him a piece of my mind! Just give me a few minutes and I’ll come get you, honey. Be there soon.
Alarmed, I reply instantly:
No!
Thanks for offering, you’re the best, but please don’t drive up here. It’s snowing like crazy right now!
A few minutes pass, and I worry that she might have already left. I’m just about to call her when she finally responds.
Okay honey. Be safe.
I reassure her that I’ll be fine. Then I grab a glass of water and open up a streaming app on my phone. Thorne doesn’t have a TV, and I have no idea how long I’ll be waiting here, so I put on an old episode of Friends and start to watch. Hourspass. The episodes keep playing automatically, but I’m only half concentrating. Thorne comes back twice to fill up his thermos or grab something to eat, and my heart races each time. But he barely glances at me before he leaves again.
It’s dark outside when he finally returns.
