“You don’t have to stay,” he says evenly.
“I know.” But I walk in anyway.
The cabin smells like cedar and smoke. The living room is quiet, fire already laid in the hearth from earlier in the week. Levi’s space feels solid. Lived-in. Not lonely like I used to imagine when I was away at school.
He drops his keys on the table.
“Hot tub’s on if you want to take a dip,” he says.
I nod, noticing the faint curl of steam rising off the back deck. “You planned ahead?”
“I always do.” A faint smirk touches his mouth.
He disappears down the hall to change. I stand in the living room for a moment, tracing my fingers over the back of his couch, the wooden mantle, the framed photo of him and the firehouse crew.
There’s no evidence of a woman’s touch here. The thought makes something in my chest ache.
He returns a few minutes later in low-slung swim trunks, bare chest covered in a fine dusting of hair. My mouth goes dry. He doesn’t flex or pose. He doesn’t have to.
“You coming?” he asks.
“I don’t have a suit.” I frown.
“Your birthday suit is fine.” His eyes twinkle with the words.
My cheeks heat with the thought of being in such close proximity to him without a stitch of clothing covering me. Anticipation curls low in my belly at the thought.
“Or just your bra and panties works too.”
I nod and slip past him to the bathroom to strip down to my undergarments. When I step out onto the back deck, the steam curls around us like a secret. The mountains stretch dark and endless beyond the railing. The hot tub glows faintly under the stars.
“Everything feels a little bit magical out here tucked away in your little corner of the mountain.”
“That’s why I bought this piece of property, it feels secluded, part of the mountain. A bachelor’s retreat.”
I nod, taking in his words. “Did you think you’d always be a bachelor.”
“After you left, yes.”
I swallow, averting my eyes to the snow that still dusts the top of Devil’s Peak even though we’re well into April.
Levi steps into the hot tub first, lowering himself slowly into the water. I follow and the heat wraps around me instantly, loosening the tension in my shoulders, but tightening everything else. He leans back against the edge, arms spread along the rim, watching me.
“You’re staring,” I say.
“I always stare.”
“Subtle.”
“I’m not trying to be.”
The steam drifts between us. The night hums softly with distant crickets and wind through trees. For a while, neither of us speaks. We just sit there, inches apart, heat rising between us in more ways than one.
“You embarrassed me tonight,” I say finally.
He nods once. “I know.”
“That’s it?”
