“You okay, Willa?”
His question catches me off guard. There’s a kind of fierce warmth in his voice, a protectiveness that makes my chest tighten. I meet his gaze. We stare at each other for a beat too long, and I have the crazy urge to tell him everything. Spill my guts and lay it all out for Flint to see. The auction. The debt. There’s something about this man…something that makes me think he’d know what to do. Like those big, strong hands could fit my life back together like a jigsaw puzzle.
“I’m fine,” I lie, forcing a smile. “Thanks.”
He doesn’t look convinced. “You got a night shift after this? Fireside Lodge?”
“Yes.”
“What hours?”
“Seven until five in the morning.”
His gaze doesn’t waver. “What about the diner? Your morning shift?”
I could lie. Make it sound better than it is. But instead, I mutter, “Seven until two.”
Flint’s scowl deepens. “Let me get this right. You work at the diner all morning. Then you come here. Then you go straight to the hotel and work all night.”
“Yes.”
“When do you sleep?”
Something about the way he asks breaks me wide open. He sounds furious at the idea that I’m not sleeping enough, like my well-being is the most important thing in the world to him.
“I…I get a couple of hours after my hotel shift. My manager lets me crash in the back before I leave for the diner. Sometimes, if it’s a quiet night at the reception desk, I can snatch a half-hour here and there.” My cheeks burn. I feel embarrassed for reasons I can’t quite explain. Embarrassed that my life is such a mess and I can’t seem to fix it. “I catch up on weekends, though. I only have the diner shifts on weekends.”
Flint looks at me for a long time, and it suddenly hits me that I’ve said too much. He doesn’t want a tired employee. A tired employee makes mistakes, and I’ve just admitted that I’m doing this job on two hours’ sleep.
Idiot, idiot, idiot.
“It’s fine,” I say hurriedly. “I don’t need much sleep anyway. It doesn’t affect my work.”
Panic claws at my throat as Flint stands up, hulking over me, that permanent scowl fixed in place. I have a horrible feeling he’s about to fire me. He doesn’t want a burned-out employee. Heck, maybe he thinks he’ll be doing me a favor. He has no idea how desperate I am, and I can’t bring myself to tell him.
“Come with me,” he grunts.
It’s not what I was expecting him to say. I stand up from my desk on shaky legs, convinced I’ve blown it as I follow Flint out of the office and into the woods. He strides with purpose, moving easily through the trees, and I struggle to keep up.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
He doesn’t answer.
Bewildered, I keep following him, the creek running alongside us. We walk for a few minutes, then a building emerges from the trees—a giant log cabin. Heck, it’s more like a log mansion: a sprawling structure made of the same honey-colored oak as the office but twenty-times the size, with vast windows and wooden gables. Stone chimneys dot the shingle roof, at least four of them, and I count three balconies on the upper level.
“Wow…” I breathe. “What is this place?”
“Home.”
My eyebrows shoot up. I never imagined Flint would live somewhere like this. I pictured a modest little cabin, like our office but with an extra floor.
“It’s beautiful.”
“Thanks,” Flint grunts. “Was falling apart when I bought it. Took ten years to fix it all up.”
We climb the stone steps toward the cabin’s front door. Now that I’ve taken it all in, the confusion is creeping back.
“Um…why are we here?” I ask.
