My body groans in protest, but it's not from cold or terror this time.
It’s just… tired. Like my muscles are finally figuring out they can relax.
Warmth will do that to a person. So will safety. And flannel.
My stomach chooses this peaceful moment to let out aroaringgrowl. A true protest of epic proportions, like it’s been personally offended by how little I’ve fed it lately.
Across the room, Gavin stirs. His eyes open—bright glacier blue—and land on me instantly. I freeze like I’ve been caught stealing cookies from a hot lumberjack’s cabin. Then he smiles. Just a little. But it doesthingsto my already-overwhelmed heart.
“Morning,” he says, voice low and rough from sleep. “That your stomach, or a grizzly breaking in?”
I laugh. It feels weird. Wonderful. Like a noise I haven’t made in way too long. “Don’t judge. I haven’t eaten anything since yesterday morning. Or maybe the day before. I kind of lost track.”
He stretches, a slow roll of muscles that makes his T-shirt pull tight in all the best places. “I’ll make breakfast.”
“No!” I blurt, sitting up straighter. “You’ve already donewaytoo much. Let me cook. I owe you at least that much.”
He raises a brow. “You sure?”
I nod. “Unless you don’t trust me not to burn the place down.”
“I don’t even trustChasewith the coffee pot. You’ve got a clean slate.”
I smile and push off the couch, adjusting the blanket around Aidan before heading into the small but efficient kitchen.
Behind me, Gavin moves toward the bassinet and checks the baby like it’s the most natural thing in the world. His gentleness floors me. The way he adjusts the swaddle, and brushes a hand down Aidan’s tiny head.
God, I don’t know who this manis, but I think he might be made of magic and lumber.
I find eggs in the fridge. Bacon. Pancake mix in the cupboard. I move on instinct, grateful for the distraction. For the simplicity of it. After weeks of chaos, making breakfast feels like a sacred ritual.
He walks back into the kitchen area, arms folded, watching me like I’m more interesting than the weather. “You sure you’re feeling okay?”
I glance up. “Yeah. Surprisingly. I think the fact that I’m not running for my life right now is doing wonders for my nervous system.”
“Glad to hear it.”
There’s a pause as I pour batter into a hot skillet. “So,” I say, glancing at him over my shoulder, “how’d you and your flannel-wearing squad of superhero mountain men end up here?”
His mouth curves. “You want the long version or the short?”
“Medium. I’ve got pancakes to flip.”
He leans against the counter, arms crossed. “We served together. Me, Rafe, Boyd, Rhett, Chase, Eli. Wyatt. Thorne. Silas. And Harlan. All different roles, but we crossed paths during the last few years of our time in. A few tours overseas. Some classified stuff.”
I nod slowly, flipping a pancake. “You were military?”
“Navy SEAL.”
Figures.
The way he moves. Commands a room. Like danger is something he eats for breakfast with a side of bacon.
“After we got out, we needed a new mission. Something that felt likeus. Rafe found the land up here—Wedding Cake Mountain, Timber Creek. Locals thought we were crazy.”
“Are you?”
“Probably,” he says with a soft grin. “But it worked. We built Haven 7 from the ground up. It’s part safe house, part rescue network, part security operation.”
