A sharp knock on the door jolts me upright.
My heart jumps.
I set my tea down and stare at the door.
Who on earth is knocking on a mountain cabin this late in the afternoon?
Another knock sounds, deeper this time.
I smooth a hand over my sweater and go to open it.
The moment the door swings inward, I forget how language works.
Oh.
Oh wow.
The man standing on my porch is so unfairly handsome he does not look real.
Tall, broad, huge everywhere, he fills the doorway with the kind of rough masculine presence that makes my pulse stumble hard enough to hurt. Dark hair brushes the collar of his flannel. His beard is neat but full, framing a hard mouth that looks like it doesn’t smile often. And his eyes, piercing blue beneath straight dark brows, pin me where I stand.
For one completely insane second, all I can think isfairytale prince.
If fairytale princes chopped wood for a living and looked like they could carry me over one shoulder without breaking a sweat.
He has a stack of firewood cradled in one arm like it weighs nothing at all.
I just stand there, staring.
His gaze flicks over my face, then lower, so fast I almost think I imagined it. But something changes in his expression. Tightens. Warms. Darkens.
Heat climbs up my neck.
“Firewood,” he says.
His voice is deep and rough, scraping over my skin in a way that should probably be illegal.
“Oh.” Brilliant, Lexie. “Right. Fire.”
One of his eyebrows shifts like he might almost be amused.
“I can set it inside for you if you want.”
I blink myself back to life and step aside so quickly I nearly trip over my own socked feet.
“Yes. Sorry. Yes, please. Come in.”
He ducks under the doorframe and suddenly my tiny cabin feels even tinier. He smells like cold air, pine, and clean male sweat. Like the mountain itself decided to become a man and knock on my door.
I close the door behind him with fingers that do not feel entirely reliable.
He crosses to the wood box by the fireplace as if he already knows exactly where everything is and crouches to stack the logs. The movement pulls his flannel tight across his back and shoulders, and I have to press my lips together to keep from making an actual sound.
Good grief.
My ex spent two years making me feel like my body took up too much space in every room.
This man walks into one room and somehow makes all the air feel built around him.
