His eyes hold mine for one beat longer than necessary. Then he opens the door and steps out onto the porch.
Cold air rushes in around him.
“Seven, Lexie.”
I stand there clutching the edge of my sweater like an idiot. “Seven.”
Then he is gone, taking half the oxygen in the room with him.
I close the door. Lock it.
And then I just stand in the middle of the cabin staring at nothing, my pulse racing like I’ve run uphill.
A dance.
With a lumberjack.
A mountain man lumberjack with blue eyes and hands the size of dinner plates and a voice that could melt every bit of snow on the ridge.
This is insane.
This is probably a terrible idea.
This is absolutely happening.
Slowly, helplessly, I grin.
Then I turn toward the dresser.
I have exactly two hours to figure out what a woman wears to a mountain-town dance when she is trying very hard not to fall for the rugged man who just delivered her firewood.
Given my luck lately, I am probably already in trouble.
Chapter 2
Lexie
Ichangemyoutfitfour times before I finally admit I’m losing my mind.
Not in a dramatic, call-for-help kind of way. Just in the specific, deeply embarrassing way of a woman standing in front of a tiny vanity mirror in a mountain cabin, trying to decide what saysI’m casually going to a small-town dance with a devastatingly handsome lumberjackand notI’ve already imagined our future children.
“Get it together, Lexie,” I mutter at my reflection.
The reflection looks unconvinced.
The first dress is too flimsy for a mountain night. The second makes me feel like I’m trying too hard. The third is cute, but the neckline keeps slipping, and if Weston looks at me the way he did earlier, I do not trust myself to handle a wardrobe malfunction with dignity.
So I settle on soft and simple.
A dark green sweater dress that skims my curves without clinging too much. Black tights. Brown ankle boots. I leave my hair down, brushing the honey-colored waves until they fall over my shoulders in a way that looks almost intentional, and put on just enough makeup to make my blue eyes stand out.
Mascara. Blush. Lip gloss.
I stare at myself for a long moment.
I look... nice.
Not polished. Just soft.Me.
