“This is home,” Gunnar grunts as we approach the front door. He pushes it open and ushers me in first, my heart fluttering as I brush past him. The cabin smells like him—pine and earth, along with something wild and musky that I can’t place. I breathe it in deeply as I walk into the living room, taking in the rustic furniture and sparse décor. Something tells me Gunnar doesn’t spend a whole lot of time at home. He seems too busy roaming the woods to care about interior design. But the cabin doesn’t need décor to be beautiful—the view outside the windows is more than enough: the swaying pine trees, the glitter of the creek in the sunlight.
“This place is amazing,” I say, smiling at Gunnar. It’s the first time I’ve been indoors with him, and he seems to fill the whole space, his size making the cabin look like a dollhouse.
“Thanks.”
“Is there any chance you have Wi-Fi out here?” I ask, slipping off my sneakers. “I just want to message my sister and let her know I’ll be late back.”
To my surprise, he nods. “Got a satellite connection. Patchy as hell, but might be enough to shoot off a message.”
He reels off the password, and I open my messaging app, clicking on Amelia’s name.
Hey! Just texting to say I’ll be home late.
I’m having lunch at Gunnar’s cabin.
I also might have swum in the lake with him.
And he might have been naked.
And he maybe almost kissed me.
I’ll text you later.
The messages deliver and my sister replies immediately.
WHAT
I pocket my phone, stifling a smile.
“Thanks,” I tell Gunnar. “It worked.”
He nods, watching me steadily from the open doorway to the kitchen. Then he gestures to the door on my right. “Bathroom’s through there. You can use the shower if you want to wash the lake off. I’ll find you something dry to wear.”
“That would be awesome,” I say with a rush of gratitude. My skin feels clammy in my wet bra and panties, sediment from the lake still clinging to my hair. A shower sounds like heaven.
Gunnar disappears into another room for a moment, then brings out one of his plaid shirts, holding it up. “This okay?”
I’m a big, curvy girl, but Gunnar’s shirt will still be enormous on me. I can easily wear it like a dress.
“Perfect,” I tell him.
“Just leave your wet clothes outside the door. I’ll hang them up outside.”
I thank him again and head into the bathroom with his shirt, before stripping off and opening the door just wide enough to toss my clothes out. Then I step into the shower and wash my body, smothering myself in Gunnar’s soap and shampoo.
Once I’m clean and dry, I pull on the fresh shirt and button it up. It falls to my knees, the fabric soft against my skin, and as I step out of the bathroom, I’m hyperaware of the fact that I’m completely naked underneath.
And Gunnar knows it.
With a shudder, I walk back into the living room, suddenly hit by the smell of bacon coming from the open kitchen door. As I head toward it, Gunnar appears holding two plates in his hands, a box of something wedged under his arm. To my delight, he’s still shirtless, and I have to force myself not to stare at the thick muscles of his chest.
“Made us BLTs,” he says. “Got a cherry pie for dessert.”
“It smells amazing. Thank you.”
He waves off my thanks. “Want to eat by the creek?”
“I’d love to.”
