The lodge appeared through the trees a moment later, massive and majestic, built of dark timber and stone. Thick beams stretched toward the sky, floor-to-ceiling windows gleaming with soft afternoon light. Even from a distance, it looked timeless. The kind of place that had seen weddings, family gatherings, and a hundred quiet goodbyes.
“I’ll go grab our keys,” Dean said, pulling into a spot near the entrance.
Before I could respond, he was already out of the Jeep, taking the steps two at a time.
I watched him go, then reached over and scratched under George’s chin where it sat propped on the back of my seat. “I guess we’re really doing this,” I said quietly.
He gave a soft huff, his ears twitching, as if he agreed but wasn’t entirely sure it was a good idea.
“Yeah,” I sighed, leaning back in my seat. “That makes two of us, buddy.”
Thirteen
We pulledinto a smaller parking lot at the end of a long road, where a narrow dirt path led toward our assigned cabin.
It was beautiful, tucked away down a private stretch of wilderness. The cabin was larger than I expected. Wooden beams. Stone accents. High, floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked a private view of the lake.
It was breathtaking.
Nature seemed to stretch out for miles here. Like we’d entered the Garden of Eden. Everything untouched. Plants growing without any kind of irrigation system to keep them alive. An ecosystem so wildly different from LA.
I stepped through the door and turned in a slow circle, taking in the space.
The cabin was open-concept, but everything had its own corner—defined without really being separate. To the left, a sitting area with a stone fireplace, a worn leather couch, and a matching armchair angled toward a wall of windows that looked out onto the forest. Straight ahead, a small kitchenette with dark wood cabinets and a slate countertop. And off to the right, a queen-sized bed sat beneath a bank of tall windows, framed in soft light that spilled across the quilt and floorboards.
It was warm, quiet, and impossibly intimate—like stepping into a life that already belonged to someone else.
I paused, breath catching in my throat.
I hadn’t thought to ask about the sleeping arrangements before we left. There had been so many details to memorize, so many events to pack for, that it hadn’t even crossed my mind.
But when I turned around, Dean was already at the couch, stacking blankets on the arm rest as he tossed the throw pillows onto the chair.
I exhaled, relieved. “That’ll work. I’ll just grab a pillow and?—”
Dean shook his head and let out a short laugh. “Oh, no you won’t.”
I froze. “What do you mean?”
“You’ll take the bed. I'll take the couch.”
I blinked a few times. “That’s absurd. I’m smaller than you—I’ll be…”
But the way he looked at me made the words dissolve on my tongue.
His expression wasn’t smug or angry. It was steady, grounded in a kind of quiet confidence that made my skin tingle. As though he’d already imagined every version of this argument and had calmly decided none of them mattered.
It was protective in a way that felt… intimate. Like he wasn’t just offering me the bed—he was refusing to let me shrink myself for his comfort.
And it wasn’t fair, the way something in me responded to it.
My chest went tight. Heat curled low in my stomach, unexpected and disorienting.
I turned away—not because I was upset, but because something inside me unfolded. I wasn’t used to this. To someone quietly choosing my comfort over their own. Not a man like him. And definitely not a man who was paying for my presence.
It shouldn’t have meant anything.
But it did.
