11. Wyatt

11

WYATT

T he last place I expected myself to be was, well, here. Not in the sense of being at the cabin—Marcus offered me a deal where I could have owner's rights in exchange for building the furniture for the place. I'm still getting used to being a business owner, not that the cabin is flourishing in terms of attracting guests. It's a beautiful little setup with lots of trees, but also lots of snow. Hell, I barely made it here alive as far as I was concerned.

I draw in a deep breath and walk up to the front door. I manage to open the door despite the sticking hinges and the weight of snow that had piled up against it. Shivering, I beat snow off my shoulders and step out of my boots so that I don’t track snow through the house.

A napkin flutters out of my pocket, and I smirk as I realize that it’s from the bar in Spokane where I met her . My stomach flips over, but my cock twitches. I chuckle at the mixed reactions that she has stirred in me.

Not that I'm complaining. In all these years of casually hooking up with women, I've never experienced someone doing the same to me. She was open and honest about it. Good traits, sure. But those bedroom eyes and plump lips were even better. The way her mouth parted in shock, her hair falling in soft waves…chef's kiss, I'd say.

Spokane was…educational, let's say. I learned that a woman like Bella is about as compatible with me as a termite is with a redwood deck. Still, her flair for the dramatic did give me the push I needed to finish some projects. Work is good. Work never asks me to leave in the middle of the night.

Whispering Pines, now that's more my style. Peace, quiet, and trees that don't talk back. It's enough to make a man consider swearing off women altogether and marrying himself to a bandsaw instead.

I always pictured settling down here, building a life with my own two hands, maybe even sharing it with someone special one day. But hey, Rome wasn't built in a day, and neither is the perfect cabin or the perfect woman. Though she came pretty close, with her wide-eyed wonder and the way she made me feel…seen? Heard? Dunno the right word, but it was infuriating as fuck. Not as much as being tossed out, of course. I moped around for a bit, and I'll even go so far as to admit I was stalkerish. Hung around the cafe near her place, hoped to run into her at the store a block down, but no such luck.

It's common knowledge that when something is going south, all the other parts of your life usually follow.

Speaking of which, I was given a new project by Jonathan Carter. Guess some guys chase after women, and I chase after knot-free lumber. To each their own, right? Except, the day I walked into his house to get the details I'd need to build new furniture for his study, I got myself a new friend I'd grow close to in no time at all.

I genuinely like Carter, and the others in his friend group I met over dinner a day later. They invited me back to their cabin, which brought me here where I was currently stranded. Not that I minded too much. We all got along. I was sure they wouldn’t mind if I had to stay over for a few days.

“Marcus?” I call out, still shivering a little, but warming up quickly in the cozy cabin. I walk toward the kitchen and halt dead when I caught sight of who is in the kitchen. Freya…no…Bella stood in the kitchen, staring at me with eyes that were wide with shock.

She's just as gorgeous as I remember, and she's got my heart flipping around in my chest. Dammit. The initial shock on her face dissipates slowly. “What are you doing here?”

I chuckle at the stress she has placed on the word “you”.

“Jonathan Carter asked me to come up here to find local wood for the furniture that I’m planning to make for him. I tried calling Marcus to see if he was still up here so I could come and say hello. He must not have heard the phone ringing or something. He didn’t answer. I just decided to come up anyhow, not realizing how hard it’s snowing up here.

She scowls a little. “There’s no cell service due to the storm,” she manages to say. It sounds like she’s gritting her teeth.

“Makes sense,” I say to her. “Marcus still here?”

“Yeah. And River,” she says. Her tone is definitely tense now. I wonder why. She stalks over to the kitchen counter and dumps some whiskey into her mug. She gestures to me in invitation, and I nod. Why not? I’m cold, and the whiskey will help me warm up.

"You okay?" I ask through a swig of throat-burning, heart-warming whiskey.

"No, and I don't want to talk about it." She takes a little sip and sets the glass down with a decisive thud. "Is that all right?"

I shrug my shoulders. "Fine by me."

A few minutes go by, and then, she starts talking. She tells me about her life, her kid, and her past with River. I stare at her longingly the whole time, my eyes never leaving the liquid light in her eyes, the way her lips tremble when she says his name, and how her chest rises and falls with each little sigh she takes.

"River was a jerk," I finally say drily. "But you shouldn't put it past him to make amends, you know?"

Her eyes darken. "He can try all he wants," she mutters through another sip. "I'm done handing out chances like candy at Halloween. I got done with that when I had my kid."

"Can I ask…"

I want to know if River's the dad, but it isn't my place to straight-up say this question to her face. And by the way her face flushes, she's not willing to talk about it, so I veer off-topic with all the grace of a deer in the headlights. "About Ginny?" I attempt, anyway, my voice soft. "Was it hard, raising her on your own?"

Just like that, her eyes mist over. "It was hard," she murmurs, playing with the rim of her glass, watching thin arcs of firelight dance over the crystal and fill it with colors. "It was the hardest fucking thing I've ever done. But,” she smiles, "it was also the most worthwhile thing, you know? I understand when women say parenting isn't the be-all and end-all of their lives. It shouldn't be, either. But when your baby is small, and she needs you so completely, it's a whole other world you get to live in. You…" She sighs and drops her gaze to the floor. "You learn patience. You learn to cope with this raw, ravaging anger. And you learn that you've got everything it takes to make it in this world. Ginny is part of my life, the biggest, sweetest, most wholesome part. She makes the hard stuff all right."

The world is hanging on a thread of quiet, the silence accentuated by the crackle of the fire, the soft shushing sounds of the wind and snow, and the rustle of leaves on the trees. Bella looks at the ground, her face flushed with bone-deep tiredness, the kind it is only possible for a parent to feel. The longing in her eyes snags on the rough edges of my heart, lodging in the crevices I usually keep guarded. I've spent this whole life stacking high walls over the wake of each failed relationship—and I've had my fair share of them. This kind of vulnerability? It's new, and I'm surprised I don't hate it. I reach out with unsteady hands and trace the curve of her cheek with the backs of my fingers.

The realization comes with a wave of simple yearning, linked with the knowledge that even if she fixes her issue with River, I want her. I want the rough and the soft, the edges of her darkness and what she will share of her light.

Wow. I've never felt this sappy and been so proud of it.

"You're an angel," I murmur. The whiskey has settled in my stomach now, sending rivulets of buttery warmth through my blood-brain barrier.

A lazy smile spreads across her face, the corners of her lips lifting like a kite catching a warm updraft. "An angel?" she echoes, the words swirling in the smoky air between us. She leans back in her chair, fingers playing on the rim of her glass. "I suppose that's one way to put it."

The amber liquid in her glass catches the light, shimmering like molten gold. She raises it to her lips, taking a slow sip, letting the flavors of caramel and vanilla wash over her tongue. "You're quite good with words," she jokes. "But you're not wrong."

She closes her eyes for a moment, savoring the residual warmth from the drink. When she opens them again, her gaze is soft, almost wistful. "It's a strange feeling," she expresses, "to know you've given life to someone. To watch them grow and become their own thing. It's exhilarating." She takes another sip, her eyes now twinkling amusedly. "And a little terrifying, since toddlers don't come with an "off" switch. But mostly exhilarating."

I shake my head and try to put sensible words to the thoughts in it. "No, scratch that. That's not what I wanted to say. What I meant is—you're the most powerful person there is. You're raising a whole person, someone who's going to contribute to this world in significant ways. It's never going to be easy, Bella. But you and I both know you wouldn't have it any other way."

The smile stops being amused and grows soft. Surprise shines in the core of her irises, snaking down through my body too. The things I want to do to her right now…

"Thanks for that," she replies, nodding at me. "That's the first I've felt good in this whole damned evening, although Marcus has done his best too."

I laugh. "You've probably charmed the pants off him."

She touches my arm with a finger. A river of heat erupts in the center of my stomach and lances downward. I harden at her mere touch.

"Is he my only victim?" she asks teasingly.

Oh, fucking hell.

From the cabin's wide windows, I glance askance as snowflakes pirouette through the air. They obscure the rugged landscapes beyond, transforming this intimate world into a hushed wonderland, every pine bough heavy with a downy coat, every rock and fallen log a ghostly silhouette.

The fire crackles in the hearth, casting a warm glow that dances across the rough-hewn wooden walls. It paints our faces in flickering shades of amber and gold. The scents of pine needles and woodsmoke mingle with the subtle sweetness of her perfume.

It reminds me of years ago, spending nights in a lonely hotel room the night of my supposed wedding. The snow was relentless then too, swirling and eddying in a vortex of white against a deep black night. Except then, my whole being was frayed by restless anger, and my certainty that I'd never make the same mistake again.

What did I know?

I clear my throat and look around. "So, something tells me you didn't enjoy yourself at dinner. Want me to fix you something?"

Her eyelids flutter. "Are you trying to charm me?"

I raise my hands in mock surrender. "Can't fault a man for giving it his best shot when everything he wants is right in front of him, can ‘ya?"

Bella parts her mouth and licks her lower lip.

I've just played all my cards.

What the hell is wrong with me?

Maybe this is because she's the one who refuses to give in, to relinquish control. With my earlier relationships—especially the one that left me absolutely hollow—it was fair play until the end, and I was mostly a bit of an asshole. I liked things done a certain way, sought a degree of submission. And I sure as hell would never be fine with being told to leave after sex. If it had been someone else, they'd have received a mouthful. But with Bella…

My mouth waters for no reason at all. I've got to impress this girl.