Chapter 4

Chapter Four

S arah

I’ve been here for two days and already the cabin has started to feel less like a strange, temporary arrangement and more like... home. Not that I’d ever admit that out loud. The days blur into a rhythm—Bear follows me around the cabin, his tail wagging happily when I bake him treats, and Grady comes and goes, his presence as steady and commanding as the mountains that surround us.

I try not to notice the way the air seems to thicken when he walks in, his shirt dusted with wood shavings or his hair damp from snow. I try not to notice the way his eyes linger on me sometimes, as if he’s trying to figure me out. And I definitely try not to notice the way my pulse races when he does.

But tonight, something feels different.

I’m curled up on the couch with Bear sprawled across my feet, his snores adding a low hum to the cozy quiet of the cabin. A pot of stew bubbles gently on the stove, and the fire crackles in the hearth, casting flickering shadows across the room. The storm outside has picked up, snow swirling against the windows, but inside, it’s warm and safe.

The door creaks open, and I glance up to see Grady step inside, shaking the snow from his shoulders. He looks tired, his brows drawn and his jaw set, but when his eyes meet mine, something in his expression softens. He closes the door behind him, his movements deliberate and heavy with the weight of the day spent in the woods.

“Long day?” I ask softly, careful not to disturb the peace of the moment.

He grunts, his version of yes, and shrugs off his jacket, hanging it by the door. “Tree snagged my saw. Took half the afternoon to cut it free.”

“That sounds... frustrating,” I offer, my lips curving into a small smile.

“You have no idea,” he mutters, but there’s a hint of amusement in his tone as he moves toward the kitchen. He pauses by the stove, lifting the lid of the pot and inhaling deeply. “Stew?”

I nod, shifting on the couch. “Chicken and sausage, my Grandma’s famous family recipe. Figured you’d be hungry.”

He looks over his shoulder, his eyes catching the firelight. “You cook like this every night?”

“Only for grumpy lumberjacks and old dogs,” I tease, scratching Bear behind the ears.

Grady huffs out a laugh, a low rumble that does something strange to my stomach. “Lucky us.”

After dinner, the storm outside howls louder, and the cabin feels like it’s in its own little world, cocooned in warmth and flickering light. I sit back on the couch, nursing a cup of tea, while Grady stokes the fire. His broad shoulders block the flames for a moment, and when he stands, the room seems smaller somehow.

He hesitates, his gaze sweeping over me and Bear before landing on the small radio on the mantel. He fiddles with the dial, and a soft, old country tune filters through the cabin.

I raise an eyebrow. “Didn’t peg you for a music guy.”

He shrugs, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Grew up on old country music. Mom used to dance around the kitchen to Glen Campbell and old Hank Williams. She loved it.”

Something shifts in the air, his words laced with a quiet sadness that tugs at my chest. “She must’ve been a wonderful woman.”

“She was,” he says, his voice rough. “Lost her while I was deployed in the desert.”

My breath catches. “I’m so sorry.”

He shakes his head, his gaze fixed on the flames. “Car accident. Drunk driver ran a red light. Never got to say goodbye.”

The weight of his confession hangs heavy between us, and for a moment, I don’t know what to say. But then he looks at me, his eyes darker than I’ve ever seen them.

“Dance with me,” he says, his voice low.

“What?” I blink, caught off guard.

“Dance with me,” he repeats, holding out a calloused hand.

I hesitate, my heart pounding, but something in his gaze pulls me in. I set my tea down and stand, my hand slipping into his. His grip is warm and firm, and as he pulls me closer, the room seems to shrink even more.

The music is slow and mournful, the kind of tune that seeps into your bones. Grady’s hand settles on my waist, his touch steady and sure, and I rest my other hand on his shoulder, trying to ignore the way his closeness makes my pulse race.

“You don’t seem like the dancing type,” I tease, my voice barely above a whisper.

“I’m not,” he admits, his lips curving into a faint smile. “But you make me want to try.”

My cheeks flush, and I look away, focusing on the steady rhythm of the music. His hand tightens slightly on my waist, pulling me closer, and I can feel the heat of him, the strength in his frame.

“You’re good at this,” I say, my voice shaky.

“Don’t sound so surprised,” he murmurs, his breath brushing against my temple.

I glance up at him, and the intensity in his eyes steals the air from my lungs. “I’m not,” I say softly, and for a moment, it feels like we’re the only two people in the world.

The music fades into the background, and the silence between us grows thick with unspoken words. His gaze drops to my lips, and my breath catches, the space between us suddenly electric. I feel his hand slide slightly lower on my waist, his grip firm but not demanding, and my heart pounds so loudly I’m sure he can hear it.

“Sarah,” he says, his voice rough, like he’s fighting some internal battle.

“Grady,” I whisper, my voice barely audible.

His head dips, just enough that I can feel the warmth of his breath against my lips, and for a moment, I think he’s going to kiss me. My heart leaps, anticipation coursing through me like wildfire.

But then, just as quickly as the moment sparks, it fizzles. He steps back, his hand dropping from my waist as if burned.

“I... I should check on the fire,” he mutters, turning away abruptly.

I stand frozen, my pulse racing and my skin tingling from where his hands had been. The loss of his touch is almost unbearable, and I bite my lip, willing myself to calm down.

He busies himself with the fireplace, his movements tense and clipped, and I realize he’s shutting me out. Again.

“Goodnight, Grady,” I say softly, my voice laced with disappointment.

He doesn’t look at me, just nods once. “Goodnight, Sarah.”

As I retreat to my room, I can still feel the phantom weight of his hand on my waist, the heat of his gaze lingering on my skin.

I close the door behind me, leaning against it with a sigh. Grady Stevens may be the grumpiest, most infuriating man I’ve ever met, but there’s something about him that draws me in like a moth to a flame.

And no matter how hard I try, I can’t seem to stay away.