Chapter 5

Chapter Five

G rady

The sound of raucous laughter spills out of The Devil’s Brew as I push open the heavy wooden door. The familiar scent of beer, wood smoke, and a faint trace of fried food greets me like an old friend. Ridge is at the bar, gesturing wildly as he talks to Slate, Hunter, and Zane. Liam, Finn, and Fox are at a corner table, beers in hand and smirks already plastered across their faces as they see me walk in.

"Well, well, if it isn’t the blushing groom," Liam calls, lifting his bottle in a mock toast.

I grunt, heading straight for the bar. "I’m not a groom. This is a practical arrangement."

"Practical, huh?" Zane leans back in his chair, his grin wicked. "You mean to tell us you’re not at least a little tempted by your ‘practical’ wife? Heard she’s real easy on the eyes, Grady."

"Shut it, Zane," I growl, but the heat rising to my neck betrays me. I grab a beer from the bartender and take a long pull, the cold liquid doing little to cool my irritation—or the images of Sarah that have been stuck in my head since the moment I saw her standing in my cabin.

Ridge snorts, giving me a pointed look. "You can try to play it cool, but we all know how this story ends."

"Do we?" I ask dryly, already regretting this visit.

He nods, tapping his wedding ring on the bar. "Worked out for me and Quinn, didn’t it? And for the record, I never thought I’d be here. But there’s something about the right woman, Grady. She changes you, whether you’re ready or not."

The idea of Ridge and Quinn "working out" makes me bristle. Quinn’s my baby sister, the one I spent my whole damn life protecting, and the thought of her with anyone—especially Ridge—still doesn’t sit right, even though I know Ridge treats her like a damn queen.

"You’re good to her," I mutter, the words tasting strange but true. "Doesn’t mean I want to hear about it."

The group erupts into laughter, and Slate claps me on the back. "Don’t worry, Grady. Nobody wants to imagine their baby sister getting married, let alone?—"

"Shut it," I bark, and that only makes them laugh harder. “You don’t even have a sister. Nine brothers and cavemen every damn one of you.”

Hunter laughs, then leans forward, his expression softening. "But seriously, man. You ever think maybe no man’s good enough for any woman? The right one makes you want to be better, makes you see all the cracks you’ve been hiding. Love changes you, Grady. It’s the only thing that can."

I grunt, not wanting to admit how true those words feel. I take another swig of my beer, trying to ignore the way my chest tightens at the thought of Sarah. The way she smiles when she’s trying not to laugh. The way her eyes soften when she talks to Bear like he’s a person. The way she smells like cinnamon and sunshine, filling my cabin with warmth I didn’t realize I needed.

"Damn it," I mutter, setting my beer down harder than I mean to.

"What’s that?" Zane asks, feigning innocence. "Thinking about her, aren’t you?"

"Mind your business," I snap, but I can’t deny it. Sarah’s presence is inescapable, her warmth and light seeping into every corner of my life. And it terrifies me.

“You know–you and Sarah getting together you realize that makes me the best damn matchmaker in Devil’s Peak?” Zane snorts. I roll my eyes. “Seriously, because I pranked Ridge with that mail-order bride and it worked out, here you are–placing an ad and catching yourself a wilderness bride.” He shakes his head. “Not enough damn women in this town, not good ones, anyway.” He pulls from his beer with a sparkle in his eye.

“Amen to that,” Liam calls from the table behind us, lifting his beer in the air in a mock toast.

“Watch it,” I growl, “or you’ll be next.”

The guys laugh, chatter turning to fishing and business at the lodge. But I only half hear it all–my mind still on Sarah, curled up in my cabin with Bear, and I hate to admit that there’s a big part of me that would rather be there with her than with these fools.

The drive back to the cabin a while later is quiet, the snow-covered trees casting long shadows under the moonlight. I grip the steering wheel tighter than necessary, my thoughts swirling in a way that’s both frustrating and intoxicating.

She’s too young, I tell myself for the hundredth time. Only her second year teaching and just turned twenty-five. Too soft for a gruff and grumpy old bastard like me. She deserves someone better, someone closer to her age. I’ll be forty on my next birthday and my body feels every one of those years in aches and pains. She needs someone who can offer her more than a quiet life in the woods. But then I think about the way she looks at me, her eyes full of something that makes me feel like maybe, just maybe, I’m not as broken as I think I am.

When I finally pull into the driveway, the cabin’s windows glow with warm light. Inside, I know she’s curled up on the couch, probably reading one of those romance books she loves so much. Bear will be at her feet, snoring softly. And I’ll have to walk in there and act like I’m not thinking about how good it feels to have her here. How good it feels to imagine her here, always.

The air outside bites at my skin as I step out of the truck. I linger for a moment, letting the cold seep in, hoping it will douse the fire that’s been building inside me since I left The Devil’s Brew. But when I open the cabin door and see her, it’s useless.

She’s in my chair, her legs tucked under her, a blanket draped over her lap. Bear is at her feet, his tail thumping lazily when he sees me. She looks up, and her face lights up in a way that hits me square in the chest. Damn, my girl looks good in my life.

"Hey," she says softly, closing her book. "How was your night?"

"Fine," I grunt, pulling off my jacket and hanging it by the door. "Yours?"

"Quiet," she says, her smile teasing. "Well, except for Bear. He snores louder than you do."

I smirk, shaking my head. "Didn’t think that was possible."

She laughs, and the sound wraps around me, pulling me in. I want to hold onto it, to let it fill the empty spaces I’ve been carrying for too long.

"You hungry?" she asks, standing and smoothing the blanket over the chair. "I made shepherd’s pie and blueberry muffins for the kids at school. There’s plenty extra if you want some."

I nod, my throat tight. She moves toward the kitchen, her movements easy and unhurried, like she belongs here. Like she’s always belonged here.

"You don’t have to do all this, you know," I say, following her. "Cooking, cleaning...taking care of Bear. It’s not your job."

She turns, a wooden spoon in hand, and raises an eyebrow. "I like taking care of things, Grady. It’s just who I am."

Her words settle over me, a quiet truth that I can’t argue with. But it’s more than that. It’s the way she says my name, soft and certain, like she’s not afraid of the weight it carries.

I take a step closer, my voice rough. "You’ve been good to him. Bear, I mean. He loves you."

Her cheeks flush, and she looks down, scooping shepherd’s pie onto my plate. "He’s easy to love."

So are you, I think, but I don’t say it. Instead, I reach out, my hand brushing hers as I take the spoon from her. The contact is brief, but it sparks something between us, a heat that neither of us can ignore.

"Go sit," I say, my voice gruff. "I’ll finish this."

She hesitates, her eyes searching mine, and for a moment, I think she’s going to argue. But then she nods, stepping back and letting me take over.

As I pull out napkins and fill water glasses, the cabin feels smaller, the air thicker. I can feel her behind me, her presence as warm and steady as the fire crackling in the hearth. And for the first time in a long time, I let myself wonder what it would be like to keep her here. To let her soften the hard edges of my life. To let her love me the way she loves Bear—without hesitation or expectation.

When I’m finished, we sit at the small table, the silence between us comfortable but charged. She thanks me for the meal, her smile bright and sincere, and I feel something shift inside me.

As we clear the dishes, our hands brush again, and this time, neither of us pulls away. She looks up at me, her eyes wide and uncertain, and I see everything I’m feeling mirrored back at me.

"Grady," she whispers, her voice barely audible.

I don’t know what she’s going to say, and I don’t let her finish. Instead, I close the distance between us, my hands framing her face as I kiss her.

It’s soft at first, tentative, but then she leans into me, her hands gripping my shirt, and the world falls away. She tastes like warmth and possibility, and I’m lost in her, in the way she fits against me, in the way she sighs my name like it’s the only thing she needs.

When we finally pull apart, she’s breathless, her cheeks flushed, and I know I’m done for.

"You’re dangerous, Sarah," I say, my voice low.

She smiles, her eyes shining with something I can’t name. "So are you, Grady."

And just like that, the walls I’ve spent years building start to crumble.