Page 48 of The Hermit

Dominik chuckles as he steers the Hummer onto a dirt road that quickly becomes steep.

Grabbing hold of the sides of my seat, my eyes dart around, and I watch as the trees grow thicker and thicker as we head up the mountain.

Chapter 13

GRACE

The ride up the dirt road is nerve-racking, and when the Hummer’s wheels spin over a patch of loose sand, I squeak, my nails digging into the leather seat.

“You don’t like being adventurous, do you?” Dominik asks, his tone amused.

“Definitely not,” I admit, my eyes locked on the road. “When you jumped out of that window with me, I almost peed myself.”

He chuckles, then drives the Hummer around a bend before bringing the vehicle to a stop.

I glance at the trees around us, then mutter, “I don’t see a house.”

“Come. It’s close by,” he replies, shoving the door open and climbing out of the Hummer.

“Come, where?” I whisper as I open the passenger door.

After I get out of the vehicle, I glance around us again, then say, “Your place better not be some tent between the trees.”

Dominik grabs my luggage, leaving a light carry-on for me to bring.

“You don’t like camping?” he asks as he begins to walk.

I grab the smaller bag and set after him, thankful I’m wearing boots and not high heels.

“I hate camping.”

He nods while his longer legs move much faster than mine.

The uphill is killing my thigh muscles, and when I’m a minute away from wheezing from the exercise, we break through a lining of trees, and I gasp.

Holy shit.

I stop walking and stare at the black slated walls of the house that seem to be carved into the mountain.

“This is insane,” I whisper in total awe. Lights go on inside the house, shining warm and inviting through the floor-to-ceiling walls. I can see right into a living room where there are black couches and a coffee table.

“Welcome, Grace,” Dominik says, drawing my attention to him. “I hope you’ll find peace here.”

His unexpected words make tears sting my eyes, but I force them back, refusing to cry in front of him.

As I walk to the front door, I take in the beautiful Zen-inspired garden and a stream that trickles into a small pond where moss has covered black pebbles.

At a loss for words, I step inside Dominik’s house, and my eyes dart around, drinking in the serene décor.

When I see a Buddha statue, I ask, “Are you a Buddhist?”

Dominik shakes his head. “No. I’m agnostic.” He sets my luggage down by the foot of the stairs that are made of light brown wood, then asks, “What religion do you practice?”

“I don’t,” I mutter as I walk toward a large window. “I stopped believing in a higher power a long time ago.”

Nearing the window, trees come into view, and when I see a lake far beneath in a valley, I can only stare at the breathtaking scenery.

I didn’t expect Dominik’s house to be so beautiful. If I were a believer, I’d think I stepped into heaven.

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