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“It could be.” He shifts the truck and moves his feet from the gas to the clutch. I’d forgotten how hot it is watching him drive like this. There’s a control and confidence in shifting gears. A focus and precision. Not to mention the rev of the engine and the tactile feedback the gear shift adds.

Maybe I’m simpler than I thought.

“Look, princess,” his hand lands on my thigh between shifts, “I don’t know how to make sense of all this out loud or I’d have done that at the start, but the bottom line is… you should listen to your heart, then we can make this whole thing easy. I take you home, you live with me, and I shoot anyone who comes near us. The end.”

I’m not sure many men could get away with a statement like that, but somehow, Sawyer does.

“Right,” I drag my manicured nail over my bottom lip, “and the wedding tomorrow? I just forget that too?”

“Yup.” He turns up the old dirt road we used to pick berries on. It’s dark but between the moon and the headlights, I see the row of blackberry bushes we used to make out in.God, those days were nice.

“Wait, did you buy a house up here?”

“No.”

“Then where are we going?”

“I built one.”

Of course he built his own house. There’s nothing this man doesn’t do. I’m starting to think I really did fall off that boat and hit my head. By now my brain is probably unrecoverably damaged anyway, so I might as well let it ride.

The moonlit path toward the cabin in the back woods is like that of a storybook. He’s collected rocks from the area to line the driveway and there’s a front porch hanging off the front of the cabin with two rocking chairs side by side.

The cabin itself is framed by two pine trees and I’m sure the logs have been locally sourced.

“This is pretty incredible. You did this all by yourself?”

“Well, my buddy Gage helped with the architecture, but I did the labor and the detail work. You know him, the guy who owns the tattoo shop, married to Raven, Henry’s daughter.”

Everyone in town knows Henry Baxter. His family owns most of the land up here and he was the original owner of Rugged Mountain Ink, the establishment that put Rugged Mountain on the map.

“Yeah, I remember him. I didn’t know about Raven’s husband, though. That’s cool. Maybe he’d be interested in helping design a playground project. My sister was randomly passionate about getting a town playground built yesterday.”

“A playground? She has kids now?”

“No. I meant to talk to her about it some more, but we got busy this afternoon. Anyway… your cabin is gorgeous.”

“Thanks. I’ll get in touch with Gage about plans for a playground.”

“She’ll be happy to hear that.” I smile softly and stare toward the dimly lit cabin laid out in front of me. It’s perfect. I can’t believe he built this with his own hands. Well, I can… Sawyer’s always building things. I’ve forever admired that about him.

The detail on the outside of the cabin alone is insane with stone accents and etched wooden shutters. He’s even made a custom wood-burned sign with a mountain scene to hang by the front door.

Sawyer parks and climbs down out of the truck, making his way around quickly to help me out. It’s a subtle detail most men miss, but he’s always right there, opening my door, holding my hand, kissing my forehead.

Jesus. What am I doing?I should run. My being here is only going to cause drama, but I can’t get myself to walk away. Hell, I can barelylookaway.

So, instead of leaving, I follow him up the front steps of the porch and stand waiting under the light as he slides the key into the door, then follow him through the house, touring the cabin.

Built-in bookcases, a stone fireplace, a rainfall shower with river-rock floor, a bedroom with floor to ceiling windows overlooking the dark forest, and a butcher block kitchen complete with farmhouse sink and a hand carved slice of pie sitting on the windowsill.

Sawyer glances toward me, noticing me observing the carving. “I told you I thought about you every day.”

The warmth that had comforted me earlier returns. I shouldn’t feel guilty for loving him. I shouldn’t feel guilty for wanting him. I shouldn’t feel guilty for wanting to tear his clothes off and finally learn what it feels like to have him inside of me.

I’m a grown woman. I’m no longer with Leon. My father is just an old man. That’s all. He doesn’t have power over me anymore.

So then why is my stomach riddled with guilt?

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