Page 33 of Knotting With A Stranger

Hunter returns alone, his expression casual but distracted. “She’s all set up there. I’m heading out to check our firewood supply. With this storm coming, I want to make sure we have enough logs to keep the place warm.”

“Hunter...”

“Everything’s fine,” he says, but there’s something in his tone I can’t quite read. He grabs his coat and heads out.

My mind keeps drifting back to her. The way she smiled at me in the bakery, how she teased and flirted. I reach down to adjust my cock, trying to get comfortable. I should leave her alone.

But somehow, I’m already moving toward the stairs, drawn up like a puppet on a string. From the moment I first saw her, she’s occupied my thoughts and filled my dreams. Each step brings her scent closer—sweet, intoxicating, dangerous. It wraps around me, pulling me forward until I’m standing outside the spare room.

The door is open, and she’s there in jeans and a loose hoodie among the shelves of clothes, looking lost in thought. When she turns to find me in the doorway, she startles slightly, taking an instinctive step back. Fuck, she’s gorgeous.

“Sorry,” I say, staying in the doorway to give her space. “Just checking if you’re settling in okay?”

“Thanks,” she says, trying for a light tone, but I notice the slight tension in her shoulders. “I have to warn you… my track record with men trying to help me isn’t great.”

“No?”

“Let’s just say that last week, one offered to help and ended up wearing his coffee instead of drinking it.” She busies herself examining the shelves, but I don’t miss her quick glance my way. “Though I suppose you’ve already proven yourself somewhat less awful than most.”

“High praise.”

“The highest.” She reaches for another sweater on the top shelf but can’t quite grab it. I stay where I am, making sure to keep my distance.

“I can get that for you,” I offer, then add with a small grin. “Promise not to be awful about it.”

She laughs, and fuck, she sounds beautiful. Some of the tension eases from her posture. She steps aside, letting me grab the sweater for her.

As I hand it to her, our fingers brush briefly, and the contact sends electricity through me. I take a deliberate step back.

“The bakery prepared me well for careful handoffs.”

“Ah yes, the great pastry-to-customer transfer. Very delicate business.” She hugs the sweater to her chest, but her eyes are sparkling with humor. “What brought you in on that day, anyway? Was it really a recommendation by someone else?”

“Fate, I like to think, seeing I was in town to deliver a purchased antique piece,” I say without thinking, then wince at how cheesy it sounds. “Or maybe just really good timing.”

She arches an eyebrow. “That’s what you’re going with? Not,I was desperately craving a croissant?”

“Would you believe both?” I lean against the doorframe of her bedroom door again, keeping the casual distance between us. “Finding out the baker was as interesting as her pastries was a bonus.”

She’s smiling. “How long have you known Hunter?” she asks, settling back on the edge of the bed. The question seems safer than addressing the electricity still crackling between us.

I absently run my thumb over the compass tattoo on my wrist—a habit I picked up years ago. “Since we were kids. His grandfather took us both under his wing when I moved to town. Taught us everything about surviving out here in the woods.”

“You weren’t always local, then?”

Something in her genuine curiosity makes me want to open up.

“No. Mom and I moved around a lot when I was young. Running from...” I pause, choosing my words carefully. “Family complications. We finally settled here.” I don’t mention that it was our last move together, that within months, she was gone, leaving me with only her books and the sound of her voice reading Poe in my head.

Her eyes drift to my wrist, to the tattoo there. “That must have been hard, moving so much.”

“It was. Never knew which direction we’d end up next.” I look down at the compass rose. “Got this after I learned she passed. The rose was for her—Rose was her name. The compass...” I pause, memories washing over me. “For all those years we spent searching for somewhere safe.”

“So sorry for your loss.” She pauses, the corners of her sweet lips drawn down.

“Speaking of storms,” I break the silence, not wanting to dwell on sorrow. “I was fourteen when I thought I was invincible. Decided to explore the woods alone even though the weather was turning.”

She turns from the window, interest sparking in her eyes. “Let me guess—it didn’t end well?”

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