Page 11 of Claimed By the Lumberjack

I nod. “Please.”

He slides it toward me and watches as I take a long sip. The amber glass is cool against my palm, and the fire crackles in the background.

We’ve worked side by side all day, hauling wood, fixing a broken shutter, boiling water on the stove like we live in apioneer novel. Somehow, I’m not exhausted. I feel settled. And I’m not ready for the day to end.

Sawyer leans back against the cushions, his thigh brushing mine in a way that feels completely casual and yet wildly not.

I glance at him. “Are you always this quiet?”

His mouth twitches like he’s considering a smile but thinks better of it. “I talk when there’s something worth saying.”

“So you’re a man of few words and fewer smiles.”

“Something like that.”

“Very brooding. Very on brand.”

I expect him to grunt or change the subject, but instead, he lets the silence sit for a moment before saying, “You ask a lot of questions.”

“It’s kind of my thing,” I answer with a smile.

“Journalist thing?”

“Human thing.”

He takes a long sip of beer and stares into the fire. “What do you want to know now?”

I turn slightly to face him, legs tucked under me, one arm draped over the back of the couch. “Your story.”

He goes still.

“You said everyone makes one up,” I continue gently. “Let me hear the real one.”

His jaw tightens. “It’s not that interesting.”

“I don’t mind boring.”

His eyes flick to mine. “You don’t?” There’s a long pause, and just when I think he’s going to brush me off completely, he exhales and runs a hand over his face.

“I had a brother,” he says, his voice low and steady.

Had.

The word lodges somewhere in my chest.

“Jesse,” he continues. “Younger than me by three years. He was always the louder one, the risk-taker. He was the reason Iever left the mountain at all. He wanted more than this.” He gestures around the cabin.

“What happened?” I ask softly.

Sawyer doesn’t look at me. Just keeps staring into the flames.

“Car accident. Winter storm. He was driving back from Raleigh after visiting a friend. The roads had iced over, and he skid off the highway.”

My heart aches. “God, Sawyer. I’m so sorry.”

He nods once, but I can tell he’s far away now. “After that… I couldn’t stay in town. Everyone looked at me like I was glass, like I might break with a word. So, I came up here, built something with my hands. Stayed busy. Stopped answering calls.”

“Is that why you hate the Instagram stuff?” I ask quietly.

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