Page 7 of Claimed By the Lumberjack

He snorts, actually snorts, and it’s the first real sound of amusement I’ve heard from him. It’s a nice sound. I want to hear it again.

“You’re ridiculous,” he mutters.

“And you’re still shirtless.”

He glances down like he forgot. Which, honestly, is probably true. If I looked like that, I’d walk around shirtless as much as possible. A small shiver runs through me as I look at his defined abs.

“Cold?” he asks, voice low.

“Not even a little,” I say too quickly, spooning more soup into my mouth to cover the flush rising in my cheeks.

He stands, finally grabbing a T-shirt from the back of the chair and tugging it on. I try not to be disappointed. I fail.

We finish the soup, and I carry our bowls to the sink, rinsing them out while he throws another log on the fire. The flames catch and roar up, casting the cabin in golden light.

I dry my hands and turn to find him watching me.

There’s something in his eyes I can’t quite place. It’s like awareness, but I’m not sure if that’s good or bad.

“You’re not what I expected,” he says quietly.

“Oh? And what did you expect?”

He shrugs. “Someone louder. Flashier. Less persistent.”

“I’m an acquired taste.”

He nods. “So are Brussels sprouts.”

We fall into silence again, and I sit back down on the couch, tucking my legs under me. He walks over and picks up a folded blanket from the back of the chair, tossing it at me with a grumble.

I catch it. “Thanks. You’re a real softie under all that grump.”

“Don’t spread lies.”

I giggle and drape the blanket over myself with a sigh, leaning back into the cushions. My body is warm, full, and more relaxed than it’s been in weeks.

Sawyer disappears up the ladder to the loft and returns a moment later with another blanket and a pillow. He drops them on the couch opposite mine and gestures.

“I’ll take the couch, and you can sleep in the loft.”

“You sure?”

He nods. “You’re the guest.”

I smile. “This is the weirdest hotel I’ve ever stayed in.”

“Rate it one star and keep moving.”

I chuckle and pull the blanket tighter. Thunder rumbles again, quieter now. The rain has mellowed into a steady patter on the roof, soothing in its rhythm. The fire crackles, and warmth seeps through me, inch by inch.

“I’m sorry if I pushed,” I say softly.

He glances at me.

“Earlier,” I clarify. “About the photos. The story. I know you didn’t ask for any of this.”

He exhales slowly. “It’s not just about the photos.”

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