Page 77 of Saved By the Boss

When we finally come to a stop, my mouth falls open as I take in his cabin.

“Wow,” I breathe, my voice barely above a whisper.

His cabin is, in a word, stunning. It’s not a mansion or anything, but it’s certainly twice the size of my little place, at the very least. The wood gleams even in the fading light, and the wraparound porch looks like something out of a rustic dream. The way the trees frame the house, casting long shadows across the yard, makes it feel private, almost hidden. Then I spot the line ofgenerators in the back, all neatly lined up and dwarfing the one tiny generator I have at home. I have the ridiculous thought that his home feels like a secret government safehouse.

When we get inside, I’m no less convinced. The inside of his cabin is warm and inviting, all polished wood and soft lighting. The open floor plan makes the space feel even larger, and I’m instantly drawn to the massive stone fireplace dominating one wall. It easily heats the large space but is also ridiculously cozy.

But what really catches my attention is his office setup. Against one wall, there’s a desk with multiple monitors, all glowing softly, surrounded by shelves neatly lined with books and a few plants. He has one of those huge keyboards with extra characters that don’t make any sense to me, and a state-of-the-art webcam.

Maybe he works for the FBI, or maybe he’s in witness protection. It’s a silly thought, but it helps to pull my mind away from my present fear. I can’t help but chuckle quietly to myself as I imagine Declan as some kind of super spy.

“What?” he asks suspiciously, almost offended.

“Nothing,” I say quickly, but the lilt in my voice gives me away.

“You’re judging me for being a huge nerd, aren’t you?” he teases, his lips twitching in amusement.

“Not judging,” I protest, smiling faintly despite myself. “And I don’t think you’re a nerd at all. I’m just admiring this space. It’s gorgeous. I wish we had been trapped here during the storm instead of at my place. You’ve got heat, power, and probably an endless supply of snacks.”

He shakes his head, leaning casually against the kitchen counter. “Nah, I liked being stuck at your place better,” he answers in aflirtatious tone.

“You liked my place?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.

He grins, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he leans in close so that he’s whispering in my ear.

“I liked being cold enough that we needed body heat to stay warm.”

My cheeks flush, and I roll my eyes, but I can’t help the small shiver that runs through my body at his words.

“That was a nice benefit, I suppose,” I answer. “Although, I think we could have just turned the lights off here and pretended.”

“Definitely not,” he quips, walking over to the fridge. “It wouldn’t have had nearly the same effect. And your bed is much more comfortable than mine.”

“I doubt that,” I mutter under my breath, taking in the opulence of his cabin.

“Are you hungry?” Declan asks, pulling out a few ingredients from the fridge. “I can make dinner early.”

“Can I help?” I offer quickly. Staying busy sounds like a good idea.

He tilts his head, studying me for a moment before nodding. “Sure. Just don’t burn anything,” he jokes.

I roll my eyes again but follow him into the kitchen. As we work side by side, chopping vegetables and seasoning chicken, the tension in my shoulders begins to ease. The kitchen smells amazing. Garlic, rosemary, and something citrusy blend together to make a tantalizing aroma, and my stomach growls in anticipation. For the first time in hours, I feel like I can breathe.

What a hell of a day. It started with pregnancy tests and then my life was threatened. If my life were pitched as a soap opera, even Hollywood studios would probably reject it for being too dramatic. Despite the fear and stress, I can’t help but smile to myself. I’m safe here with Declan, that much is clear. This place feels secure, much more so than my little place down the mountain. It would have been terrible going back there with the paranoia I was feeling.

“You’re really good at this,” Declan comments, watching me as I slice carrots into perfect rounds. “Should I be worried you’re secretly a chef?”

I laugh, shaking my head. “I’m definitely not a chef,” I tell him honestly. “Just someone who spent a lot of time in the kitchen with my mom. She’d definitely put your cooking skills to shame, I am just a humble sous chef.”

He grins at this, grabbing the carrots from me and throwing them into a pan.

“Maybe I should let you cook next time,” he quips. “Not that your canned soup wasn’t excellent, but I feel like I was deprived of the full experience.”

“Oh, so there’s going to be a next time?” I tease, arching an eyebrow.

“I’m hoping so,” he replies, his tone light but his eyes serious. The weight of his gaze makes my heart skip a beat, and I quickly look away, focusing on the cutting board in front of me.

We fall into an easy rhythm, passing ingredients back and forth, trading little jokes and stories. He tells me about the time he tried to build a treehouse as a kid and ended up falling out of the tree instead. I tell him about the time I accidentally set off thesmoke alarm trying to bake cookies. By the time the chicken goes into the oven, I’m laughing so hard my sides hurt, and the fear that’s been clawing at me all day feels distant, almost forgotten. Almost.

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