Page 30 of Thor

The book fell open naturally to a section about bridges. And there, in the margins, were pencil sketches. Not notes, but beautiful, detailed drawings that extended the printed diagrams into something more artistic. I turned the page. More sketches. A suspension bridge rendered with such care that it seemed to leap from the page. Notes in a surprisingly elegant hand about load-bearing calculations and aesthetic considerations.

I sat on the floor, the heavy book in my lap, turning pages with growing fascination. Thor's hidden talent unfolded before me. Not just technical skill, but real artistry. Some pages contained standalone sketches—buildings that existed only in his imagination, structures that combined function and beauty in unexpected ways.

One sketch showed a treehouse with echoes of his cabin's design—the same clean lines and natural materials, but nestled among massive branches. So detailed I could almost feel the rough bark and smooth floors. Had he built this somewhere? Or was it just a dream on paper?

It felt intimate, seeing these drawings. More intimate than if I'd found photographs or a journal. These were from inside his mind, the creative space he apparently shared with no one.

I shouldn't be looking. I should close the book, put it back. But I couldn't stop turning pages. I traced one sketch with my fingertip, a simple cabin by a lake, wondering if this was a future project or just a fantasy. It looked peaceful. Secluded. Safe.

My thoughts drifted to the way Thor had flushed slightly when I complimented his home. How his giant hands had moved with surprising delicacy when he showed me the kitchen he'd designed. The careful way he'd made space in the guest room closet for my things.

There was so much more to him than the Sergeant-at-Arms who scared the shit out of everyone at King's Tavern. Just like there was more to me than the uptight accountant everyone at Prestige Partners thought I was.

I was so absorbed in the book that I almost missed the distant rumble. It grew steadily louder—the distinctive growl of Thor's Harley approaching up the long driveway. My pulse jumped, and I hurriedly closed the book, scrambling to return it to its exact spot on the shelf.

I smoothed my hair, straightened my sweater, and moved to the kitchen island, opening my laptop again as the motorcycle engine cut off outside. The screen came to life, presenting me with the same spreadsheets I'd been avoiding all day.

The heavy tread of boots on the porch. The rattle of keys. I kept my eyes fixed on the screen, pretending to be deeply engaged in work.

The door opened, bringing with it the scent of leather, motor oil, and cold forest air. Thor's massive presence filled the doorway for a moment before he stepped inside. I felt his eyes on me but didn't look up.

"Hey," he said, his deep voice sending an involuntary shiver down my spine.

"Hey," I replied, still not looking up. "How'd it go?"

"Fine." Keys clattered as he dropped them on the counter. "You eat today?"

Had I? I couldn't remember. "I had coffee."

A grunt of disapproval. "Last time I checked, Coffee wasn't food."

I finally looked up, forcing my expression to remain neutral despite the way my heart had accelerated. Thor filled the kitchen doorway, his blond hair pulled back, his beard catching the afternoon light. His leather cut bore traces of road dust, and a new tension lined his shoulders.

"You okay?" I asked, surprising myself with the question.

His blue eyes met mine, searching. "Yeah. Club business."

Which meant he wouldn't elaborate. I nodded, looking away before he could read too much in my expression. Before he could somehow see that I'd discovered his secret talent, or worse, the confused tangle of feelings I was developing for him.

"I'll make something," he said, moving into the kitchen. "You need to eat."

I watched as he washed his hands, those same hands that had drawn delicate bridges and sketched beautiful buildings. Hands that could probably snap a man's neck.

"Thank you," I said softly, and wondered if he heard all the things I couldn't bring myself to say.

Thenextmorning,Inearly choked on my coffee when Thor appeared in the kitchen doorway, keys jingling between his fingers. "Get dressed," he said, his expression unreadable. "Something comfortable you don't mind getting dirty." I set my mug down carefully, studying his face for some clue about what he had planned. He wore worn jeans and a black t-shirt that stretched across his broad shoulders, his blond hair pulled back in its usual messy knot.

"Where are we going?" I asked, instantly suspicious. After four days of confinement, any change felt potentially dangerous. "I thought I wasn't supposed to leave."

"Not leaving the property." His blue eyes held mine steadily. "Saw you pacing yesterday. I can tell you’re going stir crazy. Figured you need something to do besides cleaning my already clean kitchen."

Heat rushed to my face.

"What exactly did you have in mind?" I asked, wrapping my cardigan tighter around myself, suddenly self-conscious in my pajama pants and tank top.

“Gonna teach you to ride.”

"You're going to teach me what?" I stared at Thor in disbelief, convinced I must have misheard him.

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