So much for that vote of confidence.
I take the last sip of my coffee, savoring the warmth. When I lower the thermos, I find Aaron watching me, his expression unreadable.
"You're shivering," he states flatly.
"It's twenty degrees out. People tend to do that."
"Most people would have the sense to leave."
"I'm not most people." I straighten my spine, refusing to let him see how the cold is affecting me. "And this isn't just about me. There are fifty volunteers counting on this event happening. Three hundred tickets sold to families excited to bring their children. Eight thousand dollars in expected donations for pediatric cancer research."
Something flickers in his eyes—so briefly I almost miss it—before the stony mask returns. He stabs the ax into the chopping block with finality.
"Come on," he says, turning toward the cabin.
I blink at him. "What?"
"You're freezing, and I'm not having you get hypothermia on my property. Too much paperwork." He starts walking without waiting to see if I follow. "You can warm up inside. Then you're leaving."
I hesitate, staring at his broad back as he strides toward the rustic cabin nestled among the pines. On one hand, going inside with a stranger in the middle of nowhere isn't exactly following safety protocols. On the other hand, he's right—I'm freezing, and at least inside I might have a better chance of convincing him.
Plus, I'm curious about what kind of home a man like Aaron Wilson keeps.
I follow him, struggling a bit in my heeled boots as they sink into the soft ground. The cabin comes into clearer view as we approach. It's larger than I'd expected, constructed of dark timber and stone with a wraparound porch. Smoke curls from a river rock chimney, promising warmth inside.
He opens the heavy wooden door without ceremony and gestures for me to enter. I step inside, instantly enveloped by blessed warmth radiating from a crackling fire in a massive stone fireplace that dominates one wall of the open living space.
The interior surprises me. I'd expected sparse bachelor accommodations, but this space is thoughtfully designed. Exposed wooden beams cross the high ceiling. A large sectional sofa faces the fireplace, covered in soft-looking blankets. The kitchen area features a large island and modern appliances integrated seamlessly with rustic cabinetry.
Most striking are the windows—floor to ceiling on two walls, framing the spectacular mountain views like living artwork. The place manages to feel both rugged and comfortable at once.
"Sit," Aaron commands, pointing to the sofa. "I'll make coffee."
"You don't have to?—"
"You're out of coffee, you're still shivering, and I don't want you passing out from hypothermia on my watch." He moves to the kitchen area. "Sit."
I sink onto the sofa, unable to resist the promise of warmth. A handwoven blanket is draped over the back, and I pull it around my shoulders, sighing with relief as feeling begins to return to my extremities.
From my position, I can observe him moving efficiently around the kitchen. His movements are precise, economical. No wasted motion. He seems more at ease here than he did outside, though no less guarded.
"This is a beautiful home," I say, trying to find some common ground. "Did you build it yourself?"
"Most of it." His reply is curt as he sets a kettle on the stove.
"It's not what I expected."
That earns me a raised eyebrow as he turns to look at me. "What did you expect? A cave? Bear skins on the floor?"
"Maybe a little less... design sense," I admit. "The integration of the windows with the natural surroundings is really thoughtful."
Something almost like satisfaction crosses his face before he turns back to the counter. "Function over form. The windows face south and east. Solar gain in winter."
"Still beautiful."
He makes a noncommittal sound, focusing on measuring coffee grounds into a French press. The domestic normalcy of the moment feels surreal after our standoff outside.
I take the opportunity to look around more carefully. No personal photos that I can see, though there are several framed prints of mountain landscapes on the walls. A bookshelf near the fireplace is filled with an eclectic mix—military history, engineering manuals, wilderness survival guides, and surprisingly, classic literature.
