Page 3 of Lonely Beard
Because at twenty three years old, I am the fixer of my own life. I pay my bills; cook all my dinners; snake my own shower drain. When I moved into my current apartment, schlepping halfway across the city,Imoved every single box. No one else.
I’m no damsel in distress. And Aiden McRae can ruin my perfect record, but he can’t render me helpless with his knowing green eyes. This is a challenge, but it’s one I can solve.
…Not that Aiden’s watching right now. That cabin door is sealed shut, and he’s tucked away in that warm glow, safe from the wind. Can he hear my failed attempts at starting the car? Is he laughing with that deep, broken voice of his?
Seriously. How is the wind blowinginsidethis rental car? I shiver, slotting the key in the ignition again.
Three more attempts, then my forehead thunks onto the steering wheel. Drops of rain patter against the roof of the car, gently at first, then faster, harder, until a gale pounds against the metal and echoes until my ears ring.
“Bleurgh,” I grumble, rocking my head from side to side. The bumpy leather of the steering wheel digs into my forehead.
One more minute of self pity. One more minute, then I’ll fix this.
When I finally sit up, the mountain is transformed. The orderly lines of pine trees are bowed down, branches thrashing, needles torn away by the raging winds. It’s raining so hard that the windshield is a constant waterfall, and it’s getting darker by the second.
“Crap.” I try the engine again, mouth dry. This isn’t just the world’s shittiest day, this is…
Am I going to die out here?
Lightning spears through the gloom, sparks flying from a nearby tree, and I throw my hands over my head with a whimper. Thunder rumbles all around, loud enough to shake the earth, and this is it, this is how I go, I’m going to meet my maker while wearing a charcoal skirt suit—
“Hey!” The pounding of a fist against the car window sinks into my brain. I turn and gape at a soaking wet Aiden McRae, his coppery hair and beard darkened by the rain. He waves for me to get out of the car, his movements choppy.
I’m clumsy and uncoordinated. It takes a few tries for my fingers to work, but when I get the car door open, I shove it wide against the wind and topple out onto the dirt track.
A solid chest stops my fall.
Blinking up at my savior, rain streaming into my eyes, I’m numb with terror.
Then lightning splits the air again, there’s another shower of sparks and my shriek hurts my throat—as I’m yanked toward the cabin.
Two
Aiden
“Dry off.”
I toss a folded blue towel at the girl shivering just inside my front door, the fabric of her prissy little skirt suit sticking to her limbs. Underneath the blazer, her white shirt is translucent. What did she say her name was? Grace?
With her bedraggled dark hair slipping out of its bun, her rumpled wet clothes and the bright red tip of her nose—she doesn’t look especially graceful. She looks like a drowned rat in office wear.
The floorboards creak as I stride across the room to the log burner, prodding at the fire with a poker. It hisses and pops as the flames leap higher, and another wave of warmth spreads through my cabin.
Good. My own clothes are soaked, clinging to my skin, and already a chill has snaked down my spine. Don’t want to think about how frozen my interloper is.
“Um.”
At the sound of her voice, I screw my eyes shut and suck in a deep breath, still crouched in front of the fire. She’s going to keep talking, isn’t she? Going to keep asking all those questions. My chest twists, and everything feels so raw.
Shouldn’t have brought her in here. Should never have answered my damn door. But then she’d still be stuck out in that storm, wouldn’t she? And that’s no good either.
“Um,” Grace says again, her voice trembling in the quiet. “Mr McRae?”
She’s not half as ballsy as she was thirty minutes ago, and the weird thing is… I miss it. There was something special about watching her rant and rave, jabbing at me with her clipboard. Like her spark was contagious, lighting me up from the inside, making me feel truly alive for the first time in months.
Now she’s curled in on herself, sniffling from the cold. Dimmed.
“Stand by the fire.” Fuck, my throat is ruined after calling to her through the storm. Every word slices like a blade on its way out. “Warm up. Get dry.”
