Page 37 of Off the Beaten Path

I stare at the words on the screen until they go fuzzy, imagining Wren in her own bed just a couple hundred feet away. I wonder if her heart is racing too, or if this is just a typical Monday for her. If she sends flirty texts to someone other than me.

Something knots in my gut at that.

But still, I don’t respond yet, thinking about the lines I’ve drawn in the sand over the last few years and whether I’m actually ready to cross it yet. I don’t know if Wren is the person I want to cross it with. At least, I tell myself that, even though crossing that line has never even entered my mind until all of this started with her.

I don’t think this is a decision I should be making now, in the state I’m in. Not when the thought of being seduced by Wren Daniels seems so bright and effervescent that everything else seems dull and gray. Not when there’s a drumbeat of wanting pulsing beneath my skin so strongly that I’m feeling reckless.

I can’t afford to be reckless.

user6872:I’ll keep that in mind.

In fact, I don’t expect I’ll be able to think about anything else.

“Youknow,Isawon HGTV—”

“If I have to hear about HGTV one more time,” Holden says, “this whole shadowing arrangement is over.”

I let out a long sigh, my breath causing the curls hanging around my face to flutter. “But theProperty Brothers—”

“I’m not a Property Brother.” Holden cuts me off again, standing to his full height after making sure the kitchen cabinet is firmly attached to the wall. He towers over me in the tiny space, that little wrinkle forming between his brows, and it suddenly feels as though the air is thinner, like standing in the fire tower atop The Mountain, wind rustling all around.

No, Holden most definitely isnotone of the famous remodeling brothers. He’s something else entirely, with his dark hair slipping from his messy bun, his beard trimmed a little closer to his cheeks, like he recently shaved, his skin covered in sawdust and glistening with sweat despite the chill in the cabin.

He looks a little unruly, like I’ve come to realize he always does when he’s working, and it’s become a lot distracting. I keep finding my eyes drifting to the curve of muscle beneath the straining fabric of his flannels, the bottom lip he tucks between his teeth when he’s concentrating, the faint, barely there freckles that dot against his strong nose, the column of his throat that I’ve never really paid attention to on other men before.

Something about Holden Blankenship has become more than a little appealing to me, and I’m not really sure what to make of it.

“What are you staring at?” Holden asks, snapping me out of my thoughts.

I realize I’ve been focused on that smooth slope of his collarbone peeking out of the unbuttoned collar of his rust-colored flannel, but I can’t tell him that.

“Nothing,” I say, giving the cabinet a shove. It doesn’t budge, which I guess is a good thing. I’ve spent every afternoon this week shadowing Holden as he works on the cabin, and he’s even shown me how to do a few things, although that tends to take more time, so I try not to distract him, since we’re on a tight schedule. We’ve made a good bit of progress this week, though, and I’m starting to get the vision for the place. It’s not what I would have designed for myself, and the layout isn’t necessarily ideal, but it’s functional, and that’s really all that matters in a short-term rental.

Holden tosses his tools into the bag at his feet, sighing and rolling his shoulders. They make a soft popping noise, and I can almost see the tension seeping out of him. It’s an oddly intimate thing to watch, and I force myself to look away.

Clearing my throat, I ask, “You and June have fun plans tonight?”

“No, she’s having a girls’ night with Finley.” He finishes packing up the last of his tools and leans against the cabinet, arms crossed over his chest. “I was thinking about going to Matty’s if you wanted to come.”

I stare at him for a long moment, noticing the way the hair falling out of his bun waves gently at the ends. He looks good standing here in the waning golden light slicing through the windows, and suddenly, I remember our text conversation from last week, when he made a comment about wanting to be seduced. I can still feel the way my body heated, spreading out from my middle until I was warm all over, my head a mess of all the ways I could imagine getting under his skin in a completely new way.

“Matty’s sounds good,” I say, not missing the way my voice comes out raspier than I intended.

If Holden notices, he doesn’t say anything. Pushing off the cabinet, he grabs his tool bag and heads for the front door, his boots clomping against the floor. We picked out flooring samples in my price range and picked them up yesterday afternoon, so they’re ready to be installed next week. They aren’t what I would have chosen for myself, a gray-toned vinyl plank, but they were inexpensive and they’re durable, if Holden and Oliver are correct, so they’ll work. I give the stack a nudge with the tip of my boot as we head out the front door.

It’s not snowing tonight, just cold, and my breath clouds in the air as we step out onto the front porch. The golden glow of the porch light only illuminates five feet into the dense forest surrounding the cabin.

Holden stops on the porch, swiveling to make sure I lock the door behind me. Apparently, no teenagers will be sneaking into this cabin anymore.

“I’m locking it, I’m locking it,” I huff, my hands shaking in the cold since I didn’t bother to pull on my gloves.

Holden makes what I can only describe as a grunting noise behind me.

My trembling, frozen hands drop the keys, and they land with a clatter at my feet. Before I can reach down for them, Holden has set his tool bag on the ground and has snatched them up. Then his arm comes around me to slide the key into the lock. His body dwarfs mine, blocking out the light. I can feel the warmth radiating off him and seeping beneath my skin.

He finishes turning the deadbolt, but stands still, not backing away. When I glance over my shoulder at him, his eyes are focused on the curve of my neck, where goose bumps pricked against my skin the moment we opened the door to the harsh evening wind. My breath catches in my throat as Holden’s free hand tugs at the collar of my jacket, his fingertips brushing my skin, until it’s no longer exposed to the cold.

His eyes connect with mine. “You need a warmer coat.”

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