Page 9 of Ignited By My Mate

I swear my heart stutters.

"Ready?" I ask, offering my hand.

She looks down at it like she’s deciding something. Then she slides her fingers into mine. "Ready."

We drive the short distance to my place—just a few bends in the road, the pine trees thick and green around us.

Lark blinks as I pull into the driveway. “Jeez! We could’ve walked here. I didn’t realize you lived right down the street.”

“Yeah, it’s a small town. Everyone is close,” I reply as I hop out of the truck to open her door.

My cabin is a little bigger than Randy’s. I built it five years ago, right after joining the Twisted Oak crew. It’s quiet and solid, and as Lark walks in, it’s the first time it doesn’t feel too empty.

Lark looks around, taking it all in. The vaulted ceiling, the stone fireplace, and the wall of windows overlooking the woods.

"This is amazing," she murmurs.

"Thanks. Didn’t have much else to do when I moved back, so I built something that felt like mine."

"You built this?"

I nod, heading toward the kitchen. "Took about a year. Learned a lot from YouTube and trial and error."

She laughs. "That’s impressive."

I plate up dinner—grilled salmon, roasted veggies, a small skillet of cornbread I made earlier—and we settle onto the back deck with plates balanced on our laps and the sun dipping low over the trees.

We talk about Lark’s life in New York and my years with the fire crew. Our favorite movies. Books. Foods. She tells me she’s never eaten fish this fresh before, and I can’t stop smiling.

It feels like something is settling into place. Something right.

Halfway through the meal, Lark sets her plate aside and turns to me.

"You’re easy to talk to, Harris."

My chest warms. "You too."

"And this—this whole day—I didn’t expect it. But I’m glad it happened."

I lean closer, heart hammering. "Me too."

She holds my gaze, something soft and searching in her eyes. Then she smiles. "Thanks for dinner."

It’s not just about the food. It’s everything. The house. The effort. The way I look at her like she’s already mine.

Because she is.

She just doesn’t know it yet.

But I’ve got six more days to show her. And I’m going to make every single one count.

FIVE

Lark

I spendway too long getting ready for dinner. I don’t know why I’m this nervous. It’s just dinner—my second in as many days with a ridiculously handsome, kind, wilderness barbecue dream of a man who makes my insides do somersaults. No big deal.

I don’t have many clothes to work with—I only brought one bag for my week-long escape. A few outfits. A pair of flats. Two dresses I packed at the last minute in case something spontaneous happened. I wore one of them last night, so I guess it’s the other dress tonight—a soft forest green wrap style that hits mid-thigh and hugs my curves just right. I tug my hair out of its braid and leave it loose around my shoulders, adding a little mascara and gloss before taking a breath and stepping out onto the porch.

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