Page 14 of The Forbidden Mountain Man Lumberjack
Her smile is soft, almost shy. "Was that a compliment, Wyatt Brennan?"
"Just an observation," I reply, but we both know better.
The diner has emptied out during our meal, only a couple of truckers remaining at the counter. Outside, the night has fully settled in, stars brilliant above the mountains.
I pay the bill despite Sophia's protests about splitting it. "Consider it a welcome to Grizzly Ridge," I tell her, and she relents.
The drive back to my cabin is slower than usual, as I make sure her car can keep up on the dark mountain roads. When we finally pull up to the cabin, the temperature has dropped considerably, our breath fogging in the cold night air.
Inside, I build a fire while Sophia makes tea. The domesticity of it all should feel strange—having someone else moving around my space, the sound of another person's breathing in the quiet of the evening. Instead, it feels unnervingly right.
"I've been thinking about what you said," I tell her as we sit in front of the growing flames, mugs warming our hands. "About the fifteen percent loss in efficiency."
She looks at me with surprise. "And?"
"I want to see the numbers. All of them. If you're going to convince me to change how I run my operation, I need more than estimates."
"Of course." She sets her mug down and turns to face me fully on the couch. "I can prepare a complete analysis based on what I've observed so far. But I'll need more data from your end—operational costs, historical scheduling, profit margins."
I nod slowly. "I'll have Tim pull the records tomorrow."
Her eyes widen slightly. "Really?"
"Don't look so shocked. I'm stubborn, not stupid." I take a drink of tea to hide my discomfort at her obvious surprise. "If there's money being left on the table, I want to know about it."
"Thank you." Her voice is soft, genuine. "For giving this a fair chance."
Something shifts between us in that moment. The constant push and pull of our professional disagreement settles into something more nuanced, a willingness to meet in the middle.
The firelight plays across her face, highlighting the curve of her cheek, the fullness of her lower lip. Her hair has long since fallen from its ponytail, dark waves framing her face, making her look younger, more vulnerable.
I shouldn't be noticing these things.
She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, her eyes meeting mine. "Wyatt?"
The way she says my name pulls at something deep in my chest. "Yeah?"
"I—" She hesitates, then sets her mug aside and shifts closer on the couch. "Thank you for dinner. And for letting me stay here."
"It's nothing."
"No, it's not." Her eyes, those deep brown eyes with flecks of amber, hold mine steadily. "You didn't have to do any of this."
We're close now, closer than we've been before. Close enough that I can see the faint freckles across her nose, smell the light floral scent that clings to her skin. Close enough that it would take almost nothing to lean in, to close the remaining distance.
The thought sends a jolt through me, a want so sharp and sudden it leaves me breathless.
"Sophia," I say, her name a warning, though I'm not sure if it's meant for her or myself.
She doesn't back away. If anything, she leans slightly closer. "Yes?"
I should stop this. She's twenty-four. I'm forty-five. She works for my investors. She's here to change everything about how I run my business. Every logical part of my brain is screaming that this is a terrible idea.
But logic disappears when she reaches up and places her palm against my cheek, her touch feather-light against my beard.
"I know this is complicated," she whispers.
"Complicated," I repeat, the word rough in my throat. "That's one way of putting it."
