I work part-time and take care of myself, and it’s too much for me to manage some days. In my defense, I do pull my weight around here. I’m not a total leech. If I can sneak out to buy groceries or pay the cable bill before Tad grabs it, I do. Both Tad and Lara insist they don’t want anything in return except babysitting, but that doesn’t seem fair. I’d hang out with my nieces for free.

  I’m saving money to move out, and they know it. The thing is, I’m not sure where my next home should be. Tennessee doesn’t feel like a permanent landing spot. But then again, I’ve never lived anywhere that felt permanent. New York didn’t. Virginia didn’t. Neither did Michigan. Or Ohio.

  I think of Dax from Columbus. I wonder where he lives in Columbus. I wonder if I didn’t give Columbus a fair shake, if I could try living there again.

  While dating a certain tall, hotter-than-Hades stripper look-alike.

  Hmm...

  “That was a hum of sheer bliss,” Lara points out before tipping her glass to her lips. After a hearty sip, she says, “I’m surprised you came back. Did your hot guest check out already?”

  “No.” I grab a crayon and start filling in one of the pages Kiera was coloring when I walked in. Kiera has wisely colored the unicorn’s hair purple and the horn pink. I’m coloring the hooves gold, though Crayola’s gold needs some work—or some glitter. It’s more metallic brown than anything.

  Lara starts shading in the clouds on the adjacent page. “I feel like there’s more to this story.”

  “Not much more,” I announce with a token amount of misery. “He’s packing up now to relocate to cabin seven, which is the cabin he’d originally booked. I delivered the key to him tonight and I asked him out to dinner. He said he couldn’t.”

  My smile is tight. I can feel it.

  “Bec.” Sympathy curves Lara’s eyebrows. “What a jerk. I’m sorry, hon.” She rubs my shoulder. I’d love to board the “jerk train” with her, but that’s unfair to Dax.

  “It wasn’t like that.” When she gives me a Yeah, right head tilt, I add, “Honest. Dax is a really good guy.”

  “He slept with you, stole your recipe, and now has no time for you?” Her expression changes from sympathetic to angry. “Sounds like bullshit.”

  “Tad told you about the recipe.” I’m trying damn hard not to be angry with my bigmouthed brother. “It was a gift.”

  “You know what?” She continues coloring. “Cut your losses. He’ll be gone soon and you won’t have to see him again. Ever.”

  “Lara,” I say around a laugh. As much as I disagree, I appreciate her support. “He’s not like that. I’m... I think this is my fault. I made this rule not to discuss our pasts, not to get too personal. I’ve been the one running away. Sneaking out. Nothing about the way I’ve behaved suggested I wanted anything more. He’s probably cutting his losses.”

  That was supposed to be a throwaway remark. I hate how true it felt.

  “How much longer will he be in town?”

  “He’s booked for two weeks.” If he doesn’t check out early like everyone else did, I mentally add.

  “So what are you going to do?”

  I regard her as if she asked me a complicated mathematical equation.

  “Are you going to see him again?”

  I shrug and try really hard to look nonchalant. “Probably. He has to come to the office to return the key before he leaves.”

  She rolls her eyes.

  “I know what you meant.” I spin my wineglass on the table, watching the golden liquid swirl rather than meet my sister-in-law’s assessing stare. “You’re asking if I’m brave enough to show up on his doorstep one more time?”

  “Are you?”

  I close my eyes and picture Dax, sure and strong, leaning against that doorframe, daring me with his eyes to invite myself in. I could have offered to make him dinner. I could have insisted on following him up to cabin 7. I could have offered to have him follow me under the guise of helping him find it okay.

  I didn’t. I chickened out.

  I know it. He knows it.

  “I could always mosey up there tomorrow and offer to make him breakfast.”

  “You do make great pancakes.” Lara’s smile is approving.

  She’s the best. Just the best.

  Dax is going fishing in the morning. This I know. I stab my bottom lip with my teeth, wondering what time people go fishing around here.

  And what time they get back.

  TUESDAY MORNING

  It’s a glorious morning! Warm and sunny but not hot and sticky. Very few clouds dot a clear blue sky, and the backdrop of swaying green-leafed trees tempts me to play hooky and soak up the sunshine instead.

  Except I have to work.

  Womp.

  I hopped out of bed and made myself a to-go mug of coffee, pulled on my nicest cabinwear, and drove here to the tune of all but one green light.

  Tad doesn’t come in until late this afternoon, so it’s my job to open. Dominic is here when I walk in. We exchange waves.

  I try to focus on working, but nothing can distract me from the fact that Dax is on the mountain.

  I fully intend to head up there as soon as I check email.

  I’m pecking in the password on the laptop as Dom appears in the doorway of the office. “What are you doing here so early?”

  I eyeball the clock. “It’s eight o’clock. That’s when I’m supposed to be here.”

  “Right. It’s eight o’clock and you’re usually here around eight twenty.”

  “So?”

  “You’re on time.”

  Okay, I’ll give it to him. That’s noteworthy. I’m never on time.

  “I have a few things to do out there.” I wave a hand toward the parking lot.

  “I bet you do.” Dom frowns.

  I cluck my tongue at his rude comment. But it’s too beautiful a day, and my coffee is too perfect for me to feel down.

  Or so I think.

  I click my email icon and am greeted by email after email after email. Twenty-two of them, then my computer bings again and six more emails infiltrate my in-box. Ten of them are from our booking operator with good news: Ten full cabins. Scheduled for this weekend.

  Dammit.

  The one time I show up on time so I can skip out of work early, and I have to actually work!

  Crap.

  I settle in, remembering Tae’s favorite saying: “There’s nothing to it but to do it.” If that mantra works for a hot Korean guy in the Big Apple, it’s good enough for me.

  Besides, Dax isn’t going anywhere.

  I know just where to find him.

  Chapter 13

  TUESDAY EVENING

  Dax

  Of all the useful skills my dad taught me, he never shared how to clean a fish.

  When my fishing efforts earned me three decent-sized bass this morning, I realized I’d have to consult the Google machine, or watch YouTube videos to learn.

  It’s not as easy as the guys on the screen make it look. Even with the sharp-as-shit boning knife I purchased. But I prevail. I don’t save as much fish meat, since I’m not yet as deft with the knife as I’d like. I also earned a shallow slice in my left forefinger that bled like a bitch, but I quelled it enough that I didn’t have to resort to an emasculating Band-Aid.

  Let it never be said I shy away from challenge.

  “Except where Becca’s concerned,” I mutter aloud as I bag the fish and toss it into the fridge.

  After all that work, who the hell has the energy to cook it?

  So yeah, Becca. I could’ve taken her up on the offer of dinner. I didn’t, and not for the reason I told her. Yes, I’d planned on going to the cabin, but her invitation seemed to come from a sense of obligation on her part. I’m not sure she was sure she wanted to ask me out.

  She’s not obligated to hang around with me because we shared a few nights. Anyway, if things were ending, last night was as good a stopping place as any. Or so I keep telling myself in between kicking my own ass for not saying yes. She looked a touch hurt before she pasted on a smile and bade me farewell.

  I pull a beer from the fridge and take a sip. God, that tastes good. Instead of fish, I’ll have beer and potato chips for dinner. Not like I haven’t done it before.

  I clean up my mess, pulling the trash bag and walking it outside. The cans are locked in an enclosure to keep the bears out, so I take the key from the hook by the back door. Once the trash is secured, I start up the back steps as headlights slice across the drive.

  It’s a Toyota. A white one.

  The lights shut off and Becca steps from her car, reusable grocery tote on her shoulder. She starts for the front door, totally missing that I’m at the corner of the porch when she puts a foot on the first step.

  “This is a surprise.”

  She shrieks, clutches her chest, and then bursts into surprised laughter. It’s contagious. I let out a chuckle I didn’t expect. She slumps, her form grainy in the darkness since I didn’t bother with the porch light. Too many moths gather, so I left it off.

  “You scared the life out of me.” She’s still smiling. I’ve missed her smile, and it’s only been one day since I saw it.

  “Don’t know about that. You look lively to me.”

  Dressed in a pair of heeled sandals, a dark pair of dressy pants, and a slim tank top baring her golden shoulders, she looks more than lively. She looks amazing. Her hair is its normal choppy, stylish mess, but pinned it up one side, which shows off one cute ear.

  “I won’t bite.” She gestures at the distance between us, since I stopped short of approaching her on the porch.

  “Not why I’m keeping my distance, Princess.”

  Her smile falls like she’s been expecting a rejection since she arrived. “Oh.”

  “No, not oh. I’ve been fishing since ten this morning. Gutting fish for the last hour. I need a shower, and I need one bad.”

  She licks her lips, not quite smiling, but she doesn’t look dejected anymore. I gesture to the bag on her shoulder.

  “If that’s the makings of dinner, you have my undying loyalty.”

  “Well...” Despite her hesitation, her entire face brightens. “If you’re okay with breakfast for dinner.”

  Against my will, my stomach releases a loud grumble.

  “I will take that as one vote yes.” She surveys my body, then her gaze ventures to my face again. “What say you, Dax Vaughn? May I come in and make you breakfast for dinner?”

  Fuck yeah, she can.

  “Yeah, Princess.” I gesture to the front door. “It’s open.”

  She lets herself in and I follow behind her.

  “Like what you’ve done with the place,” she comments as she sets the bag on the counter. “The fishy smell is new.”

  “Sorry about that. I probably don’t smell much better.”

  “Go take your shower.” She waves me off. “I know where the cleaning supplies are. I’ll give the countertops a fresh wipe-down and start on your meal.”

  This place is smaller than the last, thank God. One big master bedroom. One bathroom. Kitchen. Living room. Wraparound porch with a deck. No game room or hot tub. Though it does have a fireplace, which is useless in this sticky spring weather.

  Glad to have her here, I duck down the hallway and leave her to it.

  Becca

  Dax emerges from the hallway, hair damp and spiky, wearing a familiar pair of frayed-at-the-bottom jeans. His T-shirt is black, making his eyes appear a dark shade of blue.

  “I thought I was hungry before. Now I’m starving.” He puts a hand over his stomach and another rumble comes from the depths. “It smells incredible in here.”

  “What was your plan tonight, before I gifted you with my culinary genius?” I ask as I slide another fluffy flapjack onto a plate.

  “Beer and chips.”

  “Healthy.”

  “Not sure you’re winning a health award with pancakes for dinner, Princess. Are those chocolate chips?” He rounds the counter and my entire body goes on alert when he stands next to me. He places a kiss on my temple and a buzz of pleasure slides down my spine.

  “Yes, they are,” I say as he pours himself a glass of milk. “But I skipped the espresso powder since it’s evening. Wouldn’t want to keep you awake.”

  We share a lingering glance. I wonder if his mind went where mine did—the other ways we’d like to keep each other awake.

  I pull the bacon from the oven and slide four slices onto a plate with a stack of pancakes and hand it over.

  “What about you?” he asks. Sweetly.

  “Just finishing mine up.” I gesture at the table, where I set out real maple syrup and foil-wrapped pats of butter I swiped from the restaurant. “Start without me. I’ll be there in a few.”

  Dax is half done with his meal when I sit across from him. I dig in to my own plate of sweet, syrupy pancakes and crisp, smoky bacon. He finishes in record time, sits back in his chair, and pulls a hand over his flat stomach.

  “You know how to make a guy miss you,” he says.

  Unf. That honesty again. That bold, naked way he has about him. I missed him, but no way can I admit it.

  “The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.”

  He doesn’t accept my lame platitude.

  “I’m not only talking about the food.”

  I sip my own glass of milk, unsure how to respond. Luckily, I don’t need to, since he’s willing to steer the topic to safer shores.

  “You’re working late tonight.”

  “Yeah, we had all these bookings come in. And here I thought we were about to go out of business after the storm. Our two other parties left, and you were the last man standing. I thought for a second I’d have to make my other part-time job my new full-time job.”

  “What do you do when you’re not running Grand Lark?”

  “You mean when my brother’s not watching me like a hawk while I try and run Grand Lark?” I joke, then answer, “I teach a Zumba class in town sometimes.”

  “What the hell’s that?”

  I can’t help giggling at how confused he looks. “You never dated a woman who took a Zumba class?”

  “Not that I recall.”

  “It’s cardio with a lot of dance movements. High octane, an hour long. You sweat your ass off.”

  “My dancer,” he says with a note of possession. I don’t mind it even a little.

  “The movements came more naturally than if I hadn’t had any experience. I took a Zumba class about five years ago and was hooked instantly. I liked the movement, the fluidity, the community. The dance-club feel of it. Then I mistook that passion for actual dancing and moved to New York City to dance with the best dancers in the world.”

  Mistake. They were (quite literally) leaps and bounds above my skill level. I tried to keep up but eventually accepted that I’d never be good enough to be great.

  I push my plate aside. I am pleasantly full of pancakes. Dax’s eyes go to my half-eaten stack.

  “Want the rest?”

  “More than my next breath.” He takes my plate and polishes off my pancakes in three big bites.

  I stand and reach for the dishes, but he stops me with a palm on my arm. He offers to clear the table, so I settle back into the chair.

  “How long were you in New York?”

  “About six months. It wasn’t for me, so I moved again.”

  “You move a lot?” he asks over the sound of running water as he rinses and washes our plates.

  “I used to. I’m trying to be super careful about where I go next. I don’t know. I guess I never put down roots except when I lived at home.”

  He shuts off the water and leans on the counter, his arms bracing his weight. I’m facing him, my arms resting on the back of the kitchen chair.

  “What about you?” I ask. “Have you always lived in Ohio?”

  “Never saw a reason to go anywhere else.”

  “What’d you do before you owned a bar?”

  “Drank in a lot of them.” He smiles. “More milk?”

  “No. I’m good.”

  “Yeah, me too.”

  He comes to me and extends a hand. I slip my palm into his, loving the feel of the warmth radiating from his palm to mine.

  He leads us to a fat leather sofa in the living room and we sit.

  “I played football,” he says.

  “College?” I guess. I can picture it. All his bulk strapped down in pads, a pair of tight pants, black smudges under his eyes. Purr.

  “The Ohio State University.”

  “Emphasis on the ‘The’?” I ask.

  “There’s only one. Friend of mine went pro but blew out his shoulder. He’s sacked out on my couch right now. Hence my being here on your mountain.”

  “I should thank him,” I say, following Dax’s lead to be honest and blurt what I’m thinking.

  “Maybe we both should.”

  Another silence sizzling with shared attraction hums in the air before Dax shatters it to ask the obvious.

  “Why’d you come here tonight, Becca?”

  “I meant to come this morning and make you actual breakfast, but I was swamped all day and couldn’t get away.”

  “Not what I meant.”

  I sigh. “I know.”

  “I thought we were done. Thought the sun came out and dried up all the rain and took you with it.”

  “It doesn’t have to be that way.” My whisper is almost loud in the quiet cabin. I’m used to talking to Dax over pounding rain. Or maybe confessed truths always sound loud to your own ears.

  Before I mean it to, “Did you really miss me?” comes out of my mouth.

  What a needy question! I retract it with a quick “I’m sorry. Ignore me.”

  He doesn’t ignore me. He levels me with that silvery stare of his and repeats, “Why are you really here?”

  “Truth?”

  “That seems the way to go.”

  I swallow around a lump in my throat. Rather than answer, I tentatively lean forward and touch my lips to his. He doesn’t come closer, but he doesn’t stop me, either. I continue moving my mouth on his, touching his bottom lip with my tongue. He doesn’t take over or pick up the pace, which tells me he’s only being polite.