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Silas

I had one job.

Drop off the furniture donation, accept whatever half-hearted thanks Poppy tossed my way, and get the hell back up the mountain before she could rope me into one of her schemes.

Simple as simple can get.

Poppy doesn’t do simple. The woman’s a force of nature—relentless, unstoppable, and armed with a smile that could disarm a damn warlord.

So, when she shoved a paddle into my hand and insisted I join the charity auction, I should’ve known better. Should’ve known I was about to get tangled up in trouble.

She insisted I could hire one of these women for help with my business.

Bullshit.

She wanted my wallet, not my company’s logo. But I played along, because saying no to Poppy is like trying to out-stubborn a hurricane.

Then she stepped onto the stage.

Lily. No last name. No backstory. Just wide eyes, a nervous smile, and a pair of jeans that clung to her like a second layer of skin. Ones that make the tips of my ears warm just thinking about what she looks like without them.

One look, and I was done.

I didn’t want her just for the weekend.

In my mind, the moment I laid my eyes on her, I was picturing forever.

That’s why I raised my paddle again. And again, and again—until every other bidder backed off and my bank account screamed in protest.

Now I’ve got a beauty staring at me like I’ve grown a second head on my shoulder.

I slap down my payment, ignoring Poppy’s shit-eating grin when she realizes I’m walking out with more than I bargained for. The woman looks downright delighted, like she’s just won the lottery instead of auctioning off a stranger’s dignity.

I don’t give her the satisfaction of a reaction. Just stalk toward my truck, my spine so rigid I’m half-surprised it doesn’t snap under the weight of my own impulsivity.

Lily is still gawking. First at me, now at the truck—her wide eyes tracing the bold Crafted Roots Co. logo stamped across the side of it.

She must see how obvious it is that I shouldn’t be here, that I didn’t belong in that room.

I’ve burned a stupid amount of cash, so I might as well get something out of this disaster. The truck’s back door groans as I shove it up, releasing a gust of cedar and freshly cut oak. That scent usually relaxes me, but right in this moment, it just claws at my nerves.

“We need to unload everything inside.”

I don’t look at her. Won’t. If I do, this stops being about donating a desk or a set of benches to Poppy’s theater.

If I look at her, all I’ll be able to think about is how easy it’d be to lift her onto the truck bed and take her up the mountain, where the only sounds are the creak of bedsprings and the wind through the pines.

That can’t happen. Not until I’ve made it clear what my business is.

Fuck, I don’t even know what that is yet. Right now, I need to convince myself that this isn’t a moment of weakness or loneliness rearing its ugly head.

The brunette sputters at my words, her wide-eyed look suddenly turning into a full grimace. “Wait, you’re serious? I can’t—I mean, there’s like twenty pieces in there.”

I nod, agreeing with her observation skills.

“Twenty-five, if you want to count the different parts that need to be put together for the desk.”

Her lips part in shock, and she probably thinks I’m joking. I’m not.

“Poppy made it pretty clear with her no-refunds policy. So, if you don’t mind—” I motion to the benches before flicking my eyes over to the building. It’s a short walk, and I hardly had any issue loading up the moving truck by myself in the first place.

Lily makes a face, hardly trying to hide how much she doesn’t want to do a bit of hard labor. Well, since I’m donating my time for free, someone has to pay.

“You know,” Lily huffs, straining to lift one end of the bench, “most women at these auctions get dinner dates. Or help bake cookies.”

She grunts as the wood slips in her grip and curses under her breath as she checks her hands for splinters.

When her eyes lift, I see a layer of defiance deep in those brown eyes. “ Why is this thing so heavy?”

“Real wood,” I answer, hefting another bench with one arm. The difference between us would be comical if it didn’t twist something low in my gut. “Built to last. Unlike your patience, apparently.”

The words come out sharper than I mean them to. It’s the image that does it—some smooth-talking guy spinning her around a dance floor or tasting frosting off her finger. My jaw locks.

This is why I stick to my workshop. Wood doesn’t care if I’m rough-edged or quiet. It doesn’t expect charming banter or grand gestures—just honest work and steady hands.

I adjust my grip on the bench, ignoring what sounds like a frustrated growl that comes from her. “The quicker we move, the quicker we can get back to the mountain and get some real work done.”

To cover Lily’s costs, I’ll have to make a few extra pieces to sell on the side.

When a frown curls on her lips, I tell myself that it’s better this way. That I can’t get attached to her over the course of three days if the last thing she wants to do is breathe the same air as me.

With spite fueling her, she grunts as she picks up the bench again. “If I pull a muscle, you’re getting the bill.”

Snorting, I move past her with ease, ready to finish this job and move on to the next.

* * *

I leave Poppy instructions on how to build the pieces that aren’t already assembled. Between her worried glances at both of us and the hole I’ve got burning in the back of my head from being glared at, I’m ready to run back to the peace and serenity that the mountain brings.

The fresh air can’t fill my lungs soon enough.

Once we’re back outside, away from the rush of others claiming their prizes, I’m squinting toward the scenery.

“You’ll want to pack a bag, a few extra clothes, just in case. Bring something you don’t mind ruining. Might tear a hole or two as well.” Stating the obvious, I remember to blink.

Lily’s flushed from the labor, and I’ve purposely tried not to let my eyes drift in her direction each time she’s worked to catch her breath.

“You want me to stay with you? After all that?” Scoffing, the motion of her dragging her fingers through her hair catches my eyes, and I fail terribly this time around.

“Need to make sure you actually show up. Besides… It’s more convenient for both of us.” My throat suddenly dries, and I shift, uncomfortable under her gaze.

What I can’t tell her is that this is already too much.

That I’m on the edge of saying goodbye, but the damn feeling in my gut won’t let me.

It’s lodged deep in my chest now, twisting into something I can’t name.

And I know—if I let her walk away tonight, I’ll be haunted by it. This ache. This pull.

I don’t know how to kill it, so maybe dragging her up there with me is the only way to silence it.

That’s all this is. I’m not looking for more. At least, that’s what I keep telling myself.

She breathes in deep, holding in her breath like a bomb ticking away to explode. “This is going to be the worst weekend of my life.”

She stalks toward the line of cars, shoulders stiff with resolve. I reach out before I can stop myself. My fingers brush her shoulder—barely—and heat pulses through me like I’ve touched something wired straight to my spine.

It’s enough to lodge something thick in my throat, sharp and sudden.

Lily, of course, doesn’t flinch. She lets out a dramatic exhale, tosses a glare over her shoulder, and rolls her eyes like I’m the one being unreasonable.

“Relax. I’ll find you,” she says, voice like flint. “For Poppy, I’ll keep my word. But don’t think you’re getting off easy. I’m not going to be the only one miserable this weekend. Be ready, dude.”

It should sound like a threat. Maybe it is. But it’s hard to take her seriously when I’m standing this close—close enough to see the heat burning behind her eyes, the tension in her jaw, the way her defiance hums just under the surface.

Picking my brain at what she reminds me of, my mouth twitches as the realization settles in—a Chihuahua. A little thing that has all teeth, and sometimes, may bite. Especially if I get too close.

“Silas,” I correct, realizing that I haven’t even bothered to introduce myself since she’d stepped off stage. “At least call me by my name if you’re going to threaten me.”

Calling her out only earns me flushed cheeks for all of three seconds before she’s pulling out of my grip, stomping toward what I assume is her vehicle. I hope she keeps her word, more than I care to admit.

Three days, that’s all I have to get over this. Somehow, I’ll find a way.