Page 6

Sawyer

I hear her gasp before I see the screen. Tessa’s sitting on the porch, legs tucked under her, scrolling her phone like she does every morning. But this time, she’s frozen, her coffee going cold beside her, eyes locked on the glowing glass in her hands.

I wipe my hands on a rag and walk over, my chest already tight. “What is it?”

She doesn’t answer right away. Just tilts the screen toward me. I stare at the image. It’s us. Taken from a distance, through the trees. Tessa sitting on the porch in my flannel. Me bent over near the woodpile. The photo’s slightly blurry, like whoever took it zoomed too far in, but it’s unmistakably us.

Caption: “Mountain mornings with mystery man ?? #SawyerSightings”

The timestamp hits me like a punch. It was posted ten minutes ago, in real-time. Every muscle in my body locks.

Tessa looks up at me, her eyes wide. “This wasn’t me,” she says quickly, voice tight. “I swear.”

I barely hear her. My gaze is already sweeping the trees surrounding the cabin. My pulse is pounding in my ears. I step off the porch and scan the woods, looking for movement, for a lens glint, for anything.

“Tessa,” I bark, “get inside.”

She doesn’t move.

I snap my head toward her. “Now.”

That does it. She scrambles to her feet and backs into the cabin. I follow, locking the door behind us and pulling the curtain across the window. My heart’s a drumbeat now, every instinct on high alert.

Tessa stands in the middle of the room, arms crossed over her chest, trembling slightly.

“I don’t understand,” she says. “Why would someone post that? How did they even get that photo? You said you don’t have neighbors for miles.”

“I don’t.” I grab the rifle from behind the door. She flinches at the sight of it.

“It’s just for self-defense,” I tell her quietly. “I’ll use it if I have to.”

Tessa wraps her arms tighter around herself, eyes shining. “Sawyer, someone’s watching us.”

I cross the room in two steps and gently take the phone from her hand. I scroll through the account there are other photos. One of me hauling lumber yesterday. Another of Tessa sitting by the fire last night. All of them clearly taken from outside the cabin.

“They’ve been here for days,” I mutter.

She sinks onto the couch like her knees can’t hold her up anymore. “Why? Why would someone do this?”

My jaw clenches. I don’t have the answer, but I know what it feels like to be watched. I know how it twists in your gut, how it gets into your bones and makes every sound, every shadow, feel like a threat. I hate— hate —that she’s feeling that right now.

I kneel in front of her and take her hands, her skin cool and trembling.

“We’ll figure it out,” I say. “I promise.”

She swallows hard. “What if they’re still out there?”

“They’re not getting near you.”

She searches my face, her voice barely a whisper. “You believe me, right? You believe I didn’t know about this?”

“I believe you.”

No hesitation. No doubt. Because even though I don’t know everything about her, I know this: Tessa Hart is bold and loud and maybe a little reckless, but she’s honest. She wouldn’t lie about this.

Her breath catches, and I see it happen: her guard slips. Her eyes go glassy, and her chin trembles, and the weight of it all crashes down on her in a second. Without thinking, I wrap my arms around her and pull her into my chest.

She clings to me like I’m the only thing keeping her from falling apart. Her face presses against my neck, her hands in the back of my shirt, and I hold her tighter, angrier than I’ve ever been that anyone would make her feel unsafe.

“I’ve got you,” I whisper. “You’re okay.”

She lets out a shaky breath against my throat. “I don’t usually get scared.”

“You don’t have to be brave right now.”

She’s silent for a beat. “You’re warm.” I feel her smile against my neck, just the tiniest curve of lips, and it punches something loose in my chest.

We stay like that for a long time. Just me holding her, breathing, her heartbeat eventually steadies against mine.

The tension doesn’t fade, but it does change. Her hands move. One slides up my back, the other over my shoulder, fingertips curling around the nape of my neck. Her breath brushes my skin—faint, shallow. My pulse jumps.

I pull back just enough to look at her. Her eyes are glassy. Lashes wet. Mouth slightly parted. So close. I shouldn’t, but her hand slides to my cheek, and I’m gone.

I lean in, slow and unsure. Her eyes close. Her lips part, and then our mouths meet. The kiss is soft, just a brush, a question. She answers.

Her lips press into mine, hungry and fragile all at once. I deepen the kiss, my hand sliding into her hair, her body pressing into mine like she’s trying to crawl into my skin.

Just as fast as it starts, it stops. She pulls back, eyes wide, lips red, and breath shaky.

“I—” She doesn’t finish.

I nod, just once, backing away, giving her space. My chest is a mess, heart slamming, blood roaring.

We don’t say anything, not for a long time. Eventually, she sits and curls into the corner of the couch, legs pulled up under her. She looks out the window like the forest might whisper answers through the glass.

I sit across from her, rifle in reach, eyes on the trees. But my mind? It’s still on the feel of her mouth on mine. The way she trembled against me like she belonged there, and the terrifying, undeniable truth that I don’t just want to protect her. I need her safe.

If something happened to Tessa, I don’t think I’d come back from it.