Page 8

Sawyer

She’s still asleep when I wake up. The fire’s mostly gone out, just glowing embers in the hearth, but the room is warm. The sun filters through the windows in soft streaks of gold, catching in the strands of Tessa’s hair where it spills over my chest.

She’s curled against me, one leg draped over mine, her hand resting on my stomach like it belongs there. And hell if it doesn’t feel like it does.

I stay still, watching her breathe, the rise and fall of her chest, the flutter of her lashes. I trace a path with my eyes from the curve of her cheek to the freckle near her jaw to the soft pink of her lips, kiss-bruised and parted.

Last night plays back in flashes. The storm. The kiss. Her body under mine, wrapped around me. Her voice in my ear. The way she looked at me like I was more than the man I’ve spent the last two years trying not to be.

I run a hand slowly over her back, fingers brushing the hem of my T-shirt she’s still wearing. She shifts against me, murmuring something incoherent before nuzzling closer.

My heart does something stupid…it claims her. Mine. Mine. Mine . Pounds out in rhythm. I close my eyes and breathe her in. I don’t name what I’m feeling. I can’t because once you give it a name, it becomes real. I’m not sure I know what to do with real anymore.

She’s quiet when she finally stirs, stretching like a cat in the sun before blinking up at me with a sleepy smile.

“Morning,” she murmurs, her voice rough from sleep.

I brush her hair back from her face. “Hey.”

Neither of us moves to get up for a long stretch, but eventually, reality catches up. There’s still someone watching us, still someone taking pictures. Posting them. And now that I’ve let Tessa into my life—my space, my bed, my everything—that threat feels a hell of a lot more personal.

We get dressed mostly in silence. It’s not awkward at all. She steals my sweatshirt. I don’t even pretend to care. She makes the coffee. I fix breakfast. We don’t talk about last night, but when her hand brushes mine as she passes me a mug, she doesn’t pull away. It all feels natural.

By mid-morning, we’re packed and loaded onto the four-wheeler, heading down the mountain. The blocked road’s still a mess, but we can bypass it on the ATV trail.

Tessa wraps her arms around me from behind, snug and warm against my back. Her chin rests briefly on my shoulder, and I have to swallow the sudden knot in my throat.

We ride in silence, save for the growl of the engine and the wind tearing through the trees. Her grip tightens when we hit a bump, and I feel the press of her chest against my spine. I feel her smile.

At the bottom of the trail, the town opens up like it always does—quiet, simple, a little too curious for its own good. I park outside Annie’s café, and Tessa hops off, shaking out her hair and stretching like she’s just returned from a months-long trek through the wilderness.

“You okay?” I ask.

She grins. “Just trying to remember what it feels like to wear real pants.”

Annie’s wiping down the counter when we walk in. Her eyes jump from me to Tessa to the faint red mark on Tessa’s neck that neither of us has acknowledged. She lifts a brow but says nothing.

“Tessa,” she greets. “Mountain life not scaring you off yet?”

“Still holding on,” Tessa says, sliding into a booth.

Annie glances at me. “You look less homicidal today.”

“Don’t get used to it.”

Annie brings us coffee and settles into the booth across from us, folding her arms. “Alright. Spill. You two are giving off a weird survival-bonded energy.”

I glance at Tessa. She’s the one who pulls out her phone and shows Annie the pictures. All of them. The ones taken through the trees. The ones that feel too close. Too real.

Annie’s face darkens. “These weren’t on the original account.”

Tessa nods. “Exactly. This isn’t the playful thirst-trap stuff. This is stalking.”

I add, “Posted in real time. Someone’s been close enough to the cabin to get these. And they’ve been doing it for days.”

Annie looks between us. “So, what are you thinking?”

“We need to figure out who’s running it,” Tessa says. “And how they’re getting the photos.”

Annie sighs. “The original account was done by a group of older ladies led by Dottie. It was just supposed to be innocent fun. Sadie’s the one who helped them with the original account. She’s good with tech. Maybe she can trace the posts or track the IP address or whatever it is hackers do.”

I nod. “Call her.”

Sadie shows up ten minutes later. Her phone is in her hand, and Reid Calloway follows behind her with a scowl that could kill.

“This better be good,” he mutters, sliding into the booth beside Annie.

Tessa shows her the profile, the photos, the timestamps. Sadie’s eyes narrow as she scrolls. “Okay, no. This isn’t us. We never posted anything creepy like this. We scheduled light thirst. This is full-on stalker territory.”

I arch a brow. “Scheduled light thirst?”

Annie shrugs. “Everyone loves a mountain man. We just branded it a little.”

I grumble under my breath, but I can’t argue. This? This is different.

Sadie taps and swipes, muttering to herself. “The account’s using a different email than the one we set up. We were hacked on Thursday afternoon, and since we hadn’t planned any more posts now that Tessa’s here, they were able to fly under the radar.”

Tessa leans in. “Can you get into it?”

Sadie’s already on her laptop. “Give me twenty minutes and an oat milk latte.”

Annie’s up before she finishes the sentence.

While Sadie types furiously, I take Tessa outside for some air. We lean against the railing overlooking Main Street. The air smells like rain.

“You all right?” I ask.

She doesn’t answer right away. “I keep thinking about how they must’ve been watching us. How close they had to be.”

I nod.

“They saw us last night,” she adds, voice low.

I don’t flinch. But it lands hard.

“I’ll find them,” I say.

“I know,” she says, like it’s a fact. Then she turns to me, eyes clear. “We’re doing this together, right? Not you disappearing into the woods on some solo hunter mission while I ‘stay safe’ in town?”

My mouth twitches. “Would you actually stay?”

“Not a chance.”

We watch a truck roll by, windows down, someone’s golden retriever hanging out the side like he owns the place.

“You know,” she says after a minute, “riding behind you on that four-wheeler, I kept thinking…”

“What?”

“That if we weren’t being low-key hunted, it would’ve been hot.”

I glance at her. “You were thinking about that?”

“Shut up.”

“Arms tight around me. Legs gripping—”

“ Sawyer. ” I laugh, the sound surprising even me.

She smiles widely. God, she’s trouble, and I want every second of it.

Back inside, Sadie looks up from her laptop, triumphant. “Gotcha, you little creeper.”

Tessa and I rush to the table.

“Who is it?” I ask.

She taps the screen. “Can’t trace it fully yet, but the account is posting through a third-party app. Someone’s either hacked in remotely or set up a timed post system. But the location data on the most recent photo?” She spins the screen. “It was taken from somewhere behind your cabin. Close. Less than fifty feet.”

I stare at the dot on the map. The ridge. The trees. The old hunting blind. “I know where they were.”

Tessa straightens. “Let’s go.”

I look at her. “You’re sure?”

She grabs my keys and grins. “Let’s ride.”

The four-wheeler ride back is faster this time. Tessa’s arms are tight around my waist, but she doesn’t bury her face in my back. She’s alert. Watching.

At the ridge, I park near the trailhead and dismount. We hike the last stretch on foot. The brush is thicker here. Wilder.

I find the hunting blind just where I thought it would be, tucked between two trees—half-collapsed, overgrown, but still standing. I push the door open and step inside. There it is, a camera.

It looks like it’s rigged to a motion sensor with a battery pack and a transmitter beside it.

Tessa swears behind me.

I lift the camera gently, unplug the transmitter. Someone set this up to monitor the cabin. To trigger with movement. To upload without needing to be nearby. And they’ve been watching, probably longer than we know.

Tessa’s face is pale, but her jaw is set. “Do you think they’re still out here?”

“Not now. But they will be.”

I look at the camera, then at her. This isn’t just about catching someone, this is about protecting her. This is about not losing what’s right in front of me. Because even if neither of us can say it yet. I’m not walking away from her. Not after last night.