Page 16 of Mountain Man’s Curvy Girl (Summer In The Pines #4)
Chloe
The storm has passed, leaving the world outside blanketed in fresh rain that sparkles in the morning light. Ethan’s cabin is quiet, the kind of peaceful that makes you want to curl up and never leave. Not that I could even if I wanted to.
The scent of coffee fills the air, mingling with the warmth of the fire crackling in the hearth.
I’m at the stove, flipping pancakes in one of Ethan’s cast-iron skillets, wearing one of his flannel shirts that’s far too big on me.
It’s ridiculous, really, but it smells like him—woodsy, rugged, and a little like the smoke that lingers in the cabin.
I glance over my shoulder, finding him exactly where I left him, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed. He’s shirtless, his flannel pajama pants slung low on his hips, his hair still mussed from sleep.
And he’s watching me.
That’s the part that makes my stomach flip. The way his blue-gray eyes follow every move I make, dark and intense, like he’s memorizing me.
“What?” I ask, my voice softer than I intended.
“Nothing,” he says gruffly, though his lips twitch like he’s fighting a smile.
I roll my eyes, turning back to the stove. “You’re staring, Ethan.”
“Yeah,” he says simply, his voice rough and steady. “I am.”
My cheeks heat, and I focus on flipping the last pancake, sliding it onto a plate with the others. I bring them to the table, only to find him already there, sitting at the head of the table like he owns the place—which, of course, he does.
“Here,” I say, setting the plate in front of him before taking the seat across from him. “It’s not much, but—”
“It’s perfect,” he interrupts, his eyes locking onto mine.
The room feels smaller all of a sudden, the air heavier. He doesn’t reach for the food. Instead, he leans back in his chair, his hands resting on the table as he studies me, his expression unreadable.
“You’re staying,” he says finally, his tone firm.
I blink, my fork halfway to my mouth. “What?”
“You’re staying,” he repeats, leaning forward now, his forearms braced on the table. “Here. With me. This is your home now.”
I stare at him, my heart pounding as I try to process his words. “Ethan, that’s—”
“Not up for debate,” he says, cutting me off. “I don’t want you going back to that house. Not when you could be here. Where you belong.”
My lips part, but no words come out. He’s looking at me like he’s daring me to argue, but the possessiveness in his voice—the conviction—it sends a thrill racing down my spine.
“You could at least pretend to ask,” I say finally, my voice a little breathless.
His lips curve into a faint smirk, and he leans back in his chair, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “Why waste time? You’re mine, Chloe. End of story.”
My cheeks heat, and I look down at my plate, trying to hide the smile tugging at my lips. “You’re ridiculous,” I mutter.
“Yeah,” he says, his voice softer now. “But I’m not wrong.”
I glance up, and the intensity in his eyes takes my breath away. “You’re really serious about this?” I ask quietly.
“Dead serious,” he says, his tone leaving no room for doubt. “I want you here, Chloe. With me. Every day. Every night. Always.”
My chest tightens, and I feel a lump forming in my throat. I want to say yes—I want to throw myself into his arms and never look back—but the fear is still there, lingering at the edges.
“What if this doesn’t work?” I ask softly.
He stands then, rounding the table and pulling me to my feet. His hands cup my face, his thumb brushing against my cheek as he leans down, his lips a breath away from mine.
“It’ll work,” he says firmly. “Because I’ll make it work. I’ll do whatever it takes, Chloe. Just say yes.”
I swallow hard, my hands clutching at his waist as I look up at him. He’s so sure, so steady, and I feel the last of my doubts melting away.
“Yes,” I whisper. “I’ll stay.”
His lips crash into mine, and everything else fades away.