Page 7

CHAPTER

SIX

EVEREST

The summer sun is beginning to rise and its warmth begins permeating my cabin. My arm is draped over her waist, our bodies tangled under the blanket on the bed, like we’ve always been this way. Last night was the beginning of something new in my life. I can already feel it.

Sierra’s breathing is slow, steady. Her cheek is resting against my chest, her fingers curled lightly against my ribs. Every part of her is pressed into me, like she belongs there. Like she always has.

I’ve never felt more sure of anything in my life.

Not the land. Not the quiet. Not even the mountain I’ve called home.

But her ?

Yeah. She’s the surest thing I’ve ever felt.

She stirs, just barely, her head shifting, breath catching slightly as she starts to wake. I brush my lips against her hair.

“Good morning,” I murmur.

She hums sleepily and nuzzles in a little closer. My chest tightens. I want to freeze time. Hold onto this moment and never let it go.

I pull back just enough to slip out from under the blanket. She groans softly but doesn’t protest. I smile and head into the kitchen to make her coffee. I don’t think I’ve memorized anything that fast in my life.

As it brews, I glance toward the bed where she still lies, one hand now resting where my chest had been. Like she’s still holding onto me.

I bring the mug to her carefully and kneel down beside her. Her eyes flutter open, soft and sleepy and so damn beautiful it physically hurts to look at her.

“Here,” I whisper. “For you.”

She takes the mug, fingers brushing mine, and smiles. “You didn’t have to.”

I grin. “I want to.”

She takes a sip and hums quietly with pleasure. I swear it nearly undoes me.

I sit back on my heels and look at her, really look at her, and say, “I still can’t believe you just ended up here. On my mountain. On my porch. Like the gods dropped you off as some kind of gift.”

She blushes, eyes lowering. “I wasn’t exactly in great shape when I got here.”

“Doesn’t matter,” I say. “You were perfect the second I opened that door.”

She looks up at me then, and something passes between us—heavy, warm, real. And I know I may have been alone a long time. But I was never meant to stay that way.

Not now. Not with her here.

I stand slowly and ease down beside her again, my arm wrapping around her shoulders, the mug of coffee warming her hands between us.

The silence is soft, not empty. I glance at her face, half-lit by the morning light, and realize I want to learn every part of her.

Her favorite songs. The way she takes her eggs.

What makes her cry. What makes her laugh until she can’t breathe.

“I’ve been alone out here for a long time,” I admit quietly.

“I figured,” she replies, eyes still on her coffee. “It’s peaceful. But lonely too.”

“Yeah.” I swallow, feeling something tighten in my throat. “But I think… maybe I was just waiting.”

She turns her head, meets my eyes. “For what?”

I reach out and gently tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “For you.”

“Sierra,” I say softly, trying not to startle her.

Her eyes flick to mine. A flash of something—uncertainty, maybe guilt? It vanishes before I can place it.

“Yeah?” she asks, voice light, too light.

“Tell me about yourself. I want to know everything about you. Do you work? What do you do?” But she looks down and I can sense there’s something… off. I tilt my head. “What’s wrong?”

She shakes her head. “Nothing. I’m fine.”

I sit forward. “You’re not.”

She gives me a tired smile and looks away. “Really. It’s nothing.”

But I can’t let it go. I won’t.

I shift closer and gently cup her face in my hand. Her skin is warm against my palm, soft, but I can feel the faintest tremble.

“You can tell me anything,” I say, my voice low. “I don’t care what it’s about. Whatever it is—you don’t have to carry it alone.”

Her eyes glisten just slightly, and I see her throat work as she swallows hard. Her lips part, like she wants to speak but can’t find the words.

She closes her eyes, leans into my hand just the tiniest bit.

“I’m scared,” she whispers.

Of what? I want to ask.

But I don’t rush her. I wait.

She pulls away from my hand, just slightly, and I feel it like a cold wind straight to my chest.

“There’s something I have to tell you,” Sierra says, her voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t want to, but something about you just feels so real. And if I keep this secret any longer I don’t think I’ll be able to look you in the eye. And I want everything about this to be true… to be real. ”

I straighten up. My stomach knots. Her eyes won’t meet mine.

“I came up here because… my boss sent me,” she says. “He wanted me to see if you were interested in selling your land. Your ten acres. For a resort.”

Silence crashes over the room like a thunderclap.

I blink. My brain refuses to catch up. “What?”

She finally looks at me. There’s guilt there, pain too. But it doesn’t soothe the fire building in my gut.

“So this was a job?” I ask, my voice sharper than I mean it to be. “That’s why you showed up here?”

“It started that way,” she says quickly. “But it’s not why I stayed. I swear. I’ll tell my boss you’re not selling. I just couldn’t keep it a secret anymore… not when I’m feeling—like this about you. ”

I stand and take a step back. The room feels too small suddenly. The walls are closing in.

“Was last night just part of the pitch?” I ask again, bitterness creeping into my throat. “Butter me up before the ask?”

Her face crumples. “No! Everest, I didn’t?—”

“You knew who I was from the beginning,” I cut her off. “You let me think it was fate. That it was… real. ”

“It was real,” she pleads. “I didn’t plan any of this. I didn’t expect to?—”

“To what? Sleep with the guy whose land you’re supposed to steal?”

She flinches like I slapped her. I immediately regret the words, but the damage is done.

She stands frozen for a moment. Then something in her shifts—like a wall going up, fast and final.

Tears brim in her eyes, but her voice is steady. “Maybe I should go.”

“Sierra—”

“No, it’s okay,” she says, standing fast and grabbing her bag. “You think I came here to manipulate you? That this was all some con? I should’ve known better than to think this could work. Than to believe you might actually—” Her voice cracks and she shakes her head.

“Do you even care about me?” I ask, hating how vulnerable I sound.

She stops. Turns.

“Of course I care about you,” she says. “That’s what makes this so damn hard.”

I see it in her eyes. The conflict. The pain. The truth.

And it only makes it worse.

Because part of me still wants to pull her into my arms. To believe her. To pretend the last five minutes never happened. But the rest of me—the part that’s been burned before—can’t stop screaming that I’m a fool.

She heads toward the door, and I feel like the floor is disappearing beneath me. Everything warm and good from the last twenty-four hours is being stripped away.

I take a step toward her but stop. My fists clench at my sides.

Because I don’t know what to say. Not yet. And if I say the wrong thing again, I’ll lose her for good.

She hesitates at the door. Just for a moment. Her hand on the knob. Like maybe she’s waiting for me to stop her.

But I don’t. And then she’s gone.

The door creaks open, and she steps out into the sun, her silhouette framed by the blinding light. And just like that, she’s out of reach.

The silence she leaves behind is deafening.

The pain stretches on after she leaves, echoing in every corner of the cabin.

She left yesterday but it feels like it’s been a year.

It’s not just quiet—it’s hollow. Empty in a way I didn’t know a place could feel.

I pace the floorboards like a caged animal.

I sit. I stand. I run a hand through my hair for what feels like the hundredth time.

My chest aches in this deep, unfamiliar way, like there’s a pressure there I can’t get rid of.

Like part of me walked out the door with her.

I replay everything she said. And everything I said back.

God, I was insensitive. I didn’t mean to be, but I was. I let the fear and betrayal hit first and didn’t stop to listen—to really listen. I told myself I was protecting what’s mine, but all I did was push away something… someone… I was starting to need more than I’m ready to admit.

Then, something catches my eye.

A small white rectangle on the floor, just under the edge of the couch.

I bend down, my fingers brushing it as I pick it up.

Her business card.

Sierra Mitchell. Her beautiful face just above.

That sleek little logo of the development company printed in the corner like a brand.

But all I see is her. The way her lips quirk when she’s trying not to smile.

The fire in her eyes when she argues. The warmth in her laugh when she lets herself relax.

I stare at the card. My thumb runs over the raised lettering again and again. It feels too light to carry the weight it suddenly has.

And just like that, the anger fades. All that’s left is regret. I’m an idiot.

She told me the truth. It wasn’t perfect—hell, it hurt like hell—but it was honest. She could’ve kept lying.

She could’ve spun some sweet little story and tried to charm me into signing over everything I’ve built here.

But she didn’t. She chose to tell me the truth.

To risk everything she’d built with me in just a few days—for honesty.

She chose me. And I threw it in her face. God. I told her she used me. I made her feel cheap. Like none of this—none of us —was real.

I drop the card on the table and grip the edge like it might anchor me.

The air in the cabin is suffocating. Every piece of furniture reminds me of her. Her hands on the mug of coffee I made her. Her laughter echoing through the room. Her body curled up beside mine under a blanket on the bed.

I see her everywhere. And I hate myself for being the reason she’s gone.

I need to see her again.

I need to fix this.

I grab my keys from the hook by the door with a renewed urgency. I don’t think, I just move. The need to find her— to make this right —burns hotter than anything I’ve felt in years.

The engine rumbles to life, low and familiar, but even that comforting sound feels distant under the pounding in my chest. I back out of the gravel drive, tires spitting dust, and hit the road harder than I probably should.

I don’t know exactly where she is, but I know where to start.

That office. That boss of hers. The one who sent her here. If she went anywhere, it’s back there. Back to the job that sent her into my life.

But maybe I can pull her back out of it.

I grip the wheel tighter as the miles blur past. Trees rush by in green streaks. The sun is high now, burning through the windshield. My jaw is tight. My pulse is racing.

Because I’ve made up my mind. I’m not letting her go.