Page 16 of One Small Spark (Love in Sunshine #4)

THIRTEEN

SHEPHERD

Despite what some people think, I am not a hermit. I just like living in the woods.

A few years back, when Charlie started adding more cabins to the lodge, I built one on a secluded section of my family’s property. It’s less than a mile from the houses where my parents and sister live, but we don’t share access roads. Nobody comes to my little slice of the forest by accident.

So the sound of a car crawling up my gravel drive is hard to miss.

I glance out the front window expecting to find Leo’s SUV rolling up. He sometimes drops in with food and the excuse of whatever game is on TV. But I have to blink my eyes a couple of times when I see Wren’s tiny sedan stop out front next to my truck.

She gets out, gazing at my cabin. It isn’t as upscale as the ones Charlie’s been adding to the resort, but it’s a solid, comfortable A-frame. Wren’s looking at it like she expected to find a ramshackle lean-to with my underwear hanging on a clothesline right out front .

I open the door, catching her with her fist up to knock. She startles, her eyes flying wide.

“Oh. Hi.”

It took her some effort to get out here to see me, so the confusion in her greeting doesn’t make much sense. But like most things between us, I roll with it.

“Hey.”

She opens her mouth but then swallows down whatever she wants to say. Her gaze darts to where my hand rests on the doorframe.

The lean wasn’t intentional, I swear. I appreciate the color rising in her cheeks, though.

I drop my hand and wait for…whatever it is she came to say.

Nerves seem to wrap around her like a too-tight sweater.

I’ve been frustrated with both of us since she accepted that date, and agitated for the last twenty-four hours, trying not to think about her on it.

But I don’t want her feeling small and anxious around me, like she has to be careful with her words. I’d rather have her fire.

I step back, opening the door wider. “Do you want to come in?”

“Um. Sure. Thanks.” She steps in over the threshold, the scent of soil after a rainstorm following her in. “I came by to?—”

A strangled sound escapes her. If she was surprised by my cabin’s exterior, she’s gobsmacked by the interior.

“You have a rolling ladder.” She drifts across the room as if under its spell.

My cabin’s bigger than the guest lodging, but it’s still just one room down here, with two small bedrooms upstairs. To maximize space, I built floor to ceiling bookshelves on one wall. A rolling ladder made the most sense for accessing the uppermost shelves.

Plus, it looks cool .

She walks past the sofa and the reading lamp to reach the bookshelves, staring open-mouthed. She grabs the rolling ladder in one hand, seemingly tempted to climb it.

“They’re not displays, right? You’ve read them? Or plan to?” She runs her fingertips along spines as if she can’t stop herself from touching the books.

“No. They’re movie props. I bought them on eBay to give the cabin some ambience.”

She grabs a book, pulls it out, and flips through the pages. “It’s real. And…annotated.”

Well. She went straight for my Greek mythology collection.

“You don’t think much of me if you have to ask if my books are real.” Who would put up a wall of fake books in the first place?

To be fair, I haven’t read them all. But I have good intentions for tackling the ones I haven’t gotten around to yet.

“I don’t know what I think anymore.” She speaks so softly, I’m not sure she means for me to hear it.

Fair enough.

She puts the book back but continues browsing, pausing now and then to read titles. If I’m not mistaken, she deeply inhales, smelling them before stopping to admire one of the black and white photos on display. “This is pretty.”

“Thanks. That waterfall’s not far from here.”

Wren spins to face me. “You took the picture?”

I nod. She goes on staring.

“You seem surprised.” An understatement, since her face is the textbook definition of “screaming internally.”

“I wasn’t expecting…” She waves a hand around to take in my mini library. “ This when I pulled up to your murder cabin.”

“I assure you, no one has died here.” My heart stopped when I saw her pull up out front, but I’ve fully recovered.

Almost fully recovered .

“That’s what they all say.”

“It’s not as remote as it looks. My parents and Charlie live down a path just to the east.”

“And I would get an axe in the back before I could ever get them to rescue me.”

She’s so ridiculous. “I would never axe you, Krause.”

“No. You’d use your hands. You’d want to get dirty.”

She stares at me across the small space, her gaze heating until her eyes are tiny blue flames. I could be wrong, but I don’t think she’s imagining me murdering her.

After a minute, she shakes away whatever mysterious thing she’s contemplating. “This is a really nice place.”

I’ll let it go that she’s so surprised. The few people I’ve invited out here have had similar reactions.

“Thank you. I used to live right next door to my parents and Charlie, but I needed more space than that.” Living within fifty yards of my entire family is more togetherness than I’m cut out for. “This is my sanctuary.”

It’s a lofty descriptor, but it’s apt. I need time alone to recharge, and it’s easier to do that here than it ever was with all of us so close together.

“Must be nice.” Wren runs her hands along the back of the couch. “I’ve always lived in the same house with Mom and Tess. And now that Tess is gone, Mom’s got a new boyfriend, and he’s always around. I’m starting to feel like an outsider in my own house.”

She stops abruptly, as if she never meant to confide something in me. I appreciate the trust, even if it’s accidental.

“Anyway,” she says with a forced little laugh, “you’ve definitely got space out here. I was sure I took a wrong turn when I got off the main road.”

It’s not all that far from the turnoff, but if you’ve never been out here, the lack of anything can be alarming .

“How did you know how to find my murder cabin?”

“I asked Charlie. I hope that’s okay. I could have texted you, but in-person seemed best. I figured I could back out of a text a lot easier than I could an actual conversation.”

Her gaze snags on something on the other side of the couch. “Do you play the guitar?”

“Yes.” She’s still staring at the acoustic guitar, but I need her to reverse course. “What conversation did you want to have in person?”

This could go so many ways, I’m not sure what outcome to hope for.

Well. I do know. I’m always hoping for one, specific outcome when it comes to Wren. But I have no idea what’s realistic anymore.

She moves a step closer. Several feet still separate us, but after how often she’s run from me literally and figuratively, the small gesture gives me a thrilling kind of hope.

“I want to apologize for the other day.”

She doesn’t clarify, but I need more than this. Her vague apology could encompass too many things I would never want her to regret. “For the kiss? Or for accepting a date with the other guy?”

She glances away again, pink washing over her cheeks. “For the second part.”

Something inside me frees like a chain that’d been snagged and finally spins smoothly again. The fear she might retreat from me entirely has been gnawing at me.

“I appreciate it, but you don’t owe me anything.” Especially not after the way I fumbled my date invitation. What could I honestly have expected?

“Right. Yeah. I get it. I’ll just—” She moves to step past me like she’s going to leave.

I grab her hand to stop her. She gazes up at me, a fresh wave of embarrassment shining in her eyes. It’s clear my response to her apology didn’t land the way I intended it to. If we’re trying to meet in the middle, we keep getting it wrong.

“Do you want to have dinner?” I ask.

“I—what? With you?”

“Yes. With me.” I gently squeeze her hand. “I barbecued shoyu chicken right before you got here, and I’ve got steamed rice and broccoli to go with it. It’s not my ‘marry me’ bread?—”

She huffs a breath and rolls her eyes but miraculously, doesn’t let go of my hand.

“But it’s pretty good. If you’d like to stay.” I tilt my head a touch closer to hers. “I’d like you to stay.”

My intentions should be clearer this time. I can almost see the wheels spinning in her head as she stares up at me. The longer it takes for her to answer, the more I steel myself to her inevitable rejection.

“Okay.” She squeezes my hand back. “I’ll stay.”

Relief rushes through me like I’m coasting down a mountain path. “Good. Come sit down.”

My cabin’s main floor is a great room setup: the kitchen bleeds into the dining area and merges with the living room. You can stand anywhere down here and see every other part of the room. But I keep checking over my shoulder as I plate up dinner, making sure Wren doesn’t disappear on me.

She might have accepted my invitation, but the tiny line between her eyebrows says there’s still a good chance she’ll come up with a reason to bolt. I want to soothe her uncertainties, but that will take more than a simple dinner together to accomplish. It’s a start, though.

I serve our meals and join her at my small table. As soon as she takes her first bite of chicken, she puts one hand over her mouth and groans.

“This is so unfair. ”

Smug satisfaction puffs out my chest. “Does that mean you like it?”

She finishes chewing and points her fork at her face. “Uh, yeah. From the obscene sound I just made, you know I like it.”

I refuse to indulge in thoughts of her saying that same sentence in any other context.

“Seems pretty fair to me. I’ve been eating delicious food you made for years.”

“That’s different.” She doesn’t hide her glow of pride, though. “That’s my job. This is about you having unexpected life skills.”

“Cooking is an unexpected life skill?” I don’t dare point out how basic this dish is. “Did you imagine me living off of squirrel meat here in my murder cabin?”

Her mouth tips to one side. “You add variety by foraging for questionable mushrooms.”

“A gourmand. Nice.”