Total pages in book: 26
Estimated words: 29299 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 146(@200wpm)___ 117(@250wpm)___ 98(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 29299 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 146(@200wpm)___ 117(@250wpm)___ 98(@300wpm)
Which makes sense.
Because the man who opens the door looks like someone who learned how to disappear.
Recognition hits hard enough to steal the air from my lungs.
Firefighter. Truck. Morning crash. Sawyer.
For half a second, neither of us moves.
Then his eyes shift—slow, deliberate—taking me in the same way they did on the side of the road, except now I’m standing on his porch, hair brushed, resume in my bag, heart trying to climb out of my throat.
“Well,” he says, voice low and rough. “Guess Devil’s Peak is smaller than it looks.”
I force a smile. “Apparently I have a talent for running into you.”
One corner of his mouth lifts. Not quite a smile. Something sharper.
“What can I do ya for, Sparklplug?”
“Sparkplug?” I burst into a laugh. “That’s a new one. Why sparkplug?”
“Well, when you rear-ended me earlier you kind of ruined my morning–like when a sparkplug goes–it’s an inconvenience–a minor one but one just the same.”
“Wow, so here I am, standing on your front porch looking to inconvenience your afternoon I guess.”
“Keepin’ me on my toes, that’s for sure. So what brings you to my side of the mountain?”
“Heard you were looking for a nanny, so here I am,” I grin widely.
“You?” His eyebrows jump. “What an unfortunate turn of events.”
“For who–you or me?”
“Likely both.” His eyes sparkle as he says the words.
“I really am sorry—”
“Stop apologizing, Sparkplug. You already did that. Nothing worse than a woman who apologizes too much.”
“Oh–I–I don’t know how to take that.”
He shrugs and swings the door wide. “You comin’ in?”
I nod, stepping past him and trying to notice the way my body seems to hum with the close proximity of his. He’s all hard edges and squared jawline and the natural scent of him is pine with a hint of smoke. My eyes flutter closed a beat as I suck in a steadying breath.
The warmth inside the cabin wraps around me immediately—wood smoke, coffee, clean laundry. It smells lived-in. Safe. My instincts relax even as my nerves spike.
A little girl peers at me from the hallway, curiosity bright and unguarded.
“This is Lacee,” Sawyer says, softer now. “Lacee, this is Tessa.”
She studies me with the intensity of someone who knows exactly how much power she holds. “You’re the nanny?”
“Potentially,” I say. “I’m also very good at glitter glue removal and pretending broccoli is exciting.”
Her eyes light up. “Dad says broccoli is a lie.”
I laugh before I can stop myself. Sawyer’s gaze snaps to me, something unreadable flickering there.
“She’s artsy,” he explains. “Girly. Smart. Sassy.” A pause. “Ten going on twenty-five.”
Lacee beams. “Dad doesn’t know anything about hair.”
“That is a vicious rumor,” he says dryly.
I watch them together, something warm and unexpected blooming in my chest. He’s out of his depth and knows it. Loves her anyway. Fiercely.
“She lost her mom nine years ago,” he adds, not looking at me. “I’m… learning as I go.” The honesty lands heavy. He gestures toward the kitchen table. “Sit?”
We do. Close enough that I’m aware of the heat of him, the breadth of his shoulders, the faint scent of smoke and soap. He’s handsome in a way that isn’t polished—salt and pepper threaded through his dark hair, stubble roughening his jaw, lines etched by responsibility and loss.
Dangerous, my brain whispers.
“I’m a preschool teacher,” I begin. “Taking the summer off. Needed a change.”
“From Boulder,” he says, nodding at the resume I’ve just passed him. “Big move.”
“Impulsive,” I admit. “But necessary.”
His gaze sharpens. “Running from something?”
“Toward something,” I counter.
That earns me another almost-smile.
We talk logistics. Hours. Meals. Lacee’s routines. Sawyer listens intently, asks smart questions. Protective but not controlling. When Lacee disappears to show me her art supplies, Sawyer watches her go with something like awe.
“She’s everything,” he says quietly. “I just… want someone steady for her. A woman who knows what she’s doing.”
The words a woman land with weight.
I swallow. “I can do that.”
He finally looks directly at me. Holds my gaze. Doesn’t flinch.
“How old are you?”
“Twenty-four,” I say. “Just graduated.”
A beat.
“And you?”
“Thirty-seven,” he replies quickly. His eyes flicker across my face and then close, soft sigh parting his full lips. Is he thinking what I’m thinking?
Hiring me is responsible.
Wanting me is not.
He leans back, exhaling. “I think you’d be good for her.”
My pulse jumps.
“Do you think so?” I ask.
“You don’t?”
“I just…don’t want to be a complication.”
His eyes darken.
“Well,” he says slowly, “if you knew what was good for you you’d probably leave this mountain and never look back.”
The warning should cool things but it does the opposite. I swallow, nod, allowing my eyes to track around the room to land anywhere but on him.
“Oh–I forgot to mention–this is a live-in position. You good with that?”
I nearly choke on my tongue. “I…I guess I didn’t realize full-time meant…full-time.”
He nods. Waits.
My mind spirals with a thousand reasons I should not sign up to live with this man for the summer.