Page 20 of Wolf It Down, Knot Me Up

Roman.

He’s as tall as Wolf and built along the same unfair lines, but he’s got chestnut-brown hair loose to his shoulders, skin tanned. He’s wearing a black button-up shirt with the sleeves pushed up over forearms roped with muscle. Even from here, hidden in the ferns like a burglar, I feel the tug of him low in my belly, which is just crazy.

Who let these men out of a storybook?

The sight catches me off guard but has nothing to do with the men in front of me.

Jerry used to stand just like this in the early morning, sleeves shoved to his forearms, laughing with the other guys over a woodpile, while I wandered down the track carrying breakfast. It isn’t the same place, and these aren’t the same people, but for a fleeting second, the memory overlaps with the present so perfectly that it steals my breath.

For years, thinking about him had felt as if someone were squeezing my lungs. And it had taken a long time to come back here because everywhere I looked had reminded me of what we’d shared. Now, though, the pain has softened into something quieter. Not gone, just… settled. A gentle ache for a life I thought I’d have and never did.

I watch Wolf and Roman again and almost laugh at how nervous I feel about talking to them. This is ridiculous.

They’re insanely attractive, sure. Anyone with functioning eyesight could admit that, but they’re still strangers, and whatever old memories they’ve stirred belong to me, not them.

That’s when Wolf mumbles one last thing to Roman that I can’t hear and retraces his steps back around the rear of the cabin.

Roman rolls his shoulders, crosses to the splitting stump, and yanks the axe free.

I bite down on my bottom lip. I really should just keep watching where this goes and not interrupt him.

His shirt is already half unbuttoned, the fabric hanging open as he settles his grip on the axe. Then he swings. The movement is fluid, his whole body working as one, power rolling effortlessly from his shoulders through his back before the blade bites clean through the round. The crack echoes across the clearing, startling birds from the branches overhead.

He reaches for another log without pause and does it again and again.

Sweat glistens at the base of his throat, disappearing beneath the open collar of his shirt. And somewhere along the way, I’d stopped watching him split wood and started watching… him.

Heat creeps slowly up my neck, and I shift my weight, suddenly far too aware that I’m hiding behind a cluster of ferns, clutching a basket of biscuits while openly staring at a man who has absolutely no idea he’s being admired.

He plants the axe in the block before reaching for a bottle of water resting on the porch steps, making me realize he’d been working out here long before I arrived. Tilting his head back, he drains half the bottle in a few long swallows, a bead of water escaping down the side of his neck. He drags a damp hand through his dark hair, pushing it off his forehead before exhaling slowly.

Then, without a second thought, he unbuttons his shirt and slides it down his arms before tossing it toward the railing on the porch.

A gasp slips past my lips.

I clamp a hand over my mouth, heart thundering, as I duck instinctively behind the ferns, convinced he’s heard me. But he doesn’t even glance my way, so I stand back up. He reaches for the axe again, and with one effortless swing, sends another log splitting clean in two.

Good grief.

The man looks as though he’s carved from the very forest surrounding him, huge shoulders tapering into a lean waist, every movement smooth. Muscles shift beneath sun-warmed skin as he lifts the axe again.

When exactly had I stopped being a functioning adult?

That’s when a breath ghosts across the back of my neck.

I flinch so hard my fingers tighten around the basket, every muscle in my body locking. Before I spin around, a breath brushes my ear.

“He looks good over there, doesn’t he? No shirt. Flexing. Go on, big boy, chop that wood.” That deep, rough voice slides straight through me, belonging to Wolf.

As if hearing him wasn’t enough, his scent follows a heartbeat later, black coffee and fresh-cut timber wrapping around me until it fills every breath I take. My stomach dips, my pulse stutters, and every hair along my arms lifts in recognition. It’s ridiculous how quickly my body remembers him.

Narrowing my gaze, I twist my head to where I find him right behind me, grinning. He’s far too close, leaving me barely enough room to breathe, let alone escape.

“Wow,” I hiss over my shoulder. “Could you be any creepier?”

“Careful,” he murmurs, the smile obvious in his voice. “I know it’s a lot, watching Roman split wood.”

“Shut up,” I whisper, turning back around toward Roman. “I came over to see you all.”