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Still unnerved, I turn back to the invader, who must feel the weight of my stare because she lifts her chin and sends me a glare.

She took her coat off. I look anyway, taking in the long line of her legs, the way that sweater clings to her soft breasts and even softer stomach. The primal attraction is immediate and filthy—mine, my gut insists, even as my brain screams stop. My pulse hammers. My hands itch to touch, to claim, to drag her away from every eye in this room.

I crush the thought and turn toward the lounge, pulling my phone out with fingers that aren’t steady. Not her. Not ever. I type her name on the way like I’m nailing a door shut.

Lila Harlow. What is she up to?

The big velvet couch in front of the fire is empty except for my sister-in-law Sierra and my oldest brother Zephyr, who still has a bit of ice in his beard and smells like diesel. Sierra’s more than pregnant. She looks like she swallowed one of the contest pumpkins.

“Storm’s coming in. Could be a rough week.” I take a seat beside Zephyr. “I’m on the schedule for Friday, but I’m open if you need me sooner.”

Zephyr runs Montana Maverick Lines, our family outfit that keeps the high-voltage lines up in the mountains functioning in terrain no one in their right mind would work. He takes a sip of coffee and doesn’t look at me when he answers.

“Stay in town, close to Mom and the girls. If it gets ugly and the generators don’t kick on—”

Sierra doesn’t even let him finish. “We all know how to start a generator, Zeph.”

“I know you do.” He glances at her belly. “I also know you’re at thirty-six weeks and the last time the power blinked you tried to haul the propane tank yourself. What if the roads are blocked and you need to get to the hospital? He’s staying.”

“Sounds like a plan, brother. Don’t worry. I’ll keep everyone safe.”

Sierra leans across Zephyr and pats my thigh. “Thanks, Gideon. What would us poor, helpless women do without the Stone brothers to take care of us?” Zephyr slides his arm around her, and she snuggles against him. “Just kidding. I actually love that you’re so protective of me.”

Zephyr lowers his voice. “Really? How much do you love it?”

It’s hard to imagine that less than a year ago Zephyr was the most unhappy person I knew. I think he’d given up on ever having a family, and look at him now. After a few more minutes of small talk, they say their goodbyes and head out, giving me the privacy I need to investigate Lila Harlow.

I open Instagram, search her name, and my thumb freezes on the first picture. Shot after shot of her in flour-dusted curves, a slow video of a spoon disappearing between full lips … her posts are pure torture.

This is the trap where it starts and people get stupid. Despite knowing better, I glance down at her Instagram feed again. Wow. Her eyes are so blue—tinged with purple, an unusual shade. My stomach clenches like I’m bracing for a fifty-foot gust on the line.

Obsessed with what I’m seeing, I quickly check behind me to make sure she isn’t lurking and keep scrolling. Yeah, she’s cute, and funny, talented too. Her desserts look like pieces of art. Stop drooling over a stranger. Get. It. Together.

I shut the phone off. The screen goes dark and I see my own face reflected in it—stupid, slack-jawed, obvious. This is exactly how my appearance on that reality show started too. Curiosity, then the need to help my brother Creed, then some producer asking if I want to “share my story with America.” If I don’t keep my eye on the ball, I’ll end up with a camera crew in my cabin and no privacy.

Hard pass. I say it out loud, like volume will make it true. I don’t do city girls with soft hands and sweet voices who look at Montana like it’s a vacation. I shove the phone in my pocket and leave it there. I’m not doing this. I’m not becoming the thing I hate.

I walk back into the main bakery. Either she leaves on her own, or I make sure she has a reason to. Either that, or watched very, very closely. Mom seems oblivious to the danger, and the two of them are giggling, rearranging the pumpkins and leaves on the windowsill, like they’re already buddies.

The second I join them, her phone rings. Lila stares down at the screen in surprise.

“Didn’t think I’d get reception up here,” she murmurs.

I can’t help myself. “You only have lights and heat because of my family’s business. You’re welcome.” The words came out sharp, almost triumphant, and I despise how much I want her to look impressed instead of annoyed.

Her expression flickers with confusion, then something cooler. She doesn’t know how to take the comment.

“I need to pick up. It’s the Knotty Pines Motel.” Lila turns away with the phone pressed to her ear, and I see the exact second her shoulders stiffen. The bakery noise fades under the sudden tightness in her voice.

“What do you mean, pipes?” She listens, straightening, on alert. “The whole building? No, I understand the hard freeze, but I just checked in an hour ago.” She turns toward the window, pressing two fingers against her lips. “Nothing else in town? Not even a couch?” She lets out a soft, defeated breath. “Okay. Thank you for calling.”

She ends the call and just stands there for a moment, staring at the window like something outside might come to her rescue. When she turns back, the cocky spark that was in her eyes twenty minutes ago is gone.

“Pipes burst at the motel,” she says in a careful voice. “Apparently their plumbing is really old and … it’s all a mess.” She drops her head. “They’re shutting the whole place down. And with the storm coming in … plus Thanksgiving, and the contest, every other room in Passion Pines is already taken. I know because I booked the last room in town.”

She swallows, glancing toward the door as if calculating distances.

“I don’t have a car. Maybe I could call Steve, the guy who picked me up at the train station. What’s the closest town? West Palomino? Maybe I could stay there and commute …” Her voice wavers. She blinks hard, and I see her eyes watering when she quickly wipes the corners with the back of her hand. “Sorry. Sorry. It’s been a really long day with all the travel.”