Grace's POV
I woke up to the smell of coffee.
For three beautiful seconds, I forgot. Then reality crashed in: Ethan was in my kitchen. Making coffee. In my house.
I'd let a man move into my home.
Panic hit first. Then something worse, awareness. Because that meant Ethan was downstairs right now, and I was up here in my pajamas with bedhead and morning breath, and this was insane.
I grabbed my phone. 6:15 AM.
Deep breath. I could do this. We were adults. Roommates. This was fine.
Except my hands were shaking as I pulled on jeans and ran a brush through my hair.
Downstairs, I found Ethan at the stove. Cooking.
He'd showered—his hair was damp, and he smelled like soap and something woodsy that made my knees weak. He turned when I entered, and his eyes did a quick sweep from my face down and back up.
My skin heated everywhere his gaze touched.
Morning, he said, his voice rough. I made breakfast. Hope that's okay.
Eggs. Toast. Coffee already poured and waiting on the counter.
Marcus had never made me breakfast. Not once in three years.
You didn't have to
I wanted to. He slid a plate toward me. Consider it rent.
We stood on opposite sides of the small kitchen island. The space felt too small and too big at the same time.
Thank you, I managed.
We ate in silence. But it wasn't comfortable silence. It was charged. Aware. Every time I looked up, I caught him watching me. Every time he looked up, I was watching him.
Finally, I couldn't take it anymore.
This is weird, I blurted out.
Yeah. Relief flashed across his face. It is.
We should set some ground rules.
Agreed.
I grabbed a notepad, desperate for something to do with my hands. Okay. Rule one: we respect each other's space.
Makes sense.
Rule two: we communicate if something bothers us.
Fine.
Rule three: this is temporary. Just until you finish your community service.
Ethan's expression shifted. Something I couldn't read flickered in his eyes.
Right, he said quietly. Temporary.
Why did that word make my chest ache?
Any rules you want to add? I asked.
He looked at me for a long moment. Rule four: we're honest with each other. No games. No hidden agendas.
Deal.
We shook hands. Again, that electric current when our palms met. Again, we both held on a second too long.
Again, we pulled back too quickly.
I should get to work, Ethan said, grabbing his coat.
Yeah. Me too.
He paused at the door. Grace? Thanks. For giving me a chance.
Then he was gone, and I was alone in my kitchen with the ghost of his touch still tingling on my palm.
The day was chaos. Honey went into labor around noon. I spent four hours delivering six puppies while trying not to think about Ethan working just outside.
Failed completely.
Because even covered in birthing fluids and exhausted, I was hyperaware of every time he passed the clinic window. Every time his shadow crossed the doorway.
Around four, he knocked softly. Need help?
I'm good. I wasn't good. I was exhausted and overwhelmed and way too aware of how he filled the doorway.
He came in anyway. Knelt beside me. Started cleaning puppies without being asked.
What happened to respecting space? I asked, too tired to put any bite in it.
You're about to fall over. That overrides rule one.
We worked side by side for an hour. Our hands brushed constantly—passing towels, checking puppies, making sure Honey was okay.
Each touch was fire.
Last one, Ethan said, gently rubbing a tiny puppy with a towel until it squeaked.
The sound made me smile despite my exhaustion.
You're good at this, I said.
So are you. He looked at me, and I suddenly realized how close we were. Kneeling side by side. His shoulder against mine. Both of us covered in fluids and exhausted and somehow perfect.
Ethan
A puppy squeaked. The moment broke.
We both pulled back. Started cleaning up in silence. But the air between us felt heavy. Charged.
Dangerous.
That evening, we moved around the cottage carefully. Too carefully. Like dancers avoiding collision.
He cooked dinner while I showered. I set the table while he showered. We ate across from each other, both pretending this was normal.
How's Honey? he asked.
Good. All six puppies are healthy.
That's great.
More silence. More awareness.
I'll do dishes, I said, standing quickly. Needing distance.
But he stood too. I'll help.
So we ended up at the sink together. In my tiny kitchen. Him washing, me drying. Our arms brushing with every plate.
Grace? His voice was quiet.
Yeah?
Are you okay? With me being here?
I looked at him. Really looked at him. At the concern in his eyes, the uncertainty in his expression.
I don't know, I admitted. This is all happening really fast. A week ago, you were a stranger. Now you're in my kitchen doing dishes.
We can slow down. I can find somewhere else
No. The word came out too fast, too desperate. I don't want you to leave. I just... I don't know how to do this.
Do what?
Trust someone again. Let someone in. Not mess this up. My voice cracked.
Ethan set down the plate he was washing. Dried his hands. Turned to face me.
Grace, you're not going to mess this up.
You don't know that.
Yes, I do. He stepped closer. My heart hammered. Because I'm just as scared as you are. Just as broken. Just as convinced this is going to blow up in my face.
Then why are you here?
Because some things are worth the risk. His eyes held mine. Intense. Honest. You're worth the risk.
I couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. Couldn't do anything but stare at this man who'd somehow become essential in a week.
Ethan
My phone rang. Shattered the moment like glass.
I grabbed it, hands shaking. Unknown number.
Hello?
Dr. Ashford? A woman's voice, professional and cold. This is Patricia Vance from Whitmore Capital Development. We've been trying to reach you about our offer on your property.
Ice flooded my veins. I'm not interested.
Perhaps you haven't fully considered the benefits. Two million dollars is quite generous for
I said no.
Dr. Ashford, I understand you're emotionally attached, but you must see reason. Your sanctuary is failing. You're drowning in debt. This is your chance to
How do you know about my debt? My voice came out sharp. Angry.
Silence. Then: We do our research. It's just business, Dr. Ashford. You should think very carefully before refusing our final offer.
Final offer. That sounded like a threat.
Don't call me again, I said and hung up.
My hands were shaking. Ethan was already at my side.
What happened?
Whitmore Capital. They're pushing the sale again. They knew about my debt, Ethan. How would they know that?
His face went pale. Then hard. They've been investigating you.
Why? It's just land
It's never just land with these people. They want something, and they'll dig until they find leverage.
What kind of leverage?
Ethan's jaw clenched. Anything that makes you desperate enough to sell. Debt. Creditors. Legal issues. They'll find your weaknesses and exploit them.
Fear crawled up my spine. Can they do that?
Legally? Maybe not. But James doesn't care about legal. He cares about winning.
James? I stared at him. You know who's behind Whitmore Capital?
Ethan went very still. Grace
You know. My voice rose. You know who's trying to take my sanctuary and you didn't tell me?
I didn't know for sure until
Until when? When were you going to mention that the company trying to destroy me is run by the same man who destroyed you
Ethan's face was white. I was trying to protect you
I don't need protection! I need honesty! You stood in my kitchen an hour ago and said 'no games, no hidden agendas,' and you've been hiding this the entire time?
I wasn't hiding
Then what do you call it? I was shaking. From anger. From fear. From the terrible realization that I'd let him in and he'd been keeping secrets. How long have you known James was behind this?
Ethan's silence was answer enough.
Oh God. I stepped back. You knew before you came here. That's why you're in Maple Ridge. Not random assignment. You chose this town.
Grace, let me explain
Get out.
What?
Get your stuff and get out of my house. Tears streamed down my face. I trusted you. I let you in. And you've been using me this whole time.
I haven't been using you! I didn't even know about the sanctuary until I got here
But you knew about James! You knew he was buying up this town and you didn't say anything! My voice broke. How am I supposed to trust anything you say now?
Ethan looked like I'd stabbed him. Grace, please
No. I'm done. Get out.
He didn't move. Just stood there, looking destroyed.
Now, Ethan.
Finally, he walked to the stairs. I heard him moving in his room. Five minutes later, he came down with his duffel bag and box.
Everything he owned. Again.
He stopped at the door. For what it's worth, I'm sorry. And I meant what I said. You're worth the risk. Even if you don't believe that anymore.
Then he was gone.
I stood in my empty cottage, listening to his car start and drive away, and felt something inside me shatter.
Again.
An hour later, my phone buzzed. Text from unknown number:
Shame about Mr. Kane leaving. But it's probably for the best. You can't trust Wall Street criminals, Dr. Ashford. They always have an agenda. Our offer stands: $2 million. Think about it. You have one week to decide before we pursue other options. —Whitmore Capital
My blood ran cold.
They knew Ethan had been living here.
They knew he'd just left.
They were watching me.
And I'd just sent away the one person who understood how dangerous James Whitmore really was.
What had I done?