Chapter Five

Jules' POV 

The room was draped in the gentle glow of late afternoon, the kind of light that makes the dust motes linger in the air, suspended like tiny worlds of their own. I hadn’t realized how still I’d been standing, how long I had been watching him, until his voice cut through the silence like a stone thrown into still water.

"Are you going to just stand there and stare at me?"

I snapped back, feeling the rush of heat crawl up my neck. My cheeks betrayed me, flushing crimson. I was caught—there was no way to deny it. But, really, how could anyone not look? His form seemed to have been carved by hands that knew how to shape desire. Every inch of him held the kind of beauty you didn't turn away from, even if it meant being found out.

"Yeah," I muttered, twisting a lock of hair around my finger, a childish habit that always betrayed my nervousness. I perched on the old couch near the barn window, pretending it was the view outside that had held my gaze. The worn leather felt cool beneath me, a stark contrast to the warmth spreading across my skin.

The silence stretched between us, a thick, palpable thing. Finally, I cleared my throat, trying to say something that didn’t make me sound like a bumbling idiot. "The, um... 'all access' rule," I added, the words falling flat as I fumbled for some kind of explanation, my voice barely above a whisper.

I caught his eye as he unpacked, and he chuckled—a sound rich and warm, like the smell of cinnamon rolls fresh out of the oven. His hand moved through his hair, tousling the dark curls in a way that made them seem even more untamed, more inviting. He looked over at me, his expression one of bemused curiosity.

"The what?" His voice held a playful challenge, the corners of his lips tugging up as if he were in on some joke I hadn’t caught yet.

I sighed inwardly. He really had no idea. I realized then that he must not have even skimmed the details of the place before deciding to book a room in what amounted to the middle of nowhere, Montana. He'd probably thought it would be rustic, quaint. He had no idea what he'd really signed up for.

"All access," I said again, louder this time. "It's Grandma’s rule. She’s... well, she’s a people person. Always has been. Loves having guests, even more than she loves baking those ridiculous chocolate chip cookies she’s known for. And the all-access rule means just that—anyone can go anywhere on the farm, anytime. No doors closed, except, you know... the bathroom when it's occupied." My voice trailed off at the end, a pathetic attempt to keep the conversation light.

"No privacy then?" He raised a brow, amusement flickering in his dark eyes. There was something about the way he looked at me just then that made the room feel smaller, the air heavier.

I couldn’t help the grin that spread across my face, a spark of defiance creeping into my voice. "Nope."

He let out a long sigh, pulling a shirt from his bag and stuffing it into the old dresser by the bed. "Looks like you're taking full advantage of that rule then, huh?"

I glanced at him, caught in the way his movements seemed unhurried but purposeful, like he knew just how to draw things out without trying too hard. "Yeah," I admitted, the word slipping from my lips before I could catch it.

The truth of it hung between us, though I wasn’t sure how much of it he caught. It was more than just curiosity that had me lingering, watching him unpack like it mattered.

"But you're not really a people person, are you?" He shot me a sidelong glance, a smirk tugging at his lips, as if he knew something I hadn't yet admitted, even to myself.

I felt my face flush again, though this time it wasn’t from embarrassment. He was sharp, and I liked it. "I never said that," I countered, trying to sound casual, but the heat in my cheeks betrayed me.

His gaze lingered on me for a moment longer than it should have, his smile turning softer, more knowing. "Then why the third degree?"

I shrugged, trying to play it off. "Curiosity."

He leaned back against the dresser, crossing his arms over his chest, his eyes never leaving mine. "Curious about me, Julie Rose?"

My breath caught. Julie Rose. The way he said it, it was almost like a caress, soft in a way that made me feel stripped bare. No one called me that, not anymore. And yet, coming from him, it didn’t sting like it usually did. It was different.

"It’s just Jules," I mumbled, lowering my gaze to my lap, twisting the hem of my shirt between my fingers. The fabric felt rough, grounding.

The silence between us deepened, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. If anything, it felt charged, as though the air had thickened, pulling us into the same breath. I glanced at him through my lashes, watching as he unpacked the last of his things. When he caught me looking, that playful glint returned to his eyes.

"So," he said, dragging out the word as if testing its weight, "does that all-access rule apply to the main house too?"

"Yeah," I managed to murmur, my voice small, my gaze falling back to the floor.

He smirked, his voice dripping with teasing amusement. "Does that mean I can waltz into your room anytime I want? Bet it’s a pink explosion in there."

My heart thudded against my ribs. He was flirting. I was sure of it. The words stuck in my throat, refusing to come out. I shot up from the couch, trying to distract myself, pretending to be interested in the loft, the same place I’d seen a hundred times. My eyes landed on the book he'd pulled from his bag when he first arrived.

The Divine Comedy by Dante Alighieri.

A smile tugged at my lips. If there was one thing I could talk about without making a fool of myself, it was books. I took a slow step forward, feeling his eyes on me as I reached for the book, the worn cover cool beneath my fingers. Our hands brushed—just for a moment—but it was enough to send a spark up my arm.

"You read?" I asked, my voice steadier than I expected.

"Yeah," he replied, a slow smile spreading across his face, one that felt like the first ray of sunlight after a storm. It was disarming, how effortlessly he could shift from teasing to something deeper. I was left breathless, unsure whether this was a game, or something more.

"Good book," I said, tapping the cover. "I like it."

He raised a brow. "You read?" His voice held a note of surprise, and I wasn’t sure whether to feel flattered or offended. He clearly hadn’t pegged me for the bookish type.

"Of course I do," I shot back, a playful edge creeping into my voice. "What, you think just because I live on a farm I don’t know my Dante from my Dickens?"

He laughed then, a deep, rolling sound that made me feel warm all over. "The farm girl who reads Dante. That’s... surprising."

"Surprising?" I stepped closer, feeling something pull me toward him. "Or confusing?"

His smile faltered for just a moment, something darker flickering in his eyes. Before I could think, he was in front of me, his face inches from mine. His breath brushed against my cheek, sending a shiver down my spine.

"I think you're a mystery, Jules," he murmured, his voice low, dangerous. "And one I’m determined to unravel."

The air between us crackled, charged with something I couldn’t name. I leaned in, drawn to him, to the pull of whatever this was, not caring where it might take us.