The Wrong Mr. Right (The Queen's Cove Series #2)(54)

A shirtless Wyatt lifted an axe over his shoulder and brought it down over a piece of wood, splitting it into pieces. His abs rippled as he moved, his obliques jumped and his pecs flexed. His arms were defined and strong and his shoulders broad. I saw him shirtless nearly every day, but seeing him chopping wood like this? So masculine, primal, sweaty, and so freaking gorgeous?

I was lost.

I got pulled under from how freaking gorgeous he was.

And I was very, very wet.

“Are you serious?” I whispered under my breath.

I watched Wyatt for some time, raising the axe over his head and bringing it down to split piece after piece. At one point, he glanced over and saw me spectating before flashing me a panty-melting grin.

He knew how hot he was.

Maybe this was payback for teasing him the other morning.

I snapped a quick video of him chopping wood for social media. His fanbase was going to lose their minds.

Late afternoon rolled around and I showed Wyatt my fire-building skills. I crumpled up the newspaper, laid the sticks of kindling on top, and watched the flames ignite before stacking progressively larger pieces of wood on top. Within minutes, we had a crackling fire in front of us.

“Nice work, bookworm.” His voice was a low rumble and he flashed another one of those grins at me.

I melted.





“To your sponsorship,” I said, raising my camping mug of red wine. The fire cracked and sent a flurry of sparks near my foot. Wyatt reached out and pulled my camp chair a couple inches closer to his.

Wyatt’s mouth hitched at the side. “I don’t have it in the bag yet.”

“Yeah, but you will. And this is a big deal. Good job, professor.”

His gaze flared with heat and he watched me over the rim of his mug. “Do you want another hot dog? I brought lots.”

I shook my head. I’d already had two. “Where’d you find veggie dogs? I didn’t think they sold them in the store in Queen’s Cove.”

“I drove to Port Alberni yesterday to grab them.”

“They’re surprisingly good. Even for hot dogs.”

That made him grin. “We have to eat hot dogs when we’re camping, bookworm. It’s the rule.”

We smiled at each other for a moment. The idea of sleeping in Wyatt’s tent flashed into my head again. Would it smell like him in there? How would I sleep with that intoxicating, masculine scent in my nose?

Above us, stars winked down from the dark sky. Less light pollution in the woods made the sky look like someone had scattered a handful of glitter.

“It’s so quiet out here.”

“Mhm.” He nodded, gaze on me. “No cell service. No background noise. Just quiet.”

“I keep having the urge to check my phone. Oh, I didn’t tell you. I set up an online store.”

His eyes widened with surprise. “You did? That’s great. When did that happen?”

“A couple days ago. My social media posts picked up a bit of traction and there were a couple customers from around Vancouver Island asking about purchases. Some people wanted to order some books in so it was easier to set up the store online.” I shrugged.

“Look at you.” His grin was easy. “I’m proud of you.”

My chest tightened in a good way, and my face warmed. I tried to hold back my grin but failed.

He nodded. “You’ve done a lot for the store recently. And for yourself.” He tilted his head, still watching me. “I like seeing you like this.”

“Like what?” I was fishing, but I didn’t care. I needed to know what Wyatt liked about this new me.

“I like when you do things for yourself, and when you push yourself even though you’re worried or nervous or scared.” His eyes flicked to my hair and he smiled. “I like your haircut. You look cute.”

Another flush of warmth to my face. I blinked down at my hands in my lap. “Sometimes I think that I’m turning into a new person.” I chewed my lip and thought about it. “But then I wonder, maybe this is who I actually am, and I was holding myself back from everything good.” I shrugged. “From trying things, from failing.” I lifted my gaze to him, where he watched and waited. “I hate failing at things. Or hated.” I frowned. “I don’t know anymore. I’m getting better at being bad at things.”

“Just in time for your birthday.”

A shiver of unease rolled through my stomach. My birthday loomed in the background of my mind at all times. Sometimes I could ignore it, or pretend it wasn’t there, but then I’d be paddling for a wave or reading my book or posting on social media or walking to the grocery store and it would pop into the forefront of my mind.

Thirty. I was going to be thirty in two weeks.

The store was back in the black this month. It was too soon to tell whether I had saved it or not, but the website, social media, and weekly farmer’s markets were bringing in more sales. If sales kept up, we might stay in the black into the winter.

I felt pretty the other night when I was on the date by myself. I loved my new haircut. I could surf at a beginner level and had asked guys out on dates, even if none of that panned out. I could safely check off the hot girl goal.

But I didn’t have a boyfriend, I hadn’t found true love, and I wasn’t sure if my mom would be proud of me.