It had been nearly a week since the last visitor. Jack had split his time between deep woods lumber work and finishing up a walnut slab dining table commissioned by the mayor’s wife. The solitude was good for him. Cleansing. But even in the stillness of his cabin, there was a hum beneath the quiet. Something in his chest that didn’t settle.
That morning, the sky was gray and heavy, clouds rolling over the forest like a slow breath. Jack had just stripped off his flannel and slung it over a porch beam when he heard the crunch of gravel on the long, winding drive. A black SUV came into view—shiny, modern, and definitely not local.
The door opened, and out stepped Lucien Vale.
Jack froze, his breath caught somewhere in the middle of a memory. Lucien hadn’t changed much. Thirty now, a few years younger than Jack remembered him, though that jawline was even sharper, and his body had filled out beneath his tailored coat. He wore black jeans, a white henley, and boots that didn’t look like they’d ever touched dirt. But his eyes—those sharp, soulful, calculating eyes—were exactly the same.
“Jack Johnson,” Lucien said, his voice like velvet lined with smoke. “Still the broadest man I’ve ever seen in flannel.”
Jack raised an eyebrow, arms folding across his thick chest. “Lucien Vale. Thought you were in D.C., running some clean energy startup.”
“I was.” Lucien smiled. “Turns out I needed something less… clean.”
Jack didn’t move. Didn’t speak. He let the moment settle between them like wood glue finding a seam.
Lucien stepped closer, eyes scanning the porch, the open cabin door, the scent of cut pine lingering in the air. “Your place smells like memory. And sex.”
Jack smirked. “It’s a working cabin.”
Lucien’s gaze dropped, lingered at Jack’s hips—his jeans slung low, belt loose, abs hard beneath his tight undershirt. “Is it still open to… visitors?”
Jack didn’t answer with words. He stepped back and opened the door wider.
Inside the Cabin
Lucien walked in like he belonged, running his fingers along the wooden beams, the mantle, the back of Jack’s leather chair. Jack watched him from behind, admiring the way Lucien’s frame had matured. The subtle power in his posture. The edge of confidence that always bordered on arrogance.
“I thought about writing you,” Lucien said softly. “But I knew if I saw you again…”
Jack stepped behind him, close enough for their breath to mingle.
“You knew what?” Jack murmured.
Lucien turned, slow and deliberate. Their faces were inches apart.
“That I’d want to feel it again,” Lucien whispered. “The way you used to look at me. Like you could tear me apart and put me back together better.”
Jack leaned in, lips brushing Lucien’s ear. “You want that now?”
Lucien’s breath hitched. “Yes.”
Jack grabbed the front of his shirt, pulling him close. The kiss was hot, hard, years of buried desire crashing to the surface. Lucien melted into it, fingers gripping Jack’s waist, nails dragging over muscle. Jack pushed him back against the cabin wall, one hand on Lucien’s throat—not choking, just holding. Dominating.
“You always were a cocky little shit,” Jack growled. “But you knew who owned your body when it counted.”
Lucien shuddered. “Still do.”
Just Then… A Familiar Car
Out front, tires rolled softly over gravel again. Jack paused, lips still on Lucien’s neck. He knew that car. A dusty red sedan. Evelyn.
He glanced out the front window just as she stepped out—long auburn coat belted tight, hair pinned up in that no-nonsense bun that barely hid the heat in her eyes. She had a paper bag in one hand, wine in the other. Probably expecting another private evening like the last.
Lucien followed his gaze. “Friend of yours?”
Jack grinned. “More than that.”
Lucien arched a brow, curious. “You going to tell her to come back later?”
Jack turned back to him, voice low. “Why would I?”
He kissed Lucien again, slow this time—teasing. Then pulled away and opened the front door.
The Triangle Deepens
Evelyn froze when she saw Lucien inside, shirt half-open, cheeks flushed. Her eyes narrowed. “I see I’m not the only one who drops by.”
Jack took the wine from her hand, leaned in, and kissed her cheek. “You’re always welcome, Evelyn.”
She eyed Lucien, who stood tall, calm, intrigued. “And who’s this?”
“Lucien Vale,” he said, stepping forward. “Old… friend.”
Evelyn studied him, then looked to Jack. “Well, aren’t you full of surprises.”
Jack poured the wine and handed her a glass. “Only when the mood’s right.”
She took it, sipped, and let out a slow exhale. “It is now.”
Lucien chuckled. “I’m starting to see why you stayed here.”
The tension didn’t break. It twisted—curious, charged, slow-burning.
Jack leaned back against the table, glass in one hand, body fully relaxed. “You two going to stare at each other all night, or do I need to spark things off?”
Evelyn raised an eyebrow. Lucien smiled.
Jack smirked. “Good.”
Jack’s Page