The Carpenter Who Fixed More Than My Porch

Chapter 2: Building Tension

Thunder cracked and both of us looked up at the sky.

The porch was still intact, but the storm was getting worse.

"We should get inside," Logan said, his voice rough.

I nodded and he led the way, his hand on the small of my back, guiding me through the door. The cabin was dimly lit, the scent of aged wood and decay filling the air. It was cozy in a rugged way, with handcrafted furniture and old family photos tucked away in corners.

The cabin was filled with the scent of woodsmoke and the faint, lingering aroma of pine. Logan's touch lingered on my back, a reassuring warmth that made me feel safe and desired all at once.

He moved to the fireplace, kneeling to stoke the embers into life. I watched him, his muscles flexing under the worn fabric of his jeans, his hands moving with practiced ease. He was a man who knew how to work with his hands, how to create and build. And I wondered, as I watched him, what else he could create, what else he could build between us.

"I'm sorry if I made things awkward," Logan started. "I'm normally not that forward. You caught me off guard," he said, his gaze still on the fire as the first flame flickered to life.

I moved closer, leaning against the mantel. "It's okay. I wasn't exactly expecting it either."

He looked up at me, a faint smile playing on his lips. "Good to know I'm not the only one with the element of surprise."

I chuckled softly, feeling a warmth spread through me that had nothing to do with the fire. "So, what's the plan with the porch?"

Logan stood, brushing his hands on his jeans. "With the storm, I don't want to risk it. Is it cool if I wait it out here? I'm not sure the drive back will be safe with this weather," Logan asked, looking out the window where rain pelted against the glass.

I nodded, "Of course. I have a spare room. You can stay tonight."

I caught a bit of disappointment on Logan's face. Did he want to sleep in my bed instead? The thought sent a shiver down my spine, and I had to look away, breaking our gaze.

"Thanks, that would be great," Logan said, a hint of relief in his voice. "I appreciate it."

I gestured toward the hallway. "Make yourself at home. I'll get some blankets and stuff. Are you hungry? I can whip up some food if you're interested."

Logan rubbed the back of his neck, a small smile playing on his lips. "Starving actually. I skipped lunch."

"I'll see what I can find," I said, turning to the kitchen.

As I started pulling out ingredients, I could feel Logan's eyes on me. I glanced over my shoulder, catching him watching me with an intensity that made my heart skip a beat.

"You're beautiful, you know that?" he said quietly, almost as if he hadn't meant to say it out loud.

I felt a blush creep up my cheeks, and I quickly turned back to the food, trying to hide my reaction. "Uh, thanks," I mumbled, opening the fridge to hide my embarrassment.

Logan chuckled, the sound low and rumbling.

"You're welcome," he said, and I could hear the amusement in his voice.

I took a deep breath, trying to steady my nerves. "You know, I'm not really used to that kind of thing," I admitted, avoiding his gaze. "Not since... well, not since before my ex."

Logan was silent for a moment, and I could feel his eyes on me, following my every move as I pulled out ingredients for a simple pasta dish.

"What was he like?" Logan asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

I sighed, setting the ingredients down on the counter before turning to face him.

"He was charming, at first. Funny, outgoing, the life of the party. But once we were alone, he was different. Critical, dismissive, always finding fault in everything I did." I paused, remembering the way he'd look at me with that cold, dismissive stare. "He made me feel like I was never good enough, like I was always falling short of his expectations."

Logan's expression darkened, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. "Sounds like a real piece of work."

I gave a small, bitter laugh. "You have no idea. But I stayed with him, because...because I thought I deserved it.

I thought that if I just tried harder, if I just did more, if I just was better, then he would love me." I looked down at my hands, twisting the dish towel in my fingers. "But it was never enough. Nothing I did was ever enough."

I felt Logan's gaze on me, heavy and intense. "Elena," he said, his voice a low growl. "No one deserves that. No one deserves to be treated like that. Especially not you."

I risked a glance at him, and I saw the anger in his eyes, the restrained fury that made my heart skip a beat.

It was a look I'd never seen from my ex, a look that made me feel seen, validated, protected.

"You're right," I whispered, looking back down at the dish towel, my fingers twisting in the fabric. "I know that now. But it took me a long time to see it."

Logan was silent for a moment, and I could feel the weight of his gaze on me, could feel the tension radiating off him. I knew he was struggling, could sense the inner conflict playing out in his expression.

"I don't want to talk about him anymore," I said softly, looking up at him.

"He's in the past. I need to focus on the future, on moving forward."

Logan nodded, his expression softening. "You deserve to be happy, Elena. You deserve to be treated right."

I smiled, feeling a warmth spread through me at his words. "Thank you. That means a lot."

He stepped closer, his hand reaching up to cup my cheek. "You're welcome."

His touch was gentle, his thumb brushing softly against my skin. I leaned into it, my eyes fluttering closed as a shiver ran through me.

"You're really something, Elena Ramirez," he murmured, his voice a low rumble.

I tried to focus on chopping the vegetables, but my hands shook.

Logan's touch sent a jolt of electricity through me, leaving me tingling and breathless. I felt his presence, warm and close, behind me.

"How did you end up here?" I asked, trying to break the tension between us. "In the middle of nowhere, I mean."

He didn't move away, but his hand dropped from my cheek. I could feel his breath on my neck, sending goosebumps down my spine.

"It was a place to hide," he said, his voice gruff. "A place to lick my wounds and figure things out. The mountains will always be home."

I turned to face him, our bodies almost touching.

"Your wife must have been-" I started, but I stopped myself. The words felt wrong, inadequate. "I'm sorry, that's none of my business."

Logan's expression didn't change, but I saw the pain flicker in his eyes. "It's okay," he said softly. "You can ask."

I took a deep breath, steeling myself for his answer. "What was she like?"

He looked away, his gaze drifting to one of the old family photos tucked away in a corner. "She was...like sunlight," he said after a moment. "Warm, bright, full of life. She had this way of making everyone around her feel special, seen.

She was the kind of person who made you want to be better, do better, just so you could make her proud." Logan's voice was barely above a whisper, his eyes still fixed on the photograph.

I felt a pang of jealousy, an ache deep in my chest. I knew that I would never be that woman, the one who could bring sunshine into someone's life with just her presence. I was too broken, too flawed.

"She sounds amazing," I said, my voice barely audible.

Logan turned to look at me, his eyes searching mine. "She was," he said softly.

I tossed the vegetables in a pot.

The pasta boiled, but I was far from focused. Logan's words, the intensity in his eyes, they kept replaying in my mind. I could still feel the heat of his hand on my cheek, the roughness of his calloused thumb brushing against my skin.

I turned to look at him, caught off guard by the raw hunger in his gaze. He was watching me, his eyes dark and intense, like he could see right through me.

"Fuck, Elena," he murmured, his voice low and gravelly. "You're driving me crazy."

I swallowed hard, my heart pounding in my chest.

"Logan," I said, my voice barely a whisper. "I...I want you."

I needed to know, to feel, to touch him. I needed to be close to him, to lose myself in him. His body, his scent, his touch—it was all I could think about.

He looked at me, his eyes filled with a hunger that matched my own. "Fuck, Elena," he growled, his voice low and rough. "You have no idea what you're doing to me."

I stepped closer, close enough to feel the heat radiating off his body. "Show me," I whispered.