MY HEART ROB.

MY HEART ROB❤️

CHAPTER THREE

The mountain project was nothing like the polished skyscrapers of Chicago. Here, the air was thin, sharp with the scent of pine and ancient stone, and the only "blueprints" were the jagged ridges of the Cascades.

Elara stood at the edge of a muddy clearing, her designer boots long since replaced by heavy-duty hiking gear. She held a topographical map, but her eyes were on Julian. He was waist-deep in a ravine, scouting the natural water flow for the orchid sanctuary. He looked up, catching her gaze, and flashed that crooked grin that still made her heart gallop like a runaway train.

"The soil is perfect here, Elara!" he shouted over the rush of a nearby waterfall. "High acidity, natural drainage. We don't even need the concrete footings you plotted."

"We need the footings if you want the observation deck to survive a winter gale, Julian!" she yelled back, though there was no bite in her voice.

He scrambled up the bank, his movements fluid and powerful. When he reached her, he didn't care that he was covered in mountain silt. He wrapped his arms around her, lifting her off the ground. Elara laughed—a sound that used to be rare but was now her most common language.

"You're a mess," she whispered, her nose brushing against his.

"I'm a happy mess," he countered. He set her down but didn't let go. His hands settled on her hips, his thumbs tracing the line of her belt. The playfulness in his eyes shifted, darkening into that intense, focused heat that always made the world around them disappear.

They retreated to the small cedar cabin they were sharing—a structure Elara had insisted on "retrofitting" for better insulation. Inside, the fire was a low, flickering orange. Julian didn't wait for her to set down her map. He pressed her back against the heavy timber door, his mouth finding hers with a hunger that the mountain air had only sharpened.

This was their new rhythm. In the city, they had fought for space; here, they were the only space that mattered. Julian’s hands, rough and warm, slid under her thermal shirt, seeking the heat of her skin. Every touch was a reminder of how far she had come from the woman who feared a smudge on a blueprint.

"Elara," he groaned against her throat, his grip tightening. "Tell me you don't miss the glass towers."

She arched her back, her fingers tangling in his dark hair, pulling him closer until there was no room for doubt. "I don't miss anything," she breathed. "I have everything I need right here."As the firelight danced on the walls, Elara realized that Julian Thorne hadn't just been a "heartrob" or a temporary distraction. He was the architect of her new life. He had taught her that the most beautiful structures weren't made of steel—they were made of the moments when you let someone in, messy and unscripted, to build something that finally felt like home.

They spent the night mapping out a future that had no straight lines, only the rising and falling curves of the mountains and the steady, unbreakable beat of two hearts finally in sync.