“It’s beautiful,” Sorcha said, meaning it. The cabin looked like it belonged there, nestled among the trees as if it had grown from the forest floor.
Christopher helped her from the truck, his hand steady under her elbow. The brief contact sent that now-familiar warmth through her arm, and she found herself leaning into his touch slightly before catching herself.
Inside, the cabin was everything she would have expected from Christopher—practical, comfortable, and meticulouslymaintained. Furniture made of solid wood, that looked well-worn but well cared for, was arranged to take advantage of the warmth from the stone fireplace that dominated one wall. Fairy lights traced the mantle; pinecones, and a few carved bears watched the room like friendly sentries.
“Make yourself comfortable,” Christopher said, taking her coat and hanging it beside his own on pegs near the door. “I’ll get the fire lit and then get the stew started.”
“Is there anything I can do?” Sorcha asked, but Christopher had already coaxed a small flame from the kindling in the fireplace.
“Nope, you’re my guest.” But the look he gave her said she was much more than that. “Make yourself at home.”
For a moment, she imagined that this was her home. That Christopher was her husband. And this was her life.
But then she looked away and focused on the bookshelf that lined one wall while Christopher finished adding wood to the fire and moved to the kitchen area. She ran her fingers along the spines, noting the eclectic mix—wilderness survival guides beside poetry collections, repair manuals next to novels. The books of a curious mind, someone interested in both practical skills and beautiful ideas.
“Would you like something to drink?” Christopher called from the kitchen. “I have wine, beer, or there’s always coffee or tea.”
“Wine would be lovely, thank you,” she replied, moving toward the kitchen to watch him work.
The kitchen was open to the living area, separated only by a rustic wooden island. Christopher moved with calm confidence in the space, chopping vegetables with practiced precision, adding them to a large pot that already contained browned meat.
“Can I help?” she asked, leaning against the island.
“You could open the wine,” he suggested, nodding toward a bottle on the counter. “Glasses are in that cabinet.”
Sorcha found the corkscrew and wine glasses, pouring them each a generous amount of the rich red liquid. She handed him a glass, and their fingers brushed…another spark of that inexplicable connection that had been building all day passed between them.
“To unexpected adventures,” she offered, raising her glass.
“And to finding what you didn’t know you were looking for,” he replied, his eyes holding hers as they clinked glasses.
The intensity of his gaze made her look away first, taking a sip to hide her sudden nervousness. The wine was excellent, full-bodied and complex. Much like her host.
“This is delicious,” she said, grateful for the neutral topic. “I didn’t expect such sophisticated taste in wine from a mountain man.”
Christopher laughed, the sound warming her more than the wine. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me yet.”
Yet. The word hung between them, full of promise and possibility.
Sorcha took another sip, watching as he added herbs to the pot, the rich aroma filling the cabin. “So tell me something I don’t know about Christopher Stiller.”
He seemed to consider this as he stirred the stew. “Well, you know I used to live in the city,” he said finally. “Where I worked in finance.”
“Finance?” Sorcha couldn’t hide her surprise. “That’s…not what I expected.”
“Most people assume I’ve always been a handyman,” he said with a wry smile. “But I had a whole other life before Bear Creek.”
“What made you leave finance?” she asked, genuinely curious. “I mean, you could have moved here and worked remotely, surely?”
Christopher was quiet for a moment, his expression growing distant. “It wasn’t making me happy,” he said simply. “I was good at it, made decent money, but it felt…hollow.”
Sorcha nodded, understanding completely. How many of her colleagues chased promotions and prestigious assignments without ever stopping to ask if the work fulfilled them?
“So your car breaking down here was fortunate timing,” she observed.
“The best thing that ever happened to me,” he agreed, his smile returning. “Though I wouldn’t have said that at the time.”
As he continued preparing their meal, Sorcha found herself drawn into the comfortable rhythm of their conversation. Christopher asked about her favorite assignments, and she told him about tracking down ghost stories in New Orleans, sampling street food in Bangkok, and getting lost in the Venetian canals. He listened attentively, asking thoughtful questions that showed he was genuinely interested in her experiences.
