“That sounds…” I search for the right word. “Heavy.”
“It was.” He turns off the water and dries his hands with a towel. His posture closes. Muscles tighten.
I pivot. “What about Lush Hollow? Do you like it here?”
“It’s quiet.”
“That’s not an answer.”
His mouth quirks. “You sound like my sister.”
The words land wrong. His face goes blank.
“Sister?”
“Had. Past tense.” He moves past me toward the woodstove. “Storm’s not done. We should stay inside.”
I let it go.For now.
The morning stretches long and slow. Cole checks the generator, carries in more firewood, and tightens a dial on the stove that doesn’t need tightening.
I tidy the kitchen, fold the blanket I used, and organize the mugs by size because my brain needs the order.
“You don’t need to organize my mugs,” he says.
“I want to. I like when things have a place.”
His mouth quirks. “Same.”
We settle into an easy rhythm. He reads on his phone by the fire. I sit in the chair with my coffee and watch the snow fall outside the window.
The silence between us doesn’t feel awkward. It’s comfortable.
Safe.
“Can I ask you something?” he says.
I glance his way. “Sure.”
“Why Lush Hollow?”
I set down my mug and pull my knees up, wrapping my arms around them. “I wanted somewhere I could plant roots. Not only live but belong.”
“Spokane wasn’t that?”
“Spokane was…” I search for the right words. “I was the backup plan. The reliable one. The friend people called when they needed something but never invited me to the actual party.”
His eyes stay on mine.
“I dated this guy for two years,” I continue. “Mark. He was nice. Steady. But I always felt like I was… I don’t know. Holding the spot until someone better came along.”
“Did someone?”
I nod, but the pang of hurt is no longer there. “Vanessa. She was everything I wasn’t. Confident. Effortless. The kind of woman who walks into a room and everyone notices.”
“He left you for her.”
“Three days before Christmas. We were supposed to go to his family’s party, and he called to say he was bringing Vanessa instead.” I had been wrapping presents in my apartment. Christmas music was playing. The scent of pine from the tree I’d decorated alone filled the air. His voice on the phone was apologetic but firm.“It’s just… she’s more my speed, you know?”I didn’t know. I sat on the floor surrounded by ribbon and tape and felt myself disappear. I laugh now, but it sounds hollow. “He apologized for the inconvenience.”
