"Rain check?"
"Definitely."
He makes sausage, eggs, and toast while I perch at the counter. Watching him crack eggs one-handed, the easy way he moves around the space is what forever looks like. He keeps finding excuses to touch me, a hand on my thigh as he passes, fingers brushing mine when he hands me coffee, his body bracketing mine when he reaches for the salt behind me. Small touches that sayminewithout words.
When he sets a plate in front of me, his hand lingers on my thigh, possessive and warm.
We eat in comfortable silence, his leg pressed against mine. "I want to show you something outside after breakfast.”
The morning air is crisp and clean, carrying the scent of pine and distant snow. His cabin sits nestled among the trees with mountains rising in every direction. We walk past the porch, past the small clearing where he parks his truck, into the trees themselves.
Pine needles cushion our footsteps, releasing their sharp scent with every footfall. Damp earth and coming winter, and pine cutting through it all. A bird calls clear and bright in the mountain stillness. Cool morning air raises goosebumps on my arms, and he pulls me closer against his side.
"The property line runs all the way to that ridge," he says, pointing to where the land rises. "Five acres total. Most of it is trees, but there's a clearing on the west side that gets sun all afternoon."
"It's beautiful." I turn in a slow circle, taking in the view. "How long have you had it?"
"Bought it a year ago." His hand finds my waist, thumb tracing absent circles. "I've got less than a year left before I hit twenty years. Then I'm out."
"Out?"
"Retiring from active duty. I'll be forty-five." He pulls me closer, his chin resting on top of my head. "Been planning something since Marcus died. Knew I wanted roots somewhere that felt like home. Somewhere I could stay."
The certainty in his voice makes my chest tight. "And Pine Valley is home?"
"It is now." He turns me to face him, his hands framing my face. "The town, the mountains, this land, it's all just geography. But you? You're what makes me want to stay."
We emerge into the clearing he mentioned, and he's right. It's beautiful. Sun streams down, turning everything golden,and the view opens up to show Pine Valley below. Ridgeway Base stretches into the distance. Somewhere nearby, I hear creekwater trickling over stone.
"I've been thinking about building something new," he says, and his voice is carefully casual in a way that makes my heart start to pound.
"An addition?"
"Something bigger. The cabin's too small if—" He stops, running a hand through his hair. "Imagine a master bedroom with a wall of windows. Bigger kitchen. Maybe a sunroom facing the mountains so we can watch sunrises together."
He turns to face me fully, and vulnerability stares back from his eyes.
"If you wanted all those things."
My heart hammers so hard I'm certain he can hear it. "I want those things with you.’
Relief floods his face, so profound it makes my throat tight. "Yeah?"
"Yeah." I step closer, my hands finding his chest. "I'm choosing this. Choosing you. Choosing roots."
The words catch in my throat. Six months ago, I had nothing; no home, no purpose, no one who saw me as anything but too much. Now I'm standing on land where we'll build a future, and the enormity of it makes my knees weak. He catches me, always catches me, pulling me against his chest.
We stand there surrounded by pines and possibility, and I feel something settle deep in my bones. Something that's been restless since Denver. Since before Denver, if I'm honest.
I'm home.
My phone buzzes in the pocket of my jeans, and I reluctantly come back to reality to check it.
It’s from Sophie.
Sophie: The paperwork came through! You're officially the manager. Can't wait to expand the herb garden together.
I read it twice, then a third time. Since meeting Brooks, I’d almost forgotten about Sophie’s promotion offer. Bookstore manager. The word settles warm behind my ribs: someone I’m not sleeping with is building something real with me. Manager of The Reading Nook. Not temporary. Not conditional. Managing a bookstore has always been my dream job, and it’s finally a reality.
