My vision blurs with tears I don't try to stop. I send a response, promising to call her this afternoon.
"Everything okay?" Brooks asks, concern crossing his face.
I show him the screen, and his expression breaks into a genuine smile. "That's huge. Congratulations."
"It is." My voice cracks. "Six months ago, I was running from Denver with nothing. Now I have a business, a home, you."
"How does it feel?"
"Like I finally stopped running."
He kisses my forehead. We stand there in the space where he wants to build our future, and I let myself believe in permanence for the first time in years.
We spend the afternoon doing nothing and everything.
Back at the cabin, he settles on the couch with a book, some thriller about wildfire investigations, and I curl up against him with my own book. My legs tangle with his, and his free hand rests on my ankle, thumb tracing absent circles that make my pussy warm even though we're just reading.
After a while, his hand slides from my ankle to my calf. My focus on the words blurs. I realize I haven't processed a page in ten minutes, too aware of his touch climbing higher.
"What are you reading?" he asks, and there's amusement in his voice.
"I have no idea." I set the book down and look at him. "You're distracting me."
His grin is satisfied, possessive. "Good."
He pulls me onto his lap properly. I straddle his thighs. His hands settle on my waist, and he just holds me. Not pushing for more. Just needing me close. His thumbs brush the soft skin where my shirt has ridden up, and I shiver at the contact.
"I love this," I say. "Just... being with you. Not doing anything special. Just us."
"Me too." He tucks a curl behind my ear. "This is what I want. Every day. Me reading while you pretend to read. You humming in the kitchen. You in my shirt looking like you belong here."
"I do belong here."
He kisses me softly and sweetly, and we stay tangled together on his couch while the afternoon light shifts across the floor.
Later, my stomach growls, and he laughs. I make sandwiches while he disappears into the garage. Music plays from his phone, something soft and folky that fits the mountain setting, and I catch myself humming along.
He emerges an hour later with sawdust in his hair and satisfaction on his face. He won't tell me what he was working on, just pulls me into a slow dance in the middle of the kitchen. No words. Just swaying to the music. My head on his chest. His hands on my waist. Thirty seconds of pure connection before he kisses the top of my head and releases me.
His phone rings, breaking our peaceful moment. Grant's name flashes across the screen.
Brooks glances at me, then answers and puts it on speaker. "Hey."
"So?" Grant's voice comes through warm with amusement. "Did you fix it?"
"Fix what?"
"Whatever made you stupid enough to pull away from her."
Brooks' eyes find mine, and something soft crosses his face. "Yeah. We fixed it."
"Good. Emma wants you over the next time you have leave. No excuses this time. And bring her up soon so Emma can interrogate her properly. Knowing Emma, half of Granitehart Ridge will show up for the weekend."
"We'll come," Brooks says, and the wordwemakes my heart skip. Not asking me. Just knowing.
"The goats behaving themselves?" Brooks asks, and I hear the smile in his voice.
Grant groans. "We cleared the side of a mountain in three days flat, but the legacy of chaos continues."
