“Hey,” I call.
He pauses.
“Thank you,” I say again. Softer this time.
He doesn’t look back. “Don’t mention it.”
But when the door shuts behind him, I’m smiling.
And for the first time since I arrived in Devil’s Peak, the chaos feels like it might actually belong.
Chapter Three
Boone
I’m outside before the sun fully clears the ridge, breath fogging, saw whining through the cold as it bites into the fallen pine. The storm last night didn’t just knock it down—it dropped it right across the edge of my property like a middle finger from the mountain itself.
Figures.
I plant my boots, shift my weight carefully so my bad leg doesn’t bark, and guide the blade through the trunk. Wood chips spray. The vibration runs up my arms and settles into my shoulder, the old injury complaining but not enough to stop me. Pain’s background noise now. Has been for a while.
The saw dies with a rough cough. Silence rushes in—thick, snowy, too loud in its own way.
“Morning, Lumberjack.”
I don’t look up. Don’t need to. I know that voice already—bright, warm, entirely too awake for this hour.
“Where’s my cookies?” I call, bending to drag a cut section aside.
There’s a pause. I can hear it in the snow crunching under her boots as she stops short.
“I came over here to say thank you,” Ember says, clearly affronted. “Good morning would’ve been a solid start.”
“Cookies first,” I mutter, heaving another log to the side. “Gratitude second.”
She huffs. Loud. Deliberate.
I glance up despite myself.
She’s bundled in a ridiculous knit hat the color of sunrise, scarf crooked, cheeks flushed pink from the cold. There’s a smudge of paint on her glove. Like the universe refuses to let her be clean or neutral for even five minutes.
“You are unbelievable,” she says.
“Still waiting,” I reply, wiping sweat from my neck with the back of my glove.
She plants her hands on her hips. “You fixed my pipe in thirty seconds.”
“Thirty-one.”
“Fine. Thirty-one. I said thank you. That should count for something.”
“It counts toward cookies,” I say, deadpan.
She glares. Really glares. Jaw tight, eyes flashing.
And yeah. There it is.
“Cute,” I say without thinking. “You’rerealcute when you’re mad.”
