All the other kids had their moms to help, and she sat beside him, watching him try to cut out a paper flower with hands twice the size of the scissors.
The glue stuck to his fingers, and every time something tore, he whispered "sorry" like it might break her heart.
That moment had torn something within me. The tenderness beneath his rough exterior. The way he tried so hard despite being so clearly out of his depth.
So I knelt beside her desk and said softly, "Hey, Sarah, would you like me to help you? I'd really love to."
She looked up at her uncle like she was asking permission. He nodded and smiled for the first time.
That smile had undone something in me. I hadn't fully understood it then, but I was starting to understand it now, sitting in my quiet cabin, waiting for him like my morning depended on it.
The crunch of gravel outside snapped me back to the present moment. Boots on my porch steps. Heavy, deliberate, unmistakable. My heart promptly forgot how to do its one job.
I set down my cold coffee. Smoothed my sweater. Took a breath that didn't help at all.
Then I opened the door before he could knock.
This morning, I finally caught him, and his hands were full of wildflowers.
Cole stood there on my porch, clutching an unruly bouquet colorful with purple lupine, white yarrow, red paintbrush, and blue columbine. Not a neat florist arrangement wrapped in cellophane. A mountain offering, slightly wilted from the warmth of his grip, absolutely perfect in its wildness.
He looked different today. Clean flannel shirt, actually ironed—I could see the crisp creases. Damp hair, neatly combed back from his face. The formidable mountain man who'd looked ready to fight bears looked genuinely, endearingly nervous.
He looked at me and spoke so softly it was almost a whisper, "You made her feel like she had a mother that day."
It felt like he was defending his act of kindness, trying not to look weird, and this action melted my heart even further.
He paused, the silence stretching between us, full of wildflower scent and cool morning air and something I couldn't quite name.
"My sister would have loved you," he added, softer now, almost hesitant.
The air left my lungs completely. An ache to tear up welled in my eyes.
"Cole." I had to clear my throat twice before words would come. "You didn't have to do any of this."
"It's nothing special." He shifted his weight awkwardly, his eyes dropping to the flowers in his hands like they'd betrayed him somehow. "The mountain provides."
"The mountain provides hand-carved sparrows?" I raised an eyebrow. "That's a very talented mountain you've got there."
The corner of his mouth twitched. Almost a smile. "That part was me. The mountain takes credit for the berries and the wildflowers. I'm just the delivery service."
I gestured behind me to the windowsill where his gifts sat arranged in a neat row, catching the morning light like treasures. "Well, I've thoroughly enjoyed the blackberries. The honey's almost gone too. I've been putting it in everything."
"I can bring more honey. Got plenty at the cabin. The bees have been productive this season."
"You're going to spoil me, Cole."
"Maybe that's the point."
His words hung between us in the cool morning air, heavier than he'd probably intended. His ears went slightly pink at the tips. I decided to rescue us both before this got any more charged.
"Would you like coffee?" I asked, stepping back to hold the door wider. "As a thank you for the week of wonderful gifts?"
His head came up sharply, surprise flashing across his rugged features. Then his face brightened remarkably, thesevere lines softening into something almost boyish and eager. "I'd like that," he said, his voice still gruff but warmer now. "If you're sure I'm not intruding."
"I'm sure." I smiled. "Though I should warn you, my chairs are regular-sized. You might actually fit in them comfortably."
He ducked through my doorway, clearly a habit from a lifetime of being too tall for standard architecture. He stood somewhat awkwardly in my small living room, the wildflowers looking even more massive and gloriously untamed indoors against my modest furniture.
