We sat with it for a moment—the shared sorrow, the mutual understanding, the strange comfort of being broken in similar ways.
Then he cleared his throat softly. "So what brought you to Pine Ridge specifically? Of all the places you could have run to?"
"Honestly? I threw a dart at a map." I laughed weakly at the memory. "That's not entirely true. But close. I needed somewhere small, somewhere anonymous. Somewhere no one knew me, where I could just be Ms. Reed, competent teacher, functional adult. And, I wanted to still feel connected to Lily."
"Is it working?"
"Some days are better than others." I met his eyes honestly. "Today's a good day."
Something warm and unspoken passed between us. Acknowledgment. Connection. Promise.
The morning sun had climbed higher while we talked, painting bright golden stripes across my kitchen. We shifted to lighter topics, like Sarah's current obsession with finding frogs, the black bear spotted near the elementary school that had caused minor panic, and the bees' inexplicable weekly mood patterns.
"They're definitely more aggressive on Tuesdays," he insisted with complete seriousness. "I've been tracking it for two years now. The data is consistent."
"You've tracked your bees' weekly mood patterns? For two years?"
"I have a lot of time alone on that mountain. The bees are interesting. Tuesdays are statistically their angriest day."
"Maybe they have tiny bee calendars and they hate the beginning of the work week like everyone else."
He almost smiled. "That's the current working theory."
As our coffee cups emptied, an idea occurred to me. Professional, I told myself firmly. Entirely professional and appropriate.
"You know," I said carefully, tracing a finger around my mug's rim, "Sarah's reading is coming along beautifully. Reallyimpressive progress. But some concepts are getting more complex now, and she might benefit from extra one-on-one attention."
His eyes sharpened with immediate interest, his whole body orienting toward me. "What kind of attention?"
"Light tutoring. Saturday mornings, maybe. Just an hour or so." I paused, keeping my voice carefully casual. "Here, if that works for you. I could include a few other students so Sarah doesn't feel singled out or self-conscious."
"Yes." His answer came out fast and eager. He caught himself visibly, clearing his throat and trying again with more composure. "I mean, that would be great. Really great. She'd love that. If you're absolutely sure it's not too much trouble for you."
"It's no trouble at all." The small lie tasted surprisingly sweet. "Shall we say ten o'clock next Saturday?"
"Ten o'clock. I'll have her here. Ready to learn." He stood up, the chair groaning with obvious relief at being unburdened. "Thank you, Emma. For the coffee, for listening, for..." He gestured vaguely, encompassing everything. Our conversation, the understanding, the morning, the week.
"For the blackberry-eating services?" I offered with a small smile.
His mouth quirked. "For all of it."
I walked him to the door, acutely aware of his presence beside me in my small space. He paused on the threshold, the cool morning air rushing in, carrying pine and possibility.
"I'll see you at school on Monday," he said. "For pickup."
"Inside the classroom? Not lurking in the parking lot?"
"Inside the classroom." He held my gaze, something warm flickering in those blue depths. "Wouldn't want to miss the chance to say hello properly."
Then he was gone, those long, purposeful strides carrying him to his truck, taillights disappearing around the bend in my dirt road.
I closed the door slowly and leaned against it, the cabin suddenly feeling too quiet, too empty. The wildflowers blazed triumphantly on my table, filling the room with their sweet scent. The smooth river stone, the golden honey, the delicate carved sparrow. They lined my windowsill like promises.
I had just given Cole Brennan a recurring, legitimate reason to come to my home. Every single Saturday. Involving his niece, yes, absolutely. Educational and appropriate.
But also involving coffee. And conversation. And this terrifying, wonderful, completely reckless feeling was growing within me every time he looked at me.
The most surprising part wasn't that I'd done it.
