“You didn’t know me this morning either.”
The words settled between us.
“That’s different,” she said quietly.
“Why?”
She took a breath. “I don’t know. It just is.”
I should have stopped there. Instead, I said, “I’ve got a spare room.”
She stared. “Your cabin?”
“Two bedrooms,” I said evenly. “No expectations. Just an option.”
She went quiet. Too quiet.
“Okay,” she said at last.
“Okay?”
“Yes.” A small smile tugged at her mouth. “You seem…honest. And statistically, a serial killer would’ve murdered me hours ago.”
“Sound reasoning.”
“I thought so.”
She followed me in her SUV, the shine of the headlights behind me giving me comfort. When we got to my cabin, we walked up the sidewalk quietly, but I watched her take it all in—the porch, the trees, the quiet—and saw the place through someone else’s eyes for the first time in twelve years.
“This is beautiful,” she said softly.
“It’s functional.”
“It’s yours.” She turned slowly. “You built it?”
“Most of it.”
She looked at me like I’d revealed something important. “You’re kind of incredible.”
I didn’t know what to say.
Inside, she lingered over the furniture, pausing at the rocking chair. “Did you make this?”
“Yes.”
“It’s…intimate,” she said. “Like it embraces whoever sits in it.”
That comment went straight through me.
“I should let you sleep,” I said.
“I’m not tired.”
“You should be.”
She stepped closer.
“Josie.”
