Page 166 of The Lumberjack and the City Slicker

One day there’s snow crusted along the ridge lines. The next there’s rain. Mud thick enough to swallow a boot.

Then suddenly—like the mountain got bored of sleeping—everything explodes green.

Wildflowers push through the earth.

Trees bud with soft, fragile leaves.

Birds return.

Fawns wobble on uncertain legs.

Even the air smells different.

Alive.

I’ve always loved spring mornings up here.

But lately?

I’ve been waking up at the base of the mountain instead.

Next to her.

My Clara.

She bought Kelly’s house.

Bought it.

When she told me, I think my brain short-circuited for a solid thirty seconds.

Then I dropped to my knees in the middle of her half-unpacked living room and thanked her in the only language I knew how to speak without fumbling.

With my hands.

With my mouth.

With every ounce of restrained hunger I’ve been carrying since she walked into my life.

She laughed through it.

Cursed at me.

Clutched my hair and told me I was insane.

Then she came so hard, her legs shook and she damn near collapsed us both.

And you know what? I’ve never been happier.

Kelly’s settled into one of the lower mountain cabins for now. Evan thinks it’s the greatest adventure of his life.

Spring break. Ten days off.

A new place that smells like pine and possibility.

Meanwhile, Clara’s house is transforming.

Her furniture from Manhattan arrived in sleek trucks that looked wildly out of place on dirt roads.