Page 77 of The Lumberjack and the City Slicker

“Not yet, but I’m on it. In fact, I might put the whole damn place on the market. It’s mine.”

Her eyes meet mine—sharp, assessing, like she’s deciding something.

Then she says, in a tone so calm it’s almost eerie, “Are you looking for somewhere to stay?”

My mouth opens. “Um?—”

“I have an empty room,” Kelly continues, eyes blazing, “and a lot of shit to pack up and burn.”

I wince because I get it.

This woman has been personally scorched.

Then Willow looks at me, eyebrows raised in a silent question.

And in that moment—between the burrito, the warmth, the unexpected kindness, and the fact that I absolutely cannot go back to my life right now—I realize something simple and startling.

I might have just found a place.

Not forever.

Not a fairy tale.

But somewhere to land while I work through my own shit.

I swallow.

I nod, throat tight.

“Yes,” I say quietly. “I think I am.”

Kelly’s expression doesn’t soften—if anything, it turns sharper with purpose. Like a woman who’s done being polite to pain.

“Good,” she says. “Willow—tell Thatcher not to kill Mike.”

Willow lifts both hands. “No promises.”

Kelly snorts. “He’ll get his. I’m taking Clara back to the house, then I’m picking up my son from school, and then I’m buying him the bicycle his asshole father said he had to wait until Christmas to get.”

Willow’s grin goes a little feral.

“That,” she says, “is a perfect plan.”

And for the first time in a long while, I feel—like everything is going to be alright.

And that’s a damn good start.

Chapter 14

Greyson

It’s been a week.

Seven days of hiding in my workroom like a coward.

Seven days of pretending I chased her off that mountain because I was doing the right thing.

Seven days of sanding, staining, sealing, and finishing the sunflower table like it might burn her out of my system if I polished it enough.