Her chin trembles. Just barely. She bites her bottom lip to stop it.
"Carmen, I left you those papers on the counter because I was up at three in the morning trying to figure out how to keep you.Not the cabins. You." Leaning forward, I rest my forearms on the table. Close enough that my fingers almost reach hers. "The developer's offer would solve everything. Pay the taxes, fix the roofs, replace the generator. But the second I imagined signing those papers, all I could see was you on that porch with your coffee at sunrise. You in my kitchen reading my mother's book. You under my sink fixing a fitting my dad put in wrong thirty years ago."
A tear slides down her cheek. She swipes it with the back of her hand. Fast. Nurse reflex. Don't cry on the job.
"I'm not selling the cabins because selling the cabins means losing the porch where you drink your coffee. The kitchen where you eat my soup. The bed where I hold you at three in the morning while you finally, finally sleep through the night." My voice breaks on the last word. Don't care. "And I'm not losing you, Carmen. I'd rather lose every cabin on that mountain."
"Owen." Her voice cracks. "I don't have anywhere to go."
"Yeah, you do." Sliding out of the booth, I round the table. Drop to one knee on Mabel's linoleum floor right there in the Ridgeline Diner with eggs frying in the kitchen and Hank pretending not to watch from the counter.
"This isn't a proposal." Taking her hands in mine, I look up at her. "Not yet. This is me asking you to stay. Not for a month. Not for a deal. Stay because this mountain belongs to you now. Because those cabins are better when you're in them. Because I love you, Carmen Reyes. I've loved you since you sat at my table with shaking hands and ate my stew like it was the first kind thing anyone had done for you in years."
Her hands squeeze mine so hard it hurts.
"I love you too." Barely a whisper. Tears running freely now. "You impossible, soup-making, porch-light-leaving, stubborn mountain man. I love you too."
Pulling her out of the booth, I wrap both arms around her right there in the middle of the diner. Her face presses into my chest. Her arms circle my waist. She's crying. I'm not crying. My eyes are just wet because Mabel's cooking something spicy in the kitchen.
"I called the county this morning." Speaking into her hair, I hold her tighter. "Worked out a payment plan for the taxes. Colt offered to co-sign a renovation loan through the credit union in Durango. Rhett's bringing a crew up next week to fix the roof on cabin two."
She pulls back. Looks up at me with wet eyes. "Your family."
"My family was always gonna help. I just had to ask." Wiping a tear off her cheek with my thumb, I keep my hand on her jaw. "That's what you taught me. That letting someone help isn't weakness."
Her smile starts slow. Sunrise after a long shift. Spreading across her face until her eyes crinkle at the corners, until her whole body softens against mine.
"So I stay."
"You stay."
"And we run the cabins together."
"Partners. Fifty-fifty. Your name on the lease if you want it."
"Owen McCall." Her hands flatten on my chest. Push me back just enough to look me dead in the eye. "Are you trying to make me your mail-order bride for real?"
The laugh that comes out of me echoes through the diner. Big, deep. Hank shakes his head. Mabel appears from the kitchen doorway, wiping her hands on her apron.
"I always said Mountain Match had potential." Mabel is already crying. "Hank, get the camera."
"No." Hank turns a page of his newspaper.
Carmen laughs into my chest. Real. Loud. The ugly laugh she hates and I love. My arms tighten around her because letting go isn't something I'm built for. Not anymore.
Later. My truck. Her Honda following me up the mountain. She parks in the same gravel spot she's been in for three weeks. Steps out into the cold.
The cabins sit quiet in the afternoon sun. Smoke from the main house chimney curling up into blue sky. Creek running behind the row. Everything the same as the day she arrived, except nothing is the same at all.
On cabin six's porch, a mason jar of soup sits cooling on the railing.
Carmen picks it up. Unscrews the lid. Smells it.
"Pozole?"
"I made it this morning. Before I went to the diner." Reaching for her hand, I pull her toward the main house. Toward our house. "Figured you'd be hungry when you got home."
Home. The word sits right. Solid. Real.
