Page 6 of Goode Tidings

This structure is less rustic log cabin and more lakeside retreat. Cedar planks and large windows. A white stone façade around what appears to be a garage door. A porch stretches across the front of the house, but there aren't chairs or a table. No pots of flowers, or welcome mat. The place looks uninviting, and I'm pretty sure that was on purpose. Pine trees tower all around, interspersed with aspens that will turn yellow-gold in a little more than a month. Best believe I will make hot cider and wear a sweater and snap a selfie with a yellow-leaf tree to send to my Phoenix friends in the name of making them green with envy.

Between the unexpectedly nice cabin and physical promise of autumn, I'd been in good spirits when we showed up. That was before I walked around the corner of the house and discovered Hot Naked Guy.

Justin says, "You were breaking up, but I think I understood you. You're probably at the wrong house. My cabin doesn't have a hot tub." His unbothered response floats out into the balmy late afternoon air, voice muffled while he chews something. "That's embarrassing."

My nose scrunches at the sound as I push off the car and walk closer to the attached garage to look at the house number once again. Justin's chewing assails my ears, and it's so revolting I momentarily forget my current predicament. "Nothing I enjoy more than the sound of mastication," I mutter.

There's a smacking noise. Probably his lips. "You know I love it when you talk dirty to me."

I sigh and glance at Oliver. He's gripping his stomach and pretending to vomit.

I mouth I'm sorry at my impressionable teenage son, then I scold my ex. "You're on speaker. And can you please not chew directly into the phone?" I want to scream at Justin for chewing that way, for acting like none of this is a big deal, for sending me and Oliver on this adventure in the first place. Because here's the problem: it's within the realm of possibility that Justin offered this cabin to someone else, and failed to remember. Hell, he might have lost the cabin in a poker game and proceeded to forget it happened.

What was I thinking? Why didn't I scope out the place first?

"No can do, babe," Justin says through a mouthful of food. "I'm in Hong Kong, grabbing a quick bite before my next flight."

He's probably walking double-time through the airport, messenger bag smacking his hip as he shovels food into his mouth and holds the phone up to his head with a lifted shoulder. Yes, he still carries a messenger bag. He gave up the jeans with flip flops and one-size-too-small Abercrombie & Fitch T-shirt, but the bag stayed.

"What are you eating?" My stomach growls at the thought of food, despite how nauseating it is to listen to Justin chew. I haven't had a real meal in hours.

"Marinated goose."

The front door of the cabin opens before I can tell Justin how unappetizing that sounds. Hot Naked Guy, who claims he's Justin's former stepbrother Callum, steps out, fully clothed now. Navy blue sweats, a gray v-neck T-shirt. Cherry red backwards hat with a navy blue bill and stitching tamps down that head full of unruly dark hair. He doesn't look like he'd ever carry a messenger bag. The gentle rise of those forearms, the way his shirtsleeves grip the swell of his biceps, suggests he's more likely to carry armloads of wood he's recently chopped himself.

He strides to the center of the undecorated front porch, planting his feet wide with his arms crossed over his chest. I beat back the urge to mimic him again. It's such a show of masculinity. Maybe a little dominance too, but in a protective, territorial way. Hot Naked Guy is staking a claim.

"I feel like a marinated goose," I mumble, maintaining stubborn eye contact with the man standing ten feet away from me. "And unless you gave me the wrong address, I am at the right house." I've officially triple-checked the address Justin sent to make sure it matches up with the metal numbers affixed to the cabin. It does.

So how is it that this man just walked from the home wearing what I presume are clothes that belong to him? Those sweats and that T-shirt are not too big, or too small. They are just right. A real Goldilocks situation, except he did not happen upon an already inhabited cabin. I'm the one who did that.

There aren't shoes on his feet either, and I'm positive it's a tactic. See? I walk around barefoot and naked because this place is mine.

If I squint one eye and tilt my head, the handsome grump resembles a bear. Tall, filled out, and a tad menacing. Still, an imposing stature and facial hair combined with well-fitting clothes on a handsome man with a very sculpted backside won't deter me from asserting myself. This cabin belongs to Justin, soon it will be Oliver's, and it's been promised to me and my son for the next year. Not to mention, I cannot return to my house in Phoenix because I already rented it out for the next twelve months. I can't go back on the rental agreement, and besides, I wouldn't do that to the sweet little family who was so relieved to find an affordable place to stay.

This cabin is mine, and I'm prepared to tussle for it.

Shoulders thrown back, I march for the front door. Callum steps forward, walking down the three steps onto the cabin's lawn. I hope mud squishes between his toes.

We come to a stop, two feet separating us. It's a face-off of sorts. My limbs are rigid, ready to maintain my position that he doesn't belong here. His arms fold over his chest, eyebrow quirked as he takes me in. He appears far more confident and frowny now that he's clothed.

"Hey, Eden, I have a joke for you."

I startle as Justin's voice floats into the space between us. I forgot he was on the phone. Silly, considering he's the reason I'm here.

Callum's eyes spark. At what? Hearing my name? Is he surprised to learn my name isn't Andes Mint?

Justin doesn't wait for my encouragement, he rolls right on with his joke that will absolutely not be funny.

"What's brunette and five foot four and can't find an outdated, well-marked cabin in the middle of a pine forest?"

"Your mom," I answer automatically.

Callum's lip quirks up, like he wants to laugh. My eyebrows lift, daring him to release the chuckle. He doesn't. He gets ahold of himself, and the stern set to his lips returns. This guy's sense of humor is hiding under many, many layers of ice.

My phone buzzes in my hand, drawing my attention from the man in front of me.

Charles flashes on the screen. A third call. Super cool. I send him to voicemail, knowing I should have been available a solid thirty minutes ago. Because I can only put out one fire at a time, the current housing conundrum gets my attention. My boss will have to wait.