Page 83 of Goode Tidings

"It sounds crazy, but yes. Some things are happening earlier than they used to, and other things are happening later. It's hard to explain."

"I'll take your word for it," I murmur. There's not much more I can say right now. The fact that I'm about to be alone with Eden is hitting me square in my chest. I'm not nervous, but, well, who am I kidding? Yes, I am.

Eden sets down her phone and helps me scrape leftover bits from the plates into the trash. So many good smells in this home tonight, but by far the best is her black cherry and cinnamon. Just like earlier next to the back door when I first walked in, the scent curls into my nose. My bones. My heart. Everything about this woman is good. Sweet. Attractive. She's the beguiling flower, and I'm the dazzled insect hoping to land somewhere near her.

Will I finally get to kiss her tonight? In my imagination, I've kissed her a hundred times. It doesn't have to be anything more than that. I just want to cup her smooth cheek, feel her lips yield to mine. Treat her right.

Eden's phone vibrates, and she reads the message. "Esme confirmed what Eugenio said. She asked me to send extra marshmallows if I have any, they're making s'mores."

"You want to go over there, don't you? I bet s'mores and ghost stories sound like a great time to you."

Eden smirks. "I would, but I have a job to do tonight." She mimes cutting my hair.

Oliver wanders in, and Eden hands him a bag of giant marshmallows. She asks him if he remembered his toothbrush, his deodorant. Oliver looks annoyed, so in an effort to give them some space I announce I'll be back in a minute and take off out the back door. I shove my feet into my cold and muddy boots and make my way down to check on the office.

It's a slippery walk, but I make it without landing on my ass. I step inside and come face-to-face with a hole in the ceiling. An actual hole that I can look up into and see the sky.

"Great," I groan. I'm all out of alternative places to stay. Unless I throw my sleeping bag down on the dock, this cabin is fresh out of space for me.

I grab a tarp and a ladder from the tool shed and toss the fabric over the roof, using some old bricks to secure it. It's a hasty and imperfect job, but it should protect the interior from the approaching snow.

I'm stepping back inside the cabin when Eden walks in from the hall. "I've set up my new salon workstation in your bathroom. My bathroom. Whatever."

I nibble my lower lip. Should I tell her about the water damage to the office? I don't want her to feel obligated to offer me a place to stay. But if I'm going to find a room at one of the bed & breakfasts or motels in Snowflake (assuming a room is available), I need to beat the snow. And that means I need to leave.

"The office has significant water damage," I say, and explain the hole in the ceiling. I'd honestly forgotten about the leaks and that final loud groan that sent us scurrying. Every thought disappeared the moment I stepped inside the cabin, shirt soaking wet and inundated with the scent of black cherry and cinnamon and chocolate and toffee. Sugar and Eden. An overwhelming combination. Who could blame a guy?

Eden looks ready to jump into action. "Is there anything we can do to mitigate the damage before the snow starts?"

"I went up on the roof and laid out a tarp and secured it with a bunch of bricks."

"Just now?" Eden's voice rises in pitch. "You were on the roof just now?"

"Yeah."

"How did you get up there?"

"A ladder. I'm not Superman."

Her head tips as she playfully considers my sentence. "You kind of are. Climbing up the ladder during a break in the storm to secure the roof of a building you renovated into an office? Those are Superman vibes to me."

I am trying my damnedest not to let my chest puff out at the moment. Eden calling me Superman makes me feel ten feet tall.

Judging by the smile on Eden's face, she knows I like it. "If you're done climbing on ladders, there's a haircut waiting for you."

I nod, gesturing in the direction of the bedroom, and the bathroom beyond.

Eden's wearing her favorite jeans, the ones that look soft and worn and well-loved. I follow her down the hall like an eager puppy. Like Hermie Lovelorn. Without meaning to, I breathe a noise that is an approximation of a laugh.

Eden throws a look at me over her shoulder. "What's funny, Superman?"

"Nothing," I cough out.

She turns around in the doorway, pausing. It brings me up short, and I sway, lifting an arm to catch myself on the top of the door.

Eden's eyes blink up at me, her pink pout peeling apart. "I thought you weren't a bullshitter?"

For someone who's trying to sound sassy, she's awfully breathy. Does she realize she's pinched the front of her sweater between two fingers, pulling it away from her body?