Chapter 7
Rachel
T hrough the window, I spot Ryder’s truck winding up the snow-covered drive to the cabin we’re currently renovating. The fourth one - and the one that’s needed the most work.
“Your brother’s here,” Garrett calls from where he’s installing the last of the kitchen cabinets. His shirt clings to his shoulders, and I force myself to look away. After last night, it’s too easy to get distracted.
Ryder bounds in, tracking snow across my newly cleaned floors. “Look at you two domestic goddesses!” He surveys the transformed kitchen. “Damn, Garrett. You do good work.”
“Thanks for the stamp of approval,” Garrett says dryly. “Now get your boots off my clean floor before your sister kills you.”
“I guess they won’t be ‘your floors’ for much longer. You must have other jobs lined up by now, right Garrett?” Ryder’s stepping back to remove his boots.
My heart stops as Garrett answers without missing a beat.
“Got that ranch restoration in Colorado. Owner’s been calling weekly to confirm I’m still coming when this job is over.”
The dish towel in my hands twists tight. I’d known this was temporary. Known he was just passing through. But hearing him discuss leaving so easily, like these past weeks were just another job.
My hand trembles slightly as Garrett’s words echo in my head. Colorado. Of course he’s going to Colorado. That’s what he does - moves from job to job, never staying, never settling. I’ve known this from the beginning.
So why does it feel like someone just punched me in the chest?
I force myself to keep wiping the counter, grateful that my hair falls forward to hide my face. But I can’t block out their voices as Garrett describes the ranch project, talking about structural challenges and renovation timelines with the same enthusiasm he showed for my cabins. My cabins that will soon just be another completed job in his rearview mirror.
The rational part of my brain reminds me this is business. He’s a contractor. I hired him to do a job. The fact that somewhere between arguing about historic windows and sharing storm-swept nights, I started falling for him... that’s my problem, not his.
But God, it hurts. Hurts to think about these cabins without him in them. About mornings without his coffee brewing, without his gruff voice arguing about load-bearing walls. About my bed being cold and empty again.
I’ve spent my whole life being practical, making smart choices. But there’s nothing practical about the way my heart clenches when I think about him leaving. Nothing smart about how much I want him to stay.
“Rachel?” Ryder’s voice breaks into my thoughts. “You okay? You went quiet.”
I straighten my spine, plastering on a smile I’ve perfected over years of gallery openings. “Just thinking about the trim options.” The lie tastes bitter. “I should get these organized before the light fades.”
But as I move toward the office, I can feel Garrett’s eyes on me. He sees too much, always has. And I’m terrified he can see right through my carefully constructed walls to the truth I’m trying so hard to hide:
I’m falling in love with a man who was never meant to stay.
Ryder finally leaves, his truck’s taillights disappearing into the swirling snow. The silence he leaves behind feels heavy, loaded with all the things I’m trying not to feel.
“These need to go to the lumber yard,” I say, gathering up trim samples with hands that aren’t quite steady. My voice comes out clipped, professional. The way I used to speak to contractors in New York.
“Rachel.” Just my name, but the way Garrett says it makes my chest ache.
“And we should check the schedule for the electrician. Make sure everything’s on track for—”
“Look at me.”
I don’t. Can’t. Because if I look at him right now, he’ll see everything I’m trying to hide. “We’re losing daylight. The crew will need these measurements for—”
His hand catches my arm, gentle but firm. “Since when do you not look at me when we talk?”
“Since when do we need to talk?” I pull away, hating how my voice catches. “You have a job to do. I have orders to place. That’s what this is, right? Just business?”
The hurt that flashes across his face makes me want to take the words back. But they’re already out there, sharp and defensive, a wall between us.
“Is that what you think this is?” His voice is low, dangerous. “Just business?”
“Isn’t it? You’ll finish the job, get paid, move on to Colorado. That’s how it works, right?”
“Rachel—”
“I have calls to make.” I grab my coat, needing to escape before I completely fall apart. “The trim samples are on your desk. Just... just pick whatever works best.”
I’m out the door before he can respond, but I swear I can feel his eyes on me all the way back to my cabin. The same eyes that watched me sleep this morning, that crinkled at the corners when I made him laugh, that darkened with heat when he pulled me into his arms.
The same eyes that will be watching someone else’s renovation in Colorado soon.
I make it inside before the tears start falling.
∞∞∞
The last few weeks pass in a blur of forced professionalism and careful distance. Every “good morning” feels like swallowing glass. Every accidental brush of hands as we review plans sends electricity through my veins.
We become experts at avoiding each other’s eyes, at speaking in clipped phrases about paint colors and cabinet hardware.
The work gets done. Of course it does - Garrett’s nothing if not professional. Each cabin emerges from its chrysalis exactly as I’d dreamed, though somehow the victory feels hollow now. The artists will love them, I know. But all I can see are the ghost-memories of what happened in each space: that lingering touch in cabin three when we argued about the windows, that almost-kiss in cabin four’s kitchen, that storm-swept night in cabin six when everything changed.
Today, a late winter blast sweeps in as we finish the final inspection. The bitter wind feels appropriate somehow - nature’s own commentary on endings.
“Rachel.” His voice stops me as I’m gathering the last of the paperwork. “We need to talk about what happened. About us.”
“There is no us.” The words taste like ashes. “There’s just a completed job and a contractor moving on to his next project.”
“That’s not fair and you know it.”
“Fair?” I finally look at him, hating how my heart still skips at the intensity in those gray eyes. “You made it very clear this was temporary. I just forgot that for a while.”
“I never said—”
“You didn’t have to.” I grab my coat, needing to escape before I completely shatter. “Colorado’s waiting, remember?”
“Damn it, Rachel, will you just listen—”
“I need some air.” I’m already moving toward the door. “I’m going for a walk. To clear my head.”
“It’s freezing out there.”
“I know.” Just like my bed has been since that night. Just like my heart will be when he leaves.
The path to the river is treacherous with late-season ice, but I welcome the challenge. It gives me something to focus on besides the ache in my chest. Besides the knowledge that he’s standing in the doorway, watching me walk away.
The river is frozen over, ice shelves extending from both banks while dark water rushes beneath them. It mirrors how I feel - suspended between solid and liquid, between staying and flowing away.
I don’t look back. Can’t bear to see if he’s still watching. Can’t bear to see him at all, knowing these are our last moments before he drives away forever.
The wind whips harder, carrying ice crystals that sting my cheeks. Or maybe those are tears. At this point, I can’t tell the difference.
The ice makes a satisfying crunch under my boots with each step. It feels solid enough, thick enough to hold my weight and my heavy thoughts. I’ve walked this path a hundred times since buying the property, though never quite this far onto the frozen river. Never quite this recklessly.
A gust of wind nearly knocks me sideways, and I catch myself, arms out for balance. The setting sun casts long shadows across the ice, turning everything into shades of blue and gray. Like his eyes. God, even here, even now, everything reminds me of him.
I take another step, then another. The rushing water beneath the ice creates an endless whisper, drowning out my thoughts. Maybe if I walk far enough, I’ll forget the sound of his laugh. The feel of his hands. The way he looked at me that last morning, like I was something precious.
The crack comes without warning - a sound like a gunshot that echoes across the valley. For a split second, time seems to stop. I can see everything with perfect clarity: the spider-web of fractures spreading beneath my feet, the last rays of sunlight glinting off the ice, the water rushing toward me.
Then the world drops away.
I scream as the cold hits like a physical blow, driving the air from my lungs. Dark water closes over my head as the current grabs me, pulling me under the ice shelf. I kick hard, desperate to find the opening, but everything is black and cold and I can’t tell which way is up.
My heavy coat drags me down. My lungs burn. The rational part of my brain knows I should stay calm, but panic claws at my chest as I spin in the current.
The last thought before darkness creeps in isn’t about the gallery, or the cabins, or my family.
It’s about storm-gray eyes and rough hands and a voice like whiskey over gravel.