Chapter 3
Rainey
Millie’s Mountain Diner smells like coffee, bacon, and the kind of comfort food that could fix emotional damage if you ate enough of it.
The place is busier than I expected for the middle of a weekday.
Parking is scarce outside. Through the charming cafe style windows, I can see that every booth seems to hold at least one person wearing flannel.
Which makes sense. We’re in the mountains.
Apparently flannel is the official uniform.
Troy pushes the door open and holds it for me, and the bell above the frame jingles like we’ve just walked onto a stage.
I feel it immediately. Heads turn, but not dramatically. It doesn’t seem rude. But enough that I know exactly what’s happening. Everyone in this diner knows Troy Bennett. And none of them have ever seen him walk in with me.
Fantastic.
I slide into the booth across from him, trying not to think about the fact that every person in the room probably assumes I’m his girlfriend, his cousin, or his latest mistake.
A woman with silver hair piled high on her head appears beside our table before we even open menus.
Her eyes sparkle like she already knows the answer to a question she hasn’t asked yet.
“Well,” she says, planting a hand on her hip, “this is new.”
Troy doesn’t even blink.
“Afternoon, Millie.”
Millie’s gaze shifts to me. I swear I can feel her assessing my entire life story in three seconds flat.
“You must be the redhead stirring up trouble at the lumber center.”
I blink. News travels fast.
“I prefer the term exploring my options,” I say.
Millie grins.
“Oh honey, in this town those two things are the same.”
She slides two menus onto the table but keeps looking at Troy.
“You going to introduce me to your friend?”
Friend. I like that better than questionable life decision. Troy gestures toward me.
“Rainey.”
I lift a hand. “Hello.”
“Millie,” she says. “Owner, cook, referee of local arguments, and the only woman in town who can make Troy Bennett admit he’s hungry.”
Troy leans back against the booth.
“I’ve admitted it before.”
“Not voluntarily.”
She looks back at me, clearly delighted.
“So Rainey, what brings you to our little corner of the mountains?”
Troy says calmly, “She bought the Carter place.”
Millie’s eyebrows climb halfway to her hairline.
“The ridge cabin?”
Oh no. That reaction does not inspire confidence. I smile weakly.
“Yes. Apparently.”
Millie studies me again, slower this time.
“Well,” she says finally, “that explains the tools.”
She pats my shoulder like I’ve just volunteered for a particularly dangerous expedition.
“Coffee?”
“Yes,” I say immediately.
“Please.”
She nods and walks away.
I watch her disappear behind the counter before turning back to Troy.
“Okay,” I say quietly. “That reaction did not make me feel better.”
Troy shrugs slightly.
“It’s a good property.”
I stare at him.
“Is it?”
“Yes.”
That’s it. Just yes. I wait for elaboration and nothing happens.
Men.
“Because at the moment,” I say, leaning forward, “it feels like I accidentally purchased a mountain-shaped mistake.”
His mouth twitches.
“What’s wrong with it?”
I laugh once.
“Do you want the short version or the emotional spiral version?”
“Short.”
“Roof needs work. Gutters are hanging sideways. One downspout is missing entirely. The ground around the cabin is basically concrete, and every time it rains the runoff turns the yard into something that looks suspiciously like a trench.”
Millie appears again and sets two mugs of coffee on the table.
“Trenches are bad,” she says cheerfully.
“Thank you, Millie,” I say.
She pours coffee into both mugs.
“You’ll want the biscuit plate today,” she tells Troy.
He nods.
“Two.”
She looks at me.
“And for you?”
I glance at the menu, but my brain is still stuck on the part where my yard apparently behaves like battlefield terrain.
“Whatever he’s having.”
Millie beams like I just confirmed her favorite theory.
“Smart woman.”
She disappears again. I wrap my hands around the mug and take a sip of coffee strong enough to wake the dead.
Troy watches me. Not in a creepy way. Just… observant. The kind of observant that makes me suddenly aware of how I’m sitting, how I’m holding my coffee, how close his hands are to mine on the table.
“So,” he says finally, “what’s your plan?”
I blink.
“My plan?”
“With the property.”
Oh, right. The plan. I take another sip of coffee and stall for time.
“Well,” I say slowly, “step one was to buy tools.”
He nods toward the window.
“How’d that go?”
“Debatable.”
A small smile flickers across his face. Encouraging.
“I figured I’d start with the gutters,” I continue. “Maybe patch the roof if it looks bad enough. After that I was thinking I might try starting a garden.”
He leans back in the booth.
“What kind?”
“I don’t know.”
“Vegetables?”
“Yes?”
“Fruit?”
“Maybe?”
I squint at him.
“Are these trick questions?”
“Depends.”
“On what?”
He watches me for a second like he’s measuring something I can’t see.
“Whether you’re planning to stay long enough to harvest anything.”
Why does that feel like it’s about more than vegetables? The way he said it definitely affects me, but I shrug like it doesn’t matter.
“I haven’t decided yet.”
That’s the honest answer. Part of me wants this to work. Part of me is already calculating how fast I could sell if it doesn’t. Troy studies me for a moment. Then he takes a slow sip of coffee.
“If the soil feels like concrete,” he says, “you’re digging too shallow.”
I blink.
“I haven’t dug anything yet.”
“That’s the problem.”
I stare at him.
“You lost me.”
He sets the mug down.
“Mountain soil needs depth,” he says. “You break it first. Then you work it. If you plant shallow, nothing lasts.”
Something about the way he says it makes my stomach do a weird little flip. Not because I suddenly care deeply about gardening. But because I get the strange feeling he isn’t only talking about dirt.
Millie returns carrying two plates piled with biscuits and eggs. She sets them down and glances between us.
“You two look like you’re solving the mysteries of the universe.”
“Just soil,” Troy says.
“Well,” she says, “when you figure out how to fix stubborn ground, let me know. I’ve been trying to do that with men for forty years.”
I laugh. Troy just shakes his head. Millie pats my shoulder again.
“You’ll be fine, honey,” she says.
Then she walks away. I pick up my fork.
“So,” I say to Troy, “hypothetically speaking… if someone bought a cabin with soil that behaves like a parking lot…”
He raises an eyebrow.
“Yes?”
“…how hard would it be to fix?”
He studies me for a long moment. Then he says calmly,
“Depends.”
“On what?”
“Whether you’re willing to dig deep.”
And just like that, I have the strange feeling my impulsive mountain purchase might have come with a very opinionated guide.