Chapter 10
Claire
The next week, my curiosity finally got the better of me.
I waited roughly five minutes after Levi and Ripley left before I got dressed at record speed. To be fair, I’d made good progress on the story in the couple of days I’d been here. It turned out that not having internet was great for focus. The one time I went into town to send off what I had to my editor, Melanie, I ended up chatting with Ruth, who owns the local B&B, and she told me about the history of the popular local tourist destination. It was interesting enough that I was inspired to start up the old online journal I did for a class project in college. The story needed to be documented. Eventually, I might go back and add more details and pictures. But for now, the main focus was my exposé.
After one quick look at Levi’s house .
Another bizarre interaction with the supposed grumpy recluse, and I’d been left as confused as ever. His offer to let me use his phone was amazing, but it didn’t jibe with the man who wrote the listing or who I’d interacted with. Every conversation was more confusing than the one before. To be fair, I wasn’t exactly the consistent overthinker I usually came off as. I’d cried more in front of Levi in barely three days than I had with Kevin in three years.
It all made me want to investigate him even more. Who was this enigma of a man? What did he do to afford this land and property? He didn’t work at the grocery store, but he’d been there doing some sort of repairs, it seemed.
I scurried up the drive to Big Cabin. (I had very creatively dubbed his house Big Cabin and my place Little Cabin.) Sure enough, it was unlocked. I hadn’t even thought to try entering in my snooping, or at least not for very long. Because that would be weird. Weirder than being invited to use his landline. Weirder yet than the fact that he even had a landline.
“Whoa.” I walked into the main open front room. Large windows made up the north and east walls, giving the impression of opening right out to the forest. It was breathtaking. The highest tips of the Rockies were already powdered with snow, and the lower elevations were just starting to change from green to yellows and oranges. It smelled fresh, like pine and lemon cleaner. The counters of the modern kitchen were bare except for a few appliances. It was tidy, with a hint of artistic inspiration in the wall art that decorated the areas that weren’t all windows. Lovely wood and metal pieces complemented the modern design and simplicity.
My feet pulled me down the hall, where I found a few personal photos of people I obviously didn’t recognize. Again, surprising. There were several with him, including an older woman who must have been his mom or a woman who gave him the same intense hazel eyes. In every picture, they both shared identical bright smiles. I hadn’t seen Levi smile so openly like that since I’d met him, and I felt a pang of loss at not getting to meet that side of him. Before whatever happened that changed him so permanently.
There didn’t seem to be a partner in any of the photos. Not that I was looking.
The first door led to his bedroom, which was just as clean as the rest of the home. There was a large bed and dresser, but ultimately, it was simple, with another massive window. I didn’t let myself linger and closed the door quickly because I did have some integrity.
The small office was easily spotted (as well as the intricate Wi-Fi password taped to the router as promised). My phone buzzed to life as soon as I connected. I quickly caught up on important messages and checked in with a few friends who were mildly panicked at my sudden absence. I explained the situation vaguely, mentioning a story that had me out of reach—and replied to a few work emails—including a check-in with Melanie, who was eager for the rest of the story.
“This is really going to be something, Wells,” she said. “If you can pull this off, this might change the whole broken system.”
I was more determined than ever as I worked through more emails. I worried less about the future or my breakup and was determined to finish that story. I even added a few more details to the post about Ruth and her B&B. A few people had found my online journal and asked for more information about Cozy Creek.
Surprisingly, after being back on my phone for a good twenty minutes, I was ready to turn it off again. It had been nice to be unreachable.
Wrapping up the call with my dad didn’t fill me with such dread this time, knowing that we would be chatting again the next day.
In fact, we did chat the next day, and the one after that. The new system was working.
After five days, I had almost finished the first draft of my story while managing to keep my Wordle game streak alive. Each morning, I’d make a cup of coffee and walk over to spin in Levi’s office chair while I solved the puzzle with Dad.
On today’s call, Dad beat me with the Wordle “squat,” and I was fine losing to such an unattractive word.
“When these two months end, I’ll fly out and meet you at your storage unit,” he explained this morning. “We’ll load it up, and I’ll drive with you back here. Truck reservation is already taken care of.”
“Thank you for doing that, Dad. I haven’t even been able to think. ”
“I know how it is right now. Not much longer, and you’ll be home.”
“Yeah. Thanks.”
I sighed and focused on the relief of having a plan instead of the fear deep in the back of my mind that I was going backward in life.
My eyes drifted to the lone piece of art on the wall. It was a chunk of twisted and angled driftwood but with more intent and feeling. It had been sanded and covered in a shine that gave it emotion somehow. Every time I looked at it, I found a new secret detail I hadn’t seen before.
Dad and I talked a little longer before I ended it under the ruse of working. Truthfully, I was restless and curious again.
I still had no idea where Levi wandered off during the days. He was gone anywhere from three to eight hours, and when he came home, he often went into the garage behind his house, where the hums and buzzing of power tools would drift out for hours. A couple of nights, we were both up until almost midnight working. Notes of sad indie rock would drift down the driveway, and I’d open the window despite the chill and for the comfort of the noise. I liked hearing him nearby.
But what did he do ? He always brought Ripley, so it couldn’t have been any standard corporate job. But I could have guessed within minutes of meeting him that he wasn’t cut from that cloth. Maybe he was a hunter? But wouldn’t he bring them home? Bleck , I hoped not. Maybe he had a shop in town? But I had a hard time picturing him in any customer-facing role. He clearly wasn’t hurting financially. The cabin itself was beautiful and well-maintained. He even mentioned a cleaner who came every other Thursday.
The man was a mystery, and with every passing day, that itch in my brain to get some answers grew more insistent on being scratched.
I was stepping out of his house to the front porch when I heard his truck coming up the drive. I waved hello brightly with a burst of adrenaline at having company. He lifted his chin in a sort of acknowledgment before awkwardly looking away.
We were basically besties.
He pulled forward to park in his spot near the garage/shed thing I had yet to explore. On the passenger side, Ripley was losing her mind to get to me, so I met her and reached in to lift her out. She convulsed with happy, shuddering dramatics.
“I’ve missed you too.” I laughed, pulling my head back to avoid some of the wet kisses slathering up my neck and chin. I felt Levi’s gaze on me but couldn’t meet his eyes. When I set her down, she ran straight toward the mystery building through a small doggy door I hadn’t noticed before. I probably could have fit my head through there …
I was wiping my chin on my shoulder when Levi’s boots came into view.
“How are you—whoa,” I said.
When I finally met Levi’s gaze, he was almost unrecognizable. His hair was still long enough to go past the nape of his neck but had been neatly trimmed and freshly washed. Head tilting, he tucked some loose strands behind his ear. He’d shaved back his beard so that it was a little more than a five o’clock shadow, emphasizing a very square jawline that’d been hiding and a mouth that was forming words. Words that my brain wasn’t absorbing because it was too busy noticing two perfectly shaped lips moving as he pursed his mouth slightly, eyes squinting as confusion pinched his fine brows.
I stepped forward, hand raised. Levi stilled, his nostrils flared. His eyes narrowed on my movement, and his hands clenched at his sides. Only then did I realize I’d been about to reach up and touch his face, so enthralled by him that I was.
That wouldn’t have been weird or crossing any boundaries at all.
I dropped my hand and stepped back to give him some space. His shoulders relaxed.
“You shaved,” I said, using all my genius investigative skills as a journalist to break the tension.
“Oh. Yeah.” He ran a hand over his chin. “It’s been known to happen.”
He tucked his head, cheeks flushing, and stepped to open the bed of the truck.
I followed him, even though he hadn’t asked me to stay. He probably wanted me to head back to Little Cabin to keep the unspoken space between us. Where did this fit in his list of rules? He didn’t explicitly say I couldn’t be nosy. Well, he had, but I was choosing to ignore that.
I wouldn’t be me if I wasn’t a little curious about the massive shape hidden under a bright blue tarp.
“What’s that?” I asked.
He jumped to find me standing right behind him, peering on tiptoes over his shoulder. He also expected me to go back to my place.
He turned to face me, and I smiled widely. Sometimes, it helped disarm people. He scowled.
Well, damn.
“Work stuff,” he said, briefly meeting my gaze before glaring back at his truck.
In the sun, his hazel eyes looked lighter than the last time we talked. There was a sparkle of excitement in them as he glanced back to the mystery tarp.
“What work stuff?” I asked. “What do you do?”
He stiffened, shoulders tense. “Aren’t you on a deadline?”
“Always. What is that?” I asked again.
He sighed and rightfully decided that I was like Ripley when she was in search of a cozy spot—not to be distracted from what I wanted. Eventually, he said, “Hopefully, it’s my next piece. There’s a little bit of root rot, but I’m cautiously optimistic.”
I came to stand by his side, taking it as an invitation. “Piece?”
His elbow brushed my arm, and he shuffled a step away. “Yeah. I do woodwork. Make sculptures.” He flipped the corner of the tarp up to reveal the gnarled and dirt-covered root system of a massive wooden stump. He dropped it back and shot me a look. “Excuse me.”
“Oops, sorry.” I backed up, a little stunned and very much in the way. He was an artist ? A sculptor, more specifically. A million more questions split off in all directions to take root in my mind—pun intended.
As if it were nothing more than a package of warehouse paper towels, Levi wrapped his arms around the whole massive lump and lifted it. Muscles in his forearms, biceps, and shoulders all engaged, flexing with the momentum as he leveraged it out of the truck with a masculine grunt. A sound that I would not be forgetting any time soon.
Today, I learned that forearms with popping veins are a breathtaking sight to see in real life.
“So this is where you go all day? You’re hunting for wood?” I asked, proud of myself for not making a juvenile joke. “A wood hunter,” I said with no extra emphasis at all.
He looked at me a second too long, eyes narrowed in skepticism like he, too, was waiting for a joke.
“Some days.” He walked, legs wide, leaning slightly back as he struggled toward the garage door. That had to weigh as much as two of me. I mean, he really could just throw me over his shoulder without even breaking a sweat. You know, just for measurement of strength’s sake. Not that I was thinking about that.
“Do you often hunt for wood?” I asked innocently.
I really tried to keep it together.
He didn’t respond, but the silence was telling.
“I, myself, appreciate a good piece of wood,” I said.
He stopped as we reached the garage and gave me a blank stare .
“Not every day does life deliver a fine piece of girthy, hard?—”
“Are you done?” he asked, the tendons in his neck straining.
“It’s impossible to say.” I covered my growing smile with both hands. “I never really meant to start, but the jokes write themselves.”
“At least you tried,” he said, shifting the load in his hands with a grunt.
“Do you need me to get the door?” I asked as he attempted to heft the mass to one hip.
“If you aren’t too busy amusing yourself.”
I snorted.
“The key is on my hip,” he said.
I had to bend awkwardly to avoid brushing his arms and toppling the load as I maneuvered the carabiner holding the keys from a belt loop on the front of his jeans. I would not risk an accidental junk brush. Not with all the wood jokes hanging in the air.
“This door you lock?” I asked with cheek, because why not poke the bear instead of thinking about where my hands were?
“There are a lot of very expensive tools in here,” he said, winded. “I trust my neighbors, but I’m not an idiot.”
“Fair enough.”
“Any chance you could hurry it along?” he asked through gritted teeth.
“Yep. Sorry. Almost got it. Okay, there we go.” I unlocked the sliding door and bent down to pull it up. I jumped on my tiptoes to push it all the way open .
“Thanks,” he grunted.
There was a large space in the middle of the floor where he had to carefully squat—that stupid word again—to set the piece down with a groan. His thighs stretched the seams of his jeans to capacity. When he stood, he stretched his back and cracked his neck.
A light flickered to life, and I spotted Ripley under a pile of blankets on a large doggy bed in the corner. The whole space was filled with large saws and power tools, as well as pieces of wood in various states of completion. The air smelled like sawdust and something sharper, maybe varnish? I thought back to some of the pieces I’d seen in his house.
“Whoa,” I said again. “You are an artist.”
He mumbled something and busied himself, dusting his hands on his jeans.
“I’m not sure what I expected when you said woodwork. Like maybe those bears made of tree trunks you always see for sale on the side of the road. Or maybe tables or something. But not this.” Along the back wall were several pieces I wanted to explore but was afraid I was already pushing it.
He went to the wall and flicked a switch that caused a couple of space heaters to hum to life.
He came to stand by my side. I remained standing in the middle of the workspace, my shocked eyes never settling in one place, desperate to learn everything I could about this fascinating discovery. I was all but bouncing on my feet to go look closer at the various sculptures. “I’ve never met a bona fide working artist, especially not a sculptor.”
He cleared his throat. “You, uh, want to see?—”
“Yes, please,” I responded before he even finished the question.
He chuckled lightly and scratched at the back of his neck. “Okay. But remember, most of these aren’t done.”
“Tell me everything.” That familiar tingle of a new fixation gave me a boost of adrenaline.
He looked down at me, and a hesitant, almost worried look furrowed his brow. “You don’t have to pretend.”
“I’m not. I want to know everything.” I could picture my eyes sparkling like a cartoon with sincerity as I looked up at him, hands clasped hopefully under my chin.
His gaze moved between them, then moved to my mouth briefly before moving on. I licked my lips without meaning to, but he quickly looked elsewhere. I ignored the fluttering in my chest.
His shoulders relaxed as he stepped toward one corner and began to explain his whole process, from looking for a good wood—heh—to the tools he used and how he worked with the natural flow of material. His hands were deep in his pockets as he spoke slowly, with quiet, bridled passion at first. As he grew more comfortable, he’d get lost in a tangent, speed up, and start using his hands expressively, but as soon as he caught himself, he pulled back to that cool demeanor. It was like there was this excited little nut trying to break free but who had been censured before and learned to keep some things at bay.
I looked up at him, soaking in every detail. Nodding and asking questions, I tried to understand as much as I could in a short time. Nothing was cooler to me than a person who was deeply good at something, no matter the subject. Humans were so cool when they found their happy niches to learn everything about. I could never settle on one thing. I wanted to know something about everything. People who had enough patience to become experts were fascinating.
“But how do you know what it will be when you start?” I asked, running my hands down my arms to smooth the frisson of titillation from new knowledge.
His gaze moved as he thought. “I never really do. It’s that old cliché. Eventually, the piece will tell me.”
“So cool.” I thumbed in the direction of the new hunk of wood on the floor. “Any idea what that’s going to be?”
He held my gaze a fraction too long. “No idea.” He shrugged, but the tips of his ears had gone red.
“But it called to you? The wood?” I asked.
He narrowed his eyes again. “I can feel you trying so hard not to make a joke.”
“So hard .” I squeaked. “No. No. I’m good. I got it all out of my system.” I held up my palms in seriousness.
He gave me one more skeptical look before checking the mass he just brought in. “Yes. I have a good feeling about it.” He lifted an arm to point at a specific part of the root system. “See that knot there?”
“Um?”
“Here, look.” He put his head next to mine to see from my height. “See there.” He grabbed my fingers, loosening my pointer with his calloused hand to gesture to the specific spot.
All at once, the rest of the world went on mute. No hum of the space heater, no soft snoring from Ripley, only the sound of the heavy pulse beating throughout my body. It wasn’t an overtly sexual gesture or even remotely flirtatious, but the air must have shifted around me. I was aware of his masculinity. His scent. The hairs on his muscular arms where his shirt was pushed up to his elbows.
I tried so hard to remember that I was supposed to be looking for something, but I was so in my body that it was like my mind went offline. Even when I’d been attracted to somebody on a mental level, it never felt like this. I never felt it so deeply in my body like electrical pulses. Was this what normal people felt? A physical presence that seemed to weigh me down while simultaneously making me float.
The hierarchy of my being was always brain first, then maybe gut instinct and heart, and somewhere way down on the list was libido. I never led with libido. I was not a person who felt visceral reactions to people. Give me incredible wit or intense specified knowledge of one area of study, a skill set nobody else has, and I’m gone. Competence kink suited me. It had taken months of getting to know Kevin before I felt any sort of lust stir.
Simply put, I was a cerebral girly, and this physical reaction was intense.
It was much better when I hardly thought of him at all.