7. Chapter Six #2
My plan is simple: drop off her belongings, nod politely, and get the hell back up my mountain before I do something stupid.
Like notice how the sunlight catches in her hair. Or how her cheeks flush pink in the cold.
The front door flies open before I even reach the walkway.
"BEAU!" Maisie comes tearing out, snow boots unlaced and coat unbuttoned, a streak of pure chaotic energy. "YOU brOUGHT AUNT MOLLY'S TREASURE CHEST!"
I set the suitcase down just in time to brace myself as Maisie collides with my legs.
"It's a suitcase, squirt. Not treasure."
Though given how Molly's face lights up at the sight of it, you'd think it contained gold instead of clothes.
"Beau," Sienna greets me with a smile that immediately makes me want to retreat inside my truck and throw the keys out the window. "Perfect timing."
Molly steps forward, arms wrapped around herself against the cold. "Thanks for bringing my stuff. I really appreciate it."
She sounds genuinely grateful, which makes it harder to maintain my necessary emotional distance.
So I just grunt and hold out her keys.
"Thanks. If you didn't guess, Johnson Auto finally called," she continues, taking them. "They can look at my car today."
"Good."
I turn to head back to my truck. Mission accomplished.
"Oh!" Sienna suddenly exclaims with all the subtlety of a grenade. "I just remembered I have that... thing. At the... place. Maisie, we need to go!"
Maisie looks confused. "What thing?"
"That important thing," Sienna insists, her eyes darting between me and Molly with matchmaking intent so obvious a blind man could see it. "The very important thing that means we need to leave right now."
"But I want to show Beau my new pictures!"
"Later, honey. Beau needs to help Aunt Molly with the fence."
I narrow my eyes at Sienna. "I do?"
"You absolutely do. It collapsed in the storm, and Molly was just saying how she has no idea how to fix it. Weren't you, Molly?"
Molly blinks. "I mean, I don't, but—"
"Perfect! Beau knows all about fences. I've got tools in the garage. Maisie, coat. Now."
Before I can protest, Sienna has ushered Maisie back inside, reappearing seconds later with her purse and a child who is now properly bundled.
"We'll be back in an hour. Maybe two. No rush!" she calls over her shoulder, practically shoving Maisie into her car. "The tools are exactly where they always are, Beau!"
And just like that, they're gone, leaving me standing in the yard with Molly and a broken fence that absolutely could have waited another day.
I glance at her and she glances at me.
"You don't have to stay," she says finally. "It's not an emergency."
I should leave. I know I should. But something in the slump of her shoulders, the tired resignation in her voice, keeps my boots planted.
It's always been this way with her. Even back when she was Riley's, I'd find myself watching from a distance, ready to jump up and help her the moment she needed it.
There's just something about Molly Jennings that makes me want to solve every problem she has.
Not because she can't—but because I need to.
"It'll take ten minutes," I say, heading towards the tool supply I know too well in this house. "Might as well do it while I'm here."
Her smile is beautiful and absolutely genuine. "Thanks. I'll, um, help?"
I raise an eyebrow, but continue toward the garage. "Sure."
Pretty soon, I'm seriously reconsidering my offer.
"Is this the hammer thing you wanted?" Molly asks, holding up a screwdriver.
I don't even try to hide my exasperation. "That's a screwdriver."
"Oh." She bites her lip, scanning the array of tools I've laid out. "So you want the... other hammer thing?"
"Yes, Molly. The actual hammer would be great."
She hands me a pair of pliers and I close my eyes and take a deep breath.
"Molly. The hammer. It looks like a hammer. It's literally the most recognizable tool in existence."
She finally grabs the hammer and practically throws it at me.
"In my defense," she says, laughter in her voice. "I've never needed to know what a hammer looks like. That's what maintenance people are for."
"What did you do before maintenance people?" I mutter, finding the hammer myself.
"Bold of you to assume there was a 'before.'" She shrugs. "Riley always handled that stuff. Or hired people. He said I'd probably hurt myself."
The casual mention of my brother sends a spike of anger through me. Of course Riley wouldn't teach her. Keeping her dependent was probably deliberate.
I focus on driving nails, reattaching the fallen section of fence to its post. Molly watches, hugging herself against the cold but seemingly content to observe.
"You're really good at this stuff," she says after a while. "Building things."
I grunt, not looking up.
"Sienna says you built your whole cabin yourself. That's amazing."
Another grunt. The fence is nearly fixed, which means I'll soon have no excuse to stay.
"Is it weird that I'm kind of excited to be alone?
" she asks suddenly. "I mean, not alone alone.
Sienna and Maisie are great. But for the first time in years, I'm making my own choices.
Wearing my own clothes." She gestures to the suitcase I brought.
"Going where I want. It's terrifying, but also. .. I don't know. Freeing?"
I glance up, caught by the vulnerability in her voice. She's staring at the mountains, eyes distant.
"Riley controlled everything," she continues softly. "What I wore. Who I saw. How I spoke. I didn't even realize it was happening until suddenly I couldn't recognize myself anymore."
My hand tightens around the hammer. If my brother were here right now, I'd introduce his face to the business end of it.
"Sorry," she says, shaking her head. "You don't need to hear all that."
I stand, dusting off my hands on my jeans.
The sadness in her eyes, the quiet admission of how completely my brother stripped away her autonomy… it hooks something in my chest I thought was long dead.
"Timber Tavern has decent steaks," I say way too quickly. "If you want to get out, that is. Tonight."
Her eyes widen in surprise. "Like... dinner?"
"You eat food, don't you?" I ask gruffly. "Just don't expect me to be all... chatty."
A slow smile spreads across her face, transforming it entirely. She looks younger suddenly. Lighter.
"Okay. Okay! But only if you promise not to quiz me on tool identification," she counters.
The corner of my mouth twitches.
"Can't promise that. But I'd settle for you being better at selecting menu items than you are at selecting the correct tools."
She laughs, the sound bright against the winter quiet. "It's a deal."
And just like that, I've done the one thing I swore I wouldn't do by coming down the fucking mountain.
I've created a connection. An obligation. A reason to see her again.
I'm so fucked.