2. Julian
2
JULIAN
FOUR MONTHS LATER
T he cool mountain air bites at my face as I climb out of my SUV, but I barely notice. My attention is fixed on my nearly-finished house, right where I’ve been picturing it for the past four months. The crew is hard at work despite the early hour, and the sound of their progress echoes across the property.
“Looking good, right?” Mike, my site foreman, approaches with a tablet in hand. “We’re actually running ahead of schedule. If the weather holds, we might have you in here before the first snow.”
I grin at him. “You’re a miracle worker, Mike.” The progress they’ve made blows my mind. The exterior is done, a lot of the interior too, and those massive windows I specially ordered frame the mountain views exactly like I dreamed they would.
“The miracle is you actually knowing what you want.” Mike swipes through some photos on his tablet. “Most clients change their minds six times about every detail. You handed us plans and stuck to them.”
“It was easy for me to know exactly what I wanted.” I follow him around the site as he points out their progress. The great room has a vaulted ceiling with exposed beams. The kitchen opens onto a deck perfect for entertaining. And upstairs, my bedroom has a private balcony facing the sunrise.
The crew’s music plays from a speaker near their trucks, upbeat country music that keeps the energy high. A couple of the workers give me friendly nods as they walk by with paint cans in hand, and I return the gesture, grateful for all the hard work they’ve put in.
I leave Mike to his work and walk the perimeter of what will be my front yard, mentally noting where I want to plant fruit trees come spring. Apples, pears, maybe a couple cherry trees…too much fruit for just me, but someday I’ll have a family to share it with.
Sooner rather than later, I hope.
A movement catches my eye, and I turn toward the property line. The location of my house has been a point of contention since I staked out the spot. On paper, I’d planned to build much deeper into my property, but something made me shift it closer to the boundary. I told myself—and Shae, when she confronted me about it—that this spot had better drainage, easier access, superior views. All true, but not the whole truth. The spot also just felt right in a way I can’t explain.
Shae wasn’t exactly subtle about her displeasure. She said it defeated the whole purpose of splitting the property, having me build so close. But it’s my half of the land, my choice, and our houses are still far enough apart that we each have plenty of privacy. The trees between us ensure that.
Through those trees, I catch glimpses of her, exactly where she’s been every morning for the past week, working on her cabin. I keep my distance, but I can’t help watching. She’s tackling the project entirely alone, and I’ve got to admire her determination. Her cabin is small—tiny, really. But watching her work on it day after day, I can tell it means everything to her.
Today she’s installing support beams, moving slowly, her face deeply serious with concentration. A strand of hair escapes her ponytail, and she brushes it away with the back of her hand, leaving a smudge on her cheek.
My fingers yearn to wipe it away. Which is ridiculous. We’ve barely spoken since signing the paperwork, and every interaction we’ve had has been tense. She clearly wants nothing to do with me or my friendly neighborliness. And yet I can’t help wanting to get to know her better—and I can’t help myself from wanting to know if those opinionated lips of hers kiss as fiercely as they talk.
I really should stop watching her. I have a meeting in town in an hour, and before I head back, I need to review more material samples with Mike.
Instead, I find myself walking toward Shae’s property.
The difference between our building sites strikes me again as I step across the boundary line. Where my lot buzzes with activity and progress, hers is almost eerily quiet. It’s just Shae, her tools, and a structure that looks more like a fancy shed than a house. I don’t understand it. She has seven and a half acres of pristine mountain property, and she’s building something that could fit in a suburban backyard?
“Need something?” Her voice startles me. She’s noticed my approach, but hasn’t stopped working.
I break into a smile. It’s hard not to smile around her, even with her icy demeanor. “Just wanted to see how your place is coming along. You know, I’ve got a great crew over there. They’re fast, efficient, and their rates are really reasonable. I’d be happy to give you their info.”
“I’m good.” She doesn’t look up from the beam she’s measuring.
“Seriously, they could have you closed in before winter. And they’re great guys, really professional?—”
“I said I’m good.” This time she does look up, her expression making it clear she’d rather I disappear. “And maybe tell them to turn down their music? I can hear it from here.”
“They’re just trying to keep their energy up. Nothing wrong with a little music while you work.”
“There is when I’m trying to concentrate on measurements that need to be exact.”
I lean against a nearby tree. “You know, you might enjoy the work more if you loosened up a little. Added some tunes, maybe accepted some help?—”
“Has it occurred to you that I’m enjoying my work exactly as it is?” She drops her tape measure onto the lumber with a sharp clatter. “That maybe I want to build my own home, by myself, in peace and quiet?”
“All right. Fair enough.” I flash her a grin that, as usual, bounces right off her walls. Oof. My attention shifts to the massive boulder marking our property line. “Hey, while I’m here—I was thinking about having that rock removed. That okay with you?”
Her entire body tenses. “That boulder is a natural feature of the landscape. It should stay exactly where it is.”
“It’s an eyesore. And it’s half on my property.”
“It’s not an eyesore, it’s beautiful. It’s been here longer than either of us.”
I smirk, unable to resist needling her. “Well, if you love it so much, we could always move it entirely onto your property.”
“You’re missing the point.” Her cheeks flush with anger, and I notice how gorgeously green her eyes are. She shifts her weight, her curves drawing my eye even as she's telling me off. “The whole point of living on the mountain is to exist within nature, not bulldoze it into submission.”
“The point of living on the mountain is to enjoy it,” I counter. “To share its beauty with friends and family. To create spaces where people can gather and appreciate everything this place has to offer.”
“No,” she says, her voice tight. “That’s your point. My point is to find some peace and quiet, which you seem determined to make impossible.”
If she’s this gorgeous when she’s angry, I can’t imagine how stunning she is when she actually likes someone. One warm look from her and I’d melt.
I clear my throat. “Look, I’m just trying to be neighborly.”
“And I’m just trying to work. Alone. Like I was before you wandered over.”
Message received. I push off from the tree, trying to ignore how much I want to stay and argue with her more, just to keep that fire in her eyes burning. “All right. I’m going. But let me know if you want my crew’s help, yeah?”
She’s already turned back to her work, ignoring me completely.
A week later, I’m on site going over final specs with the cabinet installer when Mike hurries over, looking concerned. “Storm’s coming in early. We should get the site secured and all the exposed materials covered ASAP.”
I check the forecast on my phone. The prediction has changed dramatically since this morning—heavy snow, high winds, possible power outages. My chest tightens as I glance toward Shae’s property. Her cabin is still half-open to the elements.
“I’ll help you get everything covered up,” I tell Mike, already moving toward a pile of tarps.
I spend the next hour helping the crew protect materials and equipment, trying not to think about what my stubborn neighbor is using—if anything—to protect her site from disaster.
When the wind picks up, I head to her property.
She’s on a ladder, struggling to secure a flimsy tarp over her roof frame. The wind keeps catching it, threatening to tear it from her hands. My heart lurches as the ladder wobbles.
“That’s a creative way to break your neck.” I try to keep my tone light, but seeing her wobble on that ladder has my stomach in knots.
She startles, then glares down at me. “Don’t you have your own property to worry about?”
“Mine’s taken care of. By professionals. You know, those people who do this for a living?” The ladder sways again and I lunge forward, grabbing it with both hands to hold it steady. “Have you seen the forecast? This isn’t a regular storm. We’re talking about eight inches of snow and forty-mile-per-hour winds.”
“I’m almost done.”
“You’re not safe up there.” My grip tightens on the ladder. “Jesus, will you please stop being so stubborn and listen to me for two seconds?”
A powerful gust catches the tarp she’s trying to secure. It tears free with a sound like a gunshot, whipping away into the darkening sky.
“Well,” I say, watching it disappear, “that’s one way to solve the tarp debate.”
She shoots me a look that could freeze hell and descends the ladder. “I have another one in my car.”
“Absolutely not.” I take a step to block her way. There’s hardly an inch left between us now. “You’re going to get yourself killed, you know that?”
“I don’t need your help, or your commentary.”
“No? Planning to stop the snow with sheer force of will?” Another gust nearly knocks her sideways, and I grab her arm to steady her. The contact sends heat through my body despite the bitter wind. “This storm is coming in faster and harder than anyone predicted. Your cabin isn’t secure, and you can’t stay here.”
“I’m not leaving my property.”
“Yes, you are. You’re staying with me.”
Her eyes go wide. “No way in hell.”
“My place has heat, power, and enough supplies to last a week.” A gust of wind whips between us, carrying the first snowflakes. “Look at it this way—you can either accept my help now, or wait until I have to rescue you in the middle of the night when your roof caves in. Your choice, but option two is going to be way more embarrassing for both of us.”
She opens her mouth, closes it, opens it again. “I could stay in my car.”
“Yeah, that’s not happening.” I pull out my phone to call Mike. “You’re staying where it’s warm.”
An hour later, Mike’s crew has Shae’s construction site as secure as possible. The storm arrives in full force as the crew all drives away, wind howling through the trees. Shae maintains a stony silence as we make our way to my house.
“The guest room’s upstairs,” I tell her as we stamp snow off our shoes in my entryway. The house is livable but not quite finished—the kitchen’s still waiting on cabinet installation, and there are boxes of fixtures and hardware stacked along the walls—but it’s solid and warm. “Bathroom’s got a full shower if you want to warm up. Unless you’d prefer to freeze on principle?”
She stands stiffly in my entryway, looking like she’d rather be anywhere else. “I’m fine. I don’t need to warm up.”
The woman is literally shivering, but I keep my mouth shut.