4. Paige
4
PAIGE
T he next several days go better than that first terrible one, though Hawk and I are still a long way from comfortable with each other. Each morning, I wake to sunlight filtering through unfamiliar curtains and spend a few seconds remembering where I am. The bed feels too big, too empty. Through the window, I watch Hawk cross the yard to his workshop, shoulders hunched against the morning chill. He moves with purpose, never glancing back at the cabin. But some mornings, he leaves fresh coffee in the pot for me, and once I found wild berries on the counter—his quiet way of showing he’s trying.
After he leaves, I enjoy a long shower, grateful for the surprisingly good water pressure and blissfully hot water. Then I get dressed and make myself breakfast—usually eggs cooked in a weathered cast iron pan that’s probably older than I am. The kitchen is organized in ways that make no sense to me, but I’m learning. Slowly.
My midday walks grow longer each day. The forest speaks its own language—branches creaking overhead, leaves whispering in the breeze, birds calling back and forth. I memorize landmarks: a fallen tree trunk covered in bright green moss, a cluster of white wildflowers, a clear stream cutting through the property. Each day I venture a little further, marking my path so I won’t get lost.
As evening approaches, I find myself listening for his workshop door. When he comes inside, his shirt clinging to his broad shoulders and his hair mussed from a long day’s work, my breath catches. I may be uncertain about whether this marriage is going to work, but I have no doubts about how devastatingly attracted I am to this man.
We make attempts at conversation while we eat—he compliments my cooking, I ask about his work. As he talks, I catch glimpses of the man from his messages. But every exchange still feels tentative, like neither of us quite knows how to relax around the other. When we finish, he disappears into the shower while I clean up. By the time I’m done, he’s already settled on the couch with a book.
“You don’t have to sleep there,” I tell him every night. “I can take the couch.”
He always responds the same way: “I’m fine here,” with a small smile that tells me he’s trying to be a gentleman.
But we both know this arrangement can’t last. If we’re going to be married, we’ll be sharing not just a home but a bed, and the thought of it sends a flutter through my stomach.
One afternoon, I’m exploring a new section of the forest when footsteps crunch behind me. My heart jumps into my throat, Hawk’s warning about bears flashing through my mind. I spin around, ready to make myself look big and threatening, only to find myself face-to-face with the shaggiest dog I’ve ever seen.
He’s massive, with gray-brown fur that makes him look, ironically, more like a small bear than a dog. His tail wags hopefully as he watches me.
“Well, hello there.” I keep my voice soft and gentle. “Are you lost?”
The dog’s tail wags harder. He takes a tentative step forward, then another, until he’s close enough for me to see his collar. When I reach out, he pushes his head into my palm.
“Grizzly,” I read from his tag. “That’s fitting.” A phone number is engraved below the name. “You must have worried someone sick. Let’s get you home.”
Grizzly follows me willingly through the trees. When Hawk’s workshop comes into view, I hesitate. I’ve never approached it before—it’s his sanctuary, as clear as any boundary line could be. But the lost dog needs help.
My knock echoes in the quiet air. Hawk opens the door with sawdust in his hair and slight annoyance on his face. The expression freezes when he sees Grizzly.
“Found him in the woods,” I explain. “He has a collar with a phone number.”
Hawk studies the dog, who stares back with unblinking brown eyes. “Better call the owners.”
Inside the cabin, I punch the number into my phone while Hawk fills a bowl with water. Grizzly laps it up eagerly.
A woman answers on the second ring. Her voice breaks with relief when I describe finding Grizzly. “Oh, I’m so glad you called. We’ve been looking everywhere. The girls have been beside themselves.”
“We can bring him to you,” I offer, watching Hawk tense at the word we . “Just give me directions.”
Minutes later, we’re in Hawk’s truck, Grizzly sprawled across the back seat. The silence between us feels different with the dog there, less sharp-edged. When Grizzly pushes his nose between our seats, tongue lolling, I swear I see the corner of Hawk’s mouth twitch.
The drive takes us down the mountain a little ways, still deep in the forest. We pass the house where I’d stopped for directions that first day, and soon after pull up to a beautiful large cabin. Two young girls burst out the front door before Hawk can put the truck in park.
“Grizz!” They throw their arms around the dog as he bounds toward them. A man and woman follow at a more relaxed pace, relief clear on their faces.
“Thank you so much for bringing him back.” The woman smiles warmly. “I’m Courtney, and this is my husband Ryder.” Her eyes drift to Hawk, and she gives a small nod of recognition.
“I’m Paige.” I smile at both Courtney and Ryder. “We’re glad we could help get Grizzly home safe.”
“Sorry for the trouble,” says Ryder. “Won’t happen again.”
Courtney’s gaze flicks between Hawk and me, curiosity evident in her expression, but she doesn’t ask the obvious question. “I don’t know how long you’re here on the mountain, Paige, but you should come by for coffee sometime.”
“That would be lovely,” I say, grateful for the invitation.
We make our goodbyes quickly after that. Back in the truck, I watch the cabin disappear behind the trees. “They seem really nice. Just like that other neighbor of yours I met—Jordana, right?”
“Mm.” Hawk keeps his eyes on the narrow road.
“All the people I’ve met up here have been so friendly.” I turn toward him in my seat. “Would you ever consider spending time with them?”
“No.” His knuckles whiten on the steering wheel.
“Not even for coffee? They’re your neighbors.” I try for a lighter tone. “I’m not suggesting that you host a formal dinner party or anything.”
“I don’t need that.” His voice is firm but not unkind. After a moment, he adds, “But you’re welcome to be as friendly with them as you like.”
I nod, studying his profile. The man beside me chose to live alone on a mountain, carving beauty from wood in perfect solitude. Then he chose me. Do I accept him exactly as he is, or try to draw him out of his shell? The question settles heavy in my stomach.
The truck climbs higher, wheels crunching over fallen pine needles. I try to picture my life stretching out ahead of me—years of quiet days, no neighborhood barbecues, no children’s laughter echoing through the trees. Just me and Hawk and this vast silence around us. Maybe it would be okay, maybe I’d grow to love the solitude. But I’m just not sure.
I look over at Hawk again, taking in the strong lines of his face, the tension in his jaw. “Are you happy?”
Hawk takes a few beats to answer. “I’m happy with my work. With my life here.” But there’s something in his voice that sounds like he’s trying to convince us both.
“But you wanted more.” I keep my voice soft. “You wanted someone to share it with.”
The silence stretches so long I think he won’t answer. Then he says, “Yeah. It gets painfully lonely up here.” The words sound like they’re being pulled from somewhere deep inside him. “Especially at night. The quiet…it gets too heavy sometimes.”
My chest aches at the raw honesty in his voice. “I know what that’s like. I’ve felt a lot of loneliness even when there are people around.”
Hawk looks over at me, his eyebrows raised a little. Our eyes meet, and for the first time since I arrived, it feels like we’re actually seeing each other.
When we reach the cabin, I stand in the yard, taking in the towering trees, the worn path to the workshop, the man who could soon be my husband. Heat rises in my cheeks as I imagine him crossing this yard toward me, not to retreat to his workshop but to pull me into his arms. In my mind, his hands cup my face, thick fingers gentle against my skin. His lips find mine, and that carefully maintained distance between us disappears. I imagine him carrying me across the threshold of our bedroom, laying me down on sheets that smell like both of us, his body covering mine…
My face burns. Hawk is looking at me now, shifting his weight between me and his workshop.
“I should get back to work,” he says.
“Of course.” I try to keep the disappointment from my voice. It’s hard not to want everything at once—the intimacy, the connection, the comfort of really knowing each other. But relationships take time to build, especially with someone as reserved as Hawk.
I’m halfway to the cabin when he calls out. “Paige?”
I turn back. The way Hawk rubs the back of his neck, uncertain but trying—it makes my heart lift.
“Would you…” He clears his throat. “Do you want to see what I’m working on?”