Chapter 3
EMORY
The knock on the door made me jump hard enough to send my highlighter skittering off the table.
I blinked at my laptop screen, trying to remember what day it was. Tuesday? Wednesday? The days had blurred together into an endless loop of contract law, property rights, and case studies that all sounded the same after a while.
Another knock. Louder.
I pushed to my feet too quickly, and the room tilted. When had I last eaten? Breakfast, maybe. I had a vague memory of a granola bar around nine that morning.
A glance at my phone told me it was almost six in the evening. Nine hours. I’d been studying for nine hours straight without food. No wonder I felt awful.
I shuffled to the door and opened it to find Kai standing on the porch, looking annoyingly put together in jeans and a flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up. His dark eyes swept over me, and something flickered in his expression—concern, maybe. Or amusement. With him, it was hard to tell.
“You look terrible,” he said.
“Thanks. That’s exactly what every girl wants to hear.”
“When did you last eat?”
I opened my mouth to answer, then closed it. The fact that I had to think about it probably told him everything he wanted to know.
“That’s what I thought.” He nodded toward his truck in the driveway. “I’m going into town for dinner. Come with me.”
It wasn’t a question. It wasn’t even really an invitation. It was more like an order, delivered in that low, steady voice that had become familiar over the past few days.
Kai had kept his promise. He’d shown up the day after the generator incident, and the day after that, and the day after that.
Sometimes he had an excuse—checking the water heater, making sure the porch railing was secure, hauling in firewood I hadn’t asked for.
Sometimes he just appeared on my doorstep without explanation.
I’d learned not to question it. I’d also learned to keep a pot of coffee ready, because he always said yes when I offered.
“I should study,” I said, though even to my own ears it sounded weak.
“You should eat.” His gaze drifted past me to the chaos of my study station—textbooks stacked in uneven towers, legal pads filled with increasingly messy notes, empty coffee mugs I kept forgetting to wash. “You’ve been at it all day. Take a break.”
“How do you know I’ve been at it all day?”
He didn’t answer. But I knew.
He’d been checking on me—not in a creepy way.
More like he couldn’t help himself. Sometimes I’d catch him on his porch or through his window, his attention angled toward my cabin like he was making sure everything was fine.
When I stepped out for fresh air, I’d wave.
He never waved back, but he never looked away either.
I should have found it unsettling. Instead, I found it comforting.
“Give me five minutes,” I said. “I need to change.”
“You’re fine.”
I glanced down at myself. Leggings. An oversized T-shirt. Hair in a bun that had surrendered hours ago. No makeup. Definitely coffee breath.
“I’m really not. Five minutes. I promise.”
I didn’t wait for an argument. I left the door open and rushed to the bathroom, brushing my teeth at record speed and splashing cold water on my face. I pulled the elastic from my hair, ran a brush through it until it fell in loose waves, and decided that was good enough.
In the bedroom, I swapped my worn T-shirt for a soft sweater that actually fit. Still casual, but at least I no longer looked feral.
I grabbed my jacket and returned to the door. Kai was still on the porch, patient and unreadable.
“Better,” I said, slightly out of breath.
His eyes swept over me—hair down, clean sweater, less frazzled. Something flickered in his gaze and vanished.
“You were fine before,” he said, but the way he looked at me suggested this was a serious improvement.
Two minutes later, I climbed into his truck. The inside was surprisingly clean—no fast-food wrappers, no clutter. Just neat and spare, like he didn’t let things accumulate.
The drive into town took ten minutes. Iron Peak was small. It had one main street, a handful of side roads, and mountains rising on all sides like quiet sentinels. I’d driven through once, but I hadn’t explored. Studying had taken over everything.
“This is it,” Kai said, parking in front of a low building with a red tin roof and a flickering neon sign that read EATS. “The Ridge Diner. Best food in town.”
“Is it also the only food in town?”
“Pretty much.”
I smiled. He didn’t, but the corner of his mouth twitched. I was learning his near-expressions. A twitch meant amusement. A clenched jaw meant frustration. A long exhale through his nose meant he was thinking carefully about something.
As he opened my door, his hand hovered near my back—never touching, but close enough that I felt his warmth.
Protective. That was the word that always came to mind around him.
He positioned himself between me and anything that might be a problem, even if that problem was just a curb or an uneven step.
He watched doorways. He kept his back to walls.
Something had shaped him that way. Something he wouldn’t talk about.
The diner smelled like bacon, coffee, and maple syrup. A long counter lined one wall, booths the other. Most were already full, and when we walked in, every head turned.
Every single one of them stared at Kai. No—at Kai with me.
“Well, well, well.” A woman emerged from behind the counter, wiping her hands on her apron. She was plump and rosy-cheeked, with silver-streaked red hair in a messy bun and reading glasses on a chain around her neck. “Kai Slater, as I live and breathe. And with a lady friend.”
“Ma,” Kai said. Just one word, carrying unmistakable warning.
She ignored it and turned her sharp, curious gaze on me. “I’m Marla Keegan, but everyone calls me Ma. And you are?”
“Emory Morgan. I’m house-sitting for Eunice.”
“Eunice’s place.” Ma nodded slowly, glancing at Kai and back at me. “So you’re neighbors.”
“That’s right.”
“Neighbors having dinner together.”
“Ma,” Kai said, firmer now. “Can we get a table?”
She smiled like she’d already won and led us to a booth in the corner. Kai slid in first, back to the wall, facing the door. I sat across from him.
She set down menus but lingered. “The usual for you, sweetheart? And what’ll you have to drink?”
“Coffee,” I said.
“Coming right up.” She patted Kai’s shoulder. “It’s good to see you out.”
She left before he could respond. He stared at the table like it had personally offended him.
“She seems nice,” I said.
“She’s nosy.”
“Those aren’t mutually exclusive.”
He looked up, and something softened—just barely. “She’s been trying to set me up for three years,” he said. “This isn’t helping.”
“Sorry.”
“It’s not your fault,” he rushed to say.
Ma returned with coffee and took our orders, winking at me. We both ordered burgers. She moved along to the next booth, where she launched into a conversation that left no doubt that anyone who walked through those doors was her friend.
While we waited, I got him talking about Iron Peak. The town. The trails. The hot springs. The old mine ruins locals swore were haunted.
“Some people don’t come back,” he said, voice heavy. “Search and rescue does what they can.”
“Have you ever done it?”
“Helped out? No. I’m not trained for that.”
“What are you trained for?”
The question slipped out. His jaw tightened. Then the food arrived, breaking the moment.
The burger was incredible. Simple and filling and exactly what I needed. Kai watched me eat with undisguised approval.
“Better?” he asked.
“So much better.”
“You need to take care of yourself.”
“I know. I just forget.”
“I noticed.”
Heat spread through me at the way he said it.
“Is that why you showed up tonight?” I asked. “To make sure I ate?”
He didn’t answer right away. He took a bite, chewed, swallowed.
“Partly.”
“What’s the other part?”
His gaze met mine. Steady. Unyielding.
“I wanted to see you.”
The words hit me square in the chest.
Ma appeared with a slice of pie and two forks. “On the house for the cutest couple I’ve seen all year.”
“We’re not—” I started, but she was already gone.
“Don’t bother,” Kai said. “She’s decided.”
“What has she decided?”
“That I finally found someone who can put up with me.”
I laughed. “Is that hard?”
“Most don’t try for long.”
There was something underneath that made my chest ache. I wanted to reach for him—but didn’t. Instead, I took a bite of pie. Huckleberry. Sweet and sharp.
“Well,” I said, “I’m not most people.”
He watched me for a long moment. Then the smallest curve touched his mouth. Not quite a smile, but close.
The drive home was quiet but easy. He walked me to the door, the porch light spilling warm yellow over us.
“Thanks for dinner,” I said. “For making sure I didn’t starve.”
“Thanks for coming.”
We stood too close. His hand lifted, hesitated, then brushed my jaw—so light I almost missed it. Then he dropped it.
“Lock up,” he said roughly, already turning away.
Inside, I leaned against the door, my pulse pounding. He’d almost kissed me.
I lay in bed later, replaying every moment—the way he’d watched me eat, the way he’d said he wanted to see me, the ghost of his touch lingering on my skin. I pressed my fingers to my jaw.
I was in trouble.
And I didn’t care.