Chapter 8 Kai
KAI
Three weeks ago, I'd been a man who lived for silence.
Now I couldn't imagine my life without the sound of Emory humming in the kitchen, her laughter drifting through the cabin, her voice calling my name when she wanted to show me something in one of her textbooks. Something she found fascinating. Something I pretended to understand.
I stood at the edge of the tree line, toolbox in hand, and watched her through the window.
She was curled up on my couch—our couch, now—with her laptop balanced on her knees and a highlighter tucked behind her ear.
Her hair was piled in that messy bun she always wore when she was studying, and she was chewing on her bottom lip the way she did when she was concentrating.
She looked up, like she sensed me watching. A smile broke across her face, bright and warm, and she waved.
My chest tightened the way it always did when she smiled at me. I didn't think that would ever stop. I hoped it wouldn't.
I crossed the yard and climbed the porch steps. By the time I reached the door, she was already there, pulling it open.
"You're back early," she said.
She rose on her toes to kiss me, and I dropped the toolbox so I could wrap my arms around her properly. She tasted like coffee and the cookies she'd baked this morning.
"Job finished faster than I expected." I pulled back just enough to look at her. "How's the studying?"
"Done for the day. I passed my last midterm." She grinned. "Aced it, actually. Ninety-four percent."
"That's my girl."
The words came out easy now. My girl. Because that's what she was. Mine, in every way that mattered.
Eunice's house-sitting arrangement had officially ended three days ago. Emory was supposed to go back to her apartment, her roommates, her old life. Instead, she'd called her landlord, helped find someone else to take over her lease, and made a trip back to get her belongings.
Most of those belongings were now scattered throughout my cabin.
Her laptop on the kitchen table, surrounded by textbooks and legal pads.
Her mug—the bright yellow one with the words Rise and Shine—sitting next to my plain black one by the coffeemaker.
Her yoga mat rolled up in the corner of the bedroom.
Her shampoo in my shower, her toothbrush next to mine, her clothes hanging in my closet.
A month ago, the thought of someone else's things in my space would have made me twitchy. Now I couldn't imagine the cabin without them. Without her.
"I was thinking," she said, following me inside, "we could make that pasta you like tonight. The one with the garlic bread."
"You just want an excuse to eat an entire loaf of garlic bread."
"You say that like it's a bad thing."
I laughed—something I did a lot more these days—and pulled her close. "Whatever you want."
We cooked together, moving around the small kitchen in an easy rhythm we'd developed over the past few weeks. She chopped vegetables while I browned the meat. I stirred the sauce while she buttered the bread. We bumped into each other constantly, and every time we did, one of us would steal a kiss.
This was what I'd been missing. Not just the physical intimacy, though that was incredible. But this—the ordinariness of it. The domesticity. Having someone to share a meal with, to laugh with, to build a life with.
I hadn't known how empty I was until she filled me up.
"Ma's going to be insufferable," Emory said as we sat down to eat. "When we tell her I'm staying."
"Ma's been insufferable since the first night I brought you to dinner."
"True." She twirled pasta around her fork. "But she'll be even worse now. She'll probably take credit for the whole thing."
We finished dinner and cleaned up, then headed into town. The evening was warm, spring finally settling in for good, as we drove down Main Street. The sun was sinking toward the mountains, painting everything gold and orange.
The Ridge Diner was busy for a weeknight. The usual crowd filled the booths—locals I'd come to recognize over the past three years, most of whom had watched my transformation from surly recluse to half of a couple.
Ma spotted us the second we walked in. "Well, well, well."
She abandoned the counter and made a beeline for us, arms already opening for a hug. Emory stepped into it easily. They'd become friends over the past few weeks—Emory stopping by the diner to study when she needed a change of scenery, Ma plying her with pie and gossip.
"Hi, Ma," Emory said.
"Don't you 'hi, Ma' me." Ma pulled back and fixed her with a knowing look. "I heard a rumor that Eunice's house-sitting is over and a certain young lady didn't go home."
"Rumors travel fast around here."
"Honey, rumors are the only thing that moves fast in this town." Ma turned her attention to me, her expression softening into something almost maternal. "You look happy, Kai Slater."
I felt my face warm. "I am."
"Good." She patted my cheek, then jabbed a finger at my chest. "Told you not to mess it up."
"Yes, ma'am."
She led us to our usual booth—the one in the corner, where I could sit with my back to the wall—and took our order without writing anything down. She already knew what we wanted. We'd become regulars, and in Iron Peak, that meant something.
After she left, Emory reached across the table and took my hand. "She really loves you, you know."
"Ma loves everyone."
"No, she doesn't. She tolerates most people. She loves you." She squeezed my fingers. "This whole town does. They've been watching out for you, even when you tried to push them away."
I thought about that. About the three years I'd spent here, keeping everyone at arm's length, convincing myself I was fine alone.
And about all the ways this town had refused to let me disappear—Ma showing up with food when I forgot to eat, the guys at the hardware store always finding odd jobs for me, the librarian setting aside books she thought I'd like.
I'd been so focused on my own guilt, my own isolation, that I hadn't seen what was right in front of me. A community that cared. People who wanted to help, if I'd only let them.
It had taken Emory to make me see it. To make me see a lot of things.
"I was an idiot," I said.
"You were hurting." She smiled. "There's a difference."
Our food came, and we ate while the diner buzzed around us. People stopped by our table to say hello, including Rosie from the garage, June from the library, and Sheriff Lawson, who tipped his hat and said something about it being nice to see me out and about.
By the time we finished and paid the check, the sun had fully set and the streetlights had flickered on. We walked home slowly, neither of us in a hurry, enjoying the cool evening air and the canopy of stars overhead.
When we got back to the cabin, Emory headed for the porch. "Come sit with me."
I grabbed two beers from the fridge and joined her on the swing I'd installed last week.
She mentioned offhandedly that she'd always wanted a porch swing, and the next day I'd driven to the hardware store and bought one.
The look on her face when she'd come home to find it had been worth every penny.
She curled into my side, her head on my shoulder, and we swung gently in the darkness. The mountains were black shapes against the star-scattered sky, and somewhere in the distance, an owl called.
"I checked into it and there’s no reason I can’t finish my law degree here,” she said. "So I guess you're stuck with me for at least another two years."
"Just two years?"
"Well, after that, I'll have to find a job.
Take the bar exam. Figure out what kind of law I actually want to practice.
" She paused. "But I was thinking…maybe I could do that here too.
Iron Peak doesn't have a lawyer. People have to drive all the way to the city for basic legal stuff.
Maybe there's something I could build here. "
I turned to look at her fully. "You've thought about this."
"I've thought about a lot of things." She set down her beer and shifted so she was facing me, legs tucked under her. "I know this is fast, Kai. I know we've only known each other a few weeks. But I've never been more sure of anything. I want to build a life here. With you."
I cupped her face in my hands. This woman—this incredible, stubborn, beautiful woman—had walked into my life and refused to let me push her away. She'd seen the worst of me and stayed anyway. She'd chosen me, broken pieces and all.
I didn't have the words to tell her what that meant to me. So I told her the only way I knew how.
"I'm going to marry you."
Her eyes widened. "What?"
"I'm not asking. Not yet." I stroked my thumb across her cheekbone.
"I know it's too soon. I know you need to finish school, figure out your career, all of that.
But I want you to know—this isn't temporary for me.
This isn't a trial run. I'm going to marry you, Emory Morgan.
When you're ready. When the time is right. I'm going to make you my wife."
She stared at me for a long moment, her eyes glistening in the starlight. Then she laughed—that bright, joyful sound that had become my favorite thing in the world.
"Is that a promise?" she asked.
"It's a fact."
She grabbed the front of my shirt and pulled me into a kiss. It was soft and sweet and tasted like forever.
"I'll hold you to it," she whispered against my lips.
"I'm counting on it."
We stayed on the porch swing long after the stars came out, talking about nothing and everything—her plans for law school, my ideas for expanding the cabin, the garden she wanted to plant in the spring.
Small dreams and big ones, woven together into a future neither of us had expected but both of us wanted.
At some point, she fell asleep against my shoulder, her breath warm on my neck. I held her close and watched the sky, thinking about how different my life was now than it had been a month ago.
I'd come to Iron Peak to disappear. To punish myself with solitude and silence. To make sure I never got close enough to anyone to hurt them again.
Instead, I'd found her. And for the first time in three years, I wasn't running from my past. I was looking forward to my future.
Our future.
I pressed a kiss to her hair and let my eyes drift closed. This was exactly where I was supposed to be.