Chapter Five
Birdy
I changed my outfit three times before settling on an ankle-length dress with brown suede boots and a jacket.
But now that I’m standing on Jude’s porch, I’m afraid I might’ve overdone it.
We’re not going to a fancy restaurant or anything—not that Timber Peak Valley has one of those.
He invited me for a casual dinner at his mountain home, so why did I decide to dress like I needed to impress someone?
I stare at the front door but don’t knock. I’m too nervous. I let my gaze sweep over the porch and spot the pair of enormous boots sitting beside the mat. Those were the boots Jude didn’t put on when he ran out of the cabin to save me yesterday.
Come on, Birdy, knock on the door!
I take a deep breath. It’s too late to turn back.
First, I don’t want to. I want to spend time with Jude.
And second, Nell is long gone by now. She gave me a ride, which was very kind of her, even if she did have an ulterior motive.
Specifically: Reid. He lives on this mountain too, only further up.
His cabin is so secluded that nobody’s entirely sure where it is.
I genuinely don’t know what her plan is, though.
Is she going to drive up a mountain road in the dark in the hopes of accidentally running into a man who actively avoids human contact?
Only when it dawns on me that I’ve been standing on this porch for five whole minutes and Jude might’ve seen me acting like a fool that entire time do I knock. The last thing I want is to come across as weird.
I practice what I want to say to him in my head, but as soon as the door opens, I forget what words even are.
He’s wearing a flannel vest, an ironed one by the looks of it, over a dark henley. His hair looks so good that I almost want to ask what hair products he uses, and the way he fills the doorframe is so breathtaking that it should be illegal.
“Hi,” he says, snapping me out of my trance.
“Um, hello,” I say and extend my hand.
What the hell? He shakes it, and there’s an almost-smile that barely makes it to his mouth but reaches his eyes just fine. I really need to pull myself together.
“Come in.”
I follow him inside. The cabin feels different now that I’m not bleeding or in shock. It’s bigger and cozier than I remember.
I let my gaze sweep over the room while I hang my coat on a hanger. I stop at the kitchen counter where a thin curl of smoke rises from the plate of a hot iron.
“Is your iron supposed to be smoking like that?” I ask.
He turns around, and his face falls. “Hell.”
He crosses the kitchen in two strides and yanks the plug from the wall.
“I borrowed this from a friend,” he says, running a hand through his beard. “Didn’t realize I hadn’t pulled it out. Fuck.”
“Well, no harm, no foul, am I right?” God, what a stupid thing to say. “Here, let’s open this bottle of wine. I bought it from Romy, the woman who runs Hillside Vista Vineyard.”
“Thanks. You didn’t have to do that.”
“I couldn’t show up empty-handed. You saved me from a bear, remember? The least I could do was bring a good bottle of wine. At least, I hope it’s good.”
“I’m sure it is.”
He opens the wine while I perch on a barstool at the kitchen counter. After pouring two glasses, he slides one over to me, then checks the stove.
“Is that salmon?” I ask.
“Yeah, the bear caught it for us as a peace offering,” he says.
I laugh. It feels nice to treat the whole bear threat as something funny. It’s the first time I’m feeling completely relaxed since it happened.
“Can I do anything?” I ask.
“No.”
“I could set the table.”
He motions toward a small table by the window. “It’s already set.”
Wow. He set two places with ceramic plates and put a candle in the middle.
I also spot real napkins, something I don’t even own myself.
I always stuff some paper ones from the diner into my pockets before going home.
Did he go out and buy these for us? I pick up my wine glass and take a sip to hide my smile.
“Take a seat,” he says, nodding toward the table.
I slide off the barstool and settle into one of the chairs while he fills our plates with salmon, roasted vegetables, and a wedge of lemon on the side. He sits down too, then gets back up to light the candle, which makes this dinner suddenly very intimate.
“This looks incredible,” I say.
“It’s just salmon.”
“Just salmon? More like perfection if you ask me.”
“You haven’t even tasted it yet.”
I grin. “There are real napkins on the table. I’m pretty sure the food will be of high quality too.”
“Yeah, I need to be honest with you, Birdy. When I went over to my neighbor, Micah, to borrow an iron, his wife, Lauren, shoved these napkins into my hands. She said they’d impress you, even though they’re basically fabric rectangles.”
I laugh. “Well, Lauren was right. I’m impressed.”
“Good. Now eat.”
I take a bite, and it’s amazing. The salmon is perfectly cooked, and the vegetables have that slightly caramelized sweetness that only happens when someone actually knows what they’re doing.
“Did you cook a lot in the military?” I ask.
“No. Learned after.” He cuts into his salmon. “Lots of time up here. Had to do something with it.”
“So you took cooking lessons?”
“Yeah, lots of good stuff on YouTube,” he says.
I smile. “Really? The man who chases bears off his property learned to cook from YouTube?”
He shrugs. “Of course.”
“You’re not what I expected, Jude.”
He looks up at that. “What did you expect?”
“Someone scarier,” I say. “You seemed very intimidating when you were looming over me while I was on the ground.”
“You were in shock. Everything seems intimidating when you’re in shock.”
“You’re still pretty intimidating. Just less than I thought. I mean, you’re sweet and all, but really big and tall and—”
I stop myself because I sound like a blabbering idiot.
“Good to know,” he says with a wink.
We fall into an easy rhythm after that. We spend the rest of dinner talking and refilling the wine, and I keep waiting for it to get awkward, for one of those silences that stretch too long and make you desperately search for something to say.
But it doesn’t happen. We talk about Timber Peak Valley, about the seasons up here, and about the way the mountain looks in winter when the snow comes in properly and everything goes completely quiet.
He asks about my family, and I tell him about my parents, three hundred miles away, who call every Sunday without fail and still treat me like I might need reminding to wear a coat.
“They sound like good people,” he says.
“They’re the best,” I say. “Embarrassing and wonderful in equal measure.”
“And you moved away anyway.”
“I needed to find my own thing.” I turn my wine glass slowly in my hands. “Still working on that part.”
“You’ve got time,” he says.
“I’m twenty-eight.”
“Birdy, you’ve got time.”
He says it like it’s not even up for debate.
“You know, the only time I feel like I’m actually on some sort of right track is when I’m talking about plants.
Nell calls me an encyclopedia. She asks me questions she already knows the answer to, I think, just to watch me go on a tangent about seedling care or growing cycles.
” I shake my head and smile. “I don’t know if that counts as a calling or just a party trick. ”
Jude is quiet for a moment. “What happens when you explain something to someone who doesn’t know it yet?”
“It’s like watching a light come on. Someone looks at a flower their whole life and sees decoration.
And then you tell them it’s a landing strip for a bee, that the whole plant engineered itself around that one relationship, and suddenly they’re looking at it completely differently. I love that moment.”
“Ever thought about teaching?”
I open my mouth to say no, obviously not. I’m a greenhouse worker who still can’t decide what she wants for dinner most nights. But the word doesn’t come. Instead, something shifts inside of me like a key turning in a lock I didn’t even know was there.
“No,” I say slowly. “But maybe I should. Thanks, Jude.”
“Hey, I just asked some questions. You did all the thinking and figuring out yourself, Birdy.”
I look at him across the candlelight and think about how easy this is.
That’s what keeps catching me off guard, over and over.
How easy it is to sit across from this strong man.
To talk to him, to laugh with him. Hell, to be completely myself without pretending I’m someone I’m not.
I’ve been on dates that felt like job interviews.
I’ve been in relationships that felt like homework.
And this… just feels as easy as breathing.
“Thank you for dinner,” I say after clearing my plate.
“Don’t thank me yet.” He stands. “Come outside. I want to show you something.”
I grab my jacket from the hook by the door and follow him out onto the porch. The first thing that hits me is how bright the stars are up here compared to the valley.
“Wow,” I say.
“I know, right?”
We stand there in silence for a while, our heads tipped back and looking up at the stars.
“That’s not all I wanted to show you,” he finally says.
He steps off the porch and I follow him around the side of the cabin, across the yard toward the fence line.
He pulls a torch from his jacket pocket and runs the beam slowly along the posts, the wire, and the gate latch.
All of it looks sturdy and well-maintained, but I don’t understand why he’s showing me this.
“Motion lights here and here,” he says, pointing to two mounted units on the cabin corners.
“Bear spray by the front door and the back. Bears are smart, but they’re also lazy.
They go where it’s easy, and this fence says it isn’t easy to get past.” He turns the torch off and looks at me.
“I know that you’re still scared from meeting that bear, but I promise you’re safe here, Birdy.
Nothing can get to you up here. Not while you’re with me. I need you to understand that.”
I tilt my head up at him. “Why? So I can enjoy dessert without looking over my shoulder?”
He’s quiet for a moment. Jude looks at me like I’m something he’s been waiting a long time to find, and I get goosebumps just thinking about how I want him too.
“I need you to feel safe here because I want you to stay,” he says. “Not just tonight.”
My jaw drops. He wants me to stay?
“I know it’s fast,” he quickly adds. “I know it doesn’t make sense. Believe me, I’ve been arguing with myself about it since the second I met you. You’ve been in my head constantly. I don’t know what to do with that except tell you and hope you feel the same way.”
My heart is so loud I’m almost surprised he can’t hear it.
“You’ve been in my head too, Jude. Since you scooped me off the ground and carried me inside like it was nothing.”
He reaches out and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, and his hand stays there, warm against my jaw, and I stop breathing entirely.
Then he kisses me without holding back anything. I go up on my toes and kiss him back with everything I have. His other arm comes around my waist and pulls me in close. I grab the front of his flannel vest with both hands because I need something to hold on to.
He kisses me like he’s thought about it for days. Like he has absolutely nowhere else to be and nothing else to do for the rest of his life except this.
I’ve been kissed before, but not like this, and I soak up every single nanosecond.
When we finally break apart, we’re both breathing hard.
“Stay,” he says.
I lean back just enough to look up at him. His eyes are dark and certain and waiting.
“Yes,” I say. “I’m staying, Jude.”