Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
JARED
Iwake before dawn, as always. But for the first time in years, I'm not alone. Jennifer sleeps curled against me, her dark curls spread across my chest, one arm flung possessively across my torso. She breathes softly, her face peaceful in sleep.
For several minutes, I just watch her. The gentle rise and fall of her back. The way her eyelashes fan against her cheeks. The slight curve of her lips, as if she's smiling even in dreams.
Three years I've lived in this cabin, seeking solitude, avoiding connection. Now the bed I purchased for its perfect firmness holds this woman who has upended everything. My space. My routines. My carefully constructed walls.
And I wouldn't change a thing.
Careful not to wake her, I extract myself from her embrace. She mumbles something unintelligible and burrows into the warm spot I've vacated. I tuck the blankets around her and slip out of the room.
Outside, the world is hushed, fresh snow blanketing everything in pristine white.
The sun hasn't yet crested the mountains, but the pre-dawn glow paints the snow in subtle blues and purples.
Jennifer would appreciate the colors. Would probably grab her sketchbook and try to capture the exact shade of blue that only exists in these fleeting moments.
The thought makes me smile. I've smiled more in the past week than in the previous year.
My morning run takes me through familiar trails, but today I see them differently.
Notice details I've overlooked before. The way frost creates delicate patterns on pine needles.
How animal tracks tell stories of nocturnal journeys.
The perfect stillness that exists in these moments before the world fully wakes.
Jennifer is changing how I see everything. Opening my eyes to beauty I've stopped noticing.
When I return to the cabin, she's awake, wrapped in one of my flannel shirts and her leggings, clutching a mug of coffee at the kitchen counter.
"Morning, Mountain Man." Her voice is still husky with sleep. "Enjoy your crack of dawn exercise in the arctic tundra?"
"It's barely below freezing." I press a kiss to the top of her head, inhaling the scent of her shampoo. "Did you sleep well?"
"Mmm." She leans into me. "Your bed is criminally comfortable. Or maybe it's the company."
"Both." I pour myself coffee, amused at how she's already reorganized my kitchen to suit her preferences.
Coffee mugs now live on the counter instead of in the cabinet.
The fancy sugar she likes sits in an ornate jar rather than its original packaging.
Small changes that somehow make the space more inviting.
"Aunt Mildred arrives tomorrow," she says, scrolling through her phone. "Are we ready for hurricane nonagenarian?"
"The guest room is prepared. I've stocked her favorite tea and those shortbread cookies she likes."
"Such a thoughtful husband." She grins over her mug. "Think she'll buy our act?"
Our act. The words catch me off guard. What started as pretense has become something real, at least for me. The way Jennifer fits against me when we sleep. How her laughter fills spaces in my home I didn't know were empty. The easy intimacy we've developed in such a short time.
"Jared?" She touches my arm, concern in her eyes. "You okay?"
"Fine." I shake off the momentary disquiet. "Ridge is coming by later. To discuss our situation."
"Ah yes. My overprotective foster brother who now believes I secretly married his friend without telling him." She winces. "That should be fun."
"I'll handle it."
"We'll handle it," she corrects, a familiar exchange by now. "Together."
Together. Another word that carries more weight than it should. "Together," I agree.
After breakfast, Jennifer disappears into the office to handle client work. I retreat to the workshop attached to the garage, where I've been secretly working on a project for the past few days. A gift for Jennifer.
The small wooden box takes shape under my hands, cherry wood sanded to a silken finish. Inside, compartments perfectly sized for her various art supplies. On the lid, I've carved a mountain scene based on her painting. Not as good as her work, but recognizable.
I'm not sure when I'll give it to her. Or what it will mean when I do. It's not a casual gift. It says things I'm not sure I'm ready to articulate.
The sound of tires on gravel pulls me from my thoughts. Ridge's truck. I tuck the box under a cloth and head out to meet him.
Ridge Reeves has been my friend since high school. We worked Wildland Fire together for three years before I moved to hotshot crews. He looks more like a mountain man than I do, with his beard and flannel and perpetual smell of pine and woodsmoke. He's also fiercely protective of his foster sister.
"Calloway," he calls as he slams his truck door. "Care to explain why Mrs. Peterson congratulated me on becoming your brother-in-law?"
"Long story." I clasp his hand, pulling him into a brief one-armed hug. "Come inside."
"Where's Jen?" His eyes scan the property as if expecting her to pop out from behind a tree.
"Working. She'll join us later."
Inside, Ridge takes in the Christmas decorations with raised eyebrows. "Did your cabin throw up Christmas spirit? This doesn't look like your style."
"Jennifer's influence." I grab two beers from the fridge and hand him one. "She's been busy."
"So I see." He follows me to the living room, settling into an armchair while I take the couch. "Now explain why the whole town thinks you married my foster sister."
I lay out the situation. Aunt Mildred's terminal illness. Beverly's well-intentioned lie. The fake marriage scheme and the financial arrangement.
Ridge listens without interruption, sipping his beer, expression unreadable. When I finish, he studies me for a long moment.
"That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard," he finally says. "And I know exactly who came up with it. Jen and her wild ideas." He shakes his head. "Only my foster sister would agree to fake marry a hermit for Christmas."
"It seemed logical at the time."
"Nothing about this is logical." He leans forward. "But that's not the whole story, is it?"
I meet his gaze steadily. "What makes you say that?"
"Because I know you, Calloway. And I know Jen. The decorations. The way you said her name just now. Something's changed."
This is the moment. The crossroads. I could deny it, maintain the fiction that this is still just a business arrangement. But Ridge deserves honesty. And maybe I need to say it out loud to make it real.
"I have feelings for her," I admit. "Real feelings."
Ridge doesn't look surprised. "And Jen?"
"She feels something too. We're figuring it out."
"Figuring it out." He repeats my words with skepticism. "While pretending to be married to make your dying aunt happy. That's not complicated at all."
"Didn't say it was simple."
"Look." Ridge sets his beer down. "Jen's been through hell with that asshole ex of hers. Left her broke and doubting herself. I don't want to see her hurt again."
"I won't hurt her." The words come out fiercer than intended.
"Not intentionally." His eyes are knowing. "But you've spent three years avoiding connection for a reason, Jared. What happens when this ends? When your aunt leaves and you remember why you live alone on a mountain?"
The question hits uncomfortably close to my own doubts. "I don't know," I admit. "But I know I'm not ready to let her go."
Ridge studies me for a long moment. "I've never seen you like this. Not even with Sarah."
"It's different with Jennifer." I run a hand through my hair, frustrated by my inability to articulate what I feel. "She sees me. All of me. The scars. The isolation. The parts I keep hidden. And she stays anyway."
"You love her." It's not a question.
Do I? The realization hits with the force of absolute certainty. Yes. I love Jennifer Walsh. Her laughter. Her creativity. Her stubbornness. The way she pushes into my space and makes herself at home. The way she sees beauty in everything, including me.
"Yes," I say simply. "I do."
Ridge nods slowly. "Then you better figure out how to make this real. Because if you break her heart, best friend or not, I'll have to kill you."
"Understood."
The office door opens and Jennifer appears, hair piled messily on top of her head, glasses perched on her nose. She brightens when she sees Ridge.
"Big foster brother!" She launches herself at him as he stands. "When did you get here?"
"Just having a brotherly chat with your husband." Ridge hugs her tightly, shooting me a meaningful look over her head.
"Has he threatened to kill you yet?" she asks me.
"Just getting to that part," Ridge says.
Jennifer laughs. "Save the death threats for after the festival tonight. I need him alive to win me a stuffed animal at the ring toss."
"Festival?" Ridge looks between us.
"The Christmas festival in town," I explain. "We're making an appearance."
"You hate town events." Ridge's surprise is justified. I've avoided the annual Christmas festival for three years running.
"Things change." I meet Jennifer's eyes across the room, something warm passing between us.
"Clearly." Ridge looks between us again, understanding dawning. "Well, I'll be there too. Stella and Chellie are excited for the lights."
The mention of Ridge's girlfriend and her young daughter reminds me how much has changed since I last saw him. We're both finding our way toward something we never expected. Connection. Family.
Later, after Ridge leaves with promises to see us at the festival, Jennifer curls up beside me on the couch.
"So," she says, tracing patterns on my thigh. "What did my foster brother have to say about our situation?"
"He threatened bodily harm if I hurt you."
"Standard brother protocol." She rests her head on my shoulder. "What did you tell him?"
I consider the question carefully. "The truth. That what started as pretend has become something real."