Chapter Six
Grant
Apeace agreement, shaken on, like adults. Acknowledgment that we were on opposite sides of something but didn’t want to fight all weekend.
Good.
Great.
Awesome.
Perfect.
This is exactly how this should be going.
Being civil was the thing to do. Which doesn’t explain why I had held her so long when I’d gotten my hands on her hips.
Why I had used my favorite spice on the steak even though I was almost out because I thought she would like it.
Why I had listened to her talk about her life before she came here and really cared about her answers.
Hell, I had even revealed a few things about myself when normally I’d have said nothing.
After she had gone into Walt’s room and clicked the door shut behind her, I got ready for bed on autopilot. Sliding between the cool sheets didn’t give me the usual calming feeling tonight. I lay on my back staring at the ceiling before turning onto my side.
Tuck shifted beside me, letting out a low huff.
“Don’t start,” I muttered.
He thumped his tail once and settled again.
Peace or not, this was bad.
She fit.
As much as I hated to admit it, she fit here.
Here in Iron Peak, here in this cabin, maybe even here with me.
My stomach lurched at the idea. There was no way to win in this situation.
Not if I kept going like this. If the cabin was hers, I was starting over.
If it were mine, I’d have to go back to trying to be on my own.
Losing Walt had been hard. Losing her would be too, but only if I got too close.
It was only one weekend. How hard could it be to keep my distance?
By the time I stopped my thoughts from spiraling, Tuck was snoring softly beside me, and I doubted I’d get a wink of sleep.
I dozed on and off until the sun came up and by then I was restless, tired, and pissed off.
I had spent my adult life alone, I had let one man in and my heart was paying the consequences.
Why the hell would I put myself through that again?
I went to the bathroom to splash cold water on my face, noticing her toothbrush on the counter along with a dozen bottles and jars.
My jaw clenched. She was taking over before the place was even hers.
Worse, they looked like they belonged, as much as she did.
A feminine touch in a place that needed it. Life in a place that was sadly lacking.
I got dressed — wouldn’t want to be caught drinking coffee half naked again — and clicked on the machine.
As the coffee pot hissed and spat, I looked around the place that had been my home for the last year.
It was the same but different. There were parts that were still Walt: his books, his favorite chair.
There were parts that were mine. My boots, my coat, my favorite coffee mug.
But now there was her too. An overly fluffy blanket on the corner of the couch in an obnoxious shade of robin’s egg blue.
The lingering scent of her shampoo, somehow smelling like oranges and cookies and her.
I was being pushed out of my own life. I could fight like hell to keep it. I had been fighting my entire life. Or, I could just let her have it. She was important to Walt, and I was used to being alone. Or I had been.
I heard Kara’s door open and then the bathroom door shut. The sound of the old pipes coming to life echoed through the kitchen. Suddenly I couldn’t stand the idea of facing her. I poured coffee into a travel mug, shoved my feet into my boots and went out the front door with Tuck at my side.
The morning air hit me like a slap; sharp and clean, and exactly what I needed. Tuck trotted ahead of me, down the narrow trail, nose to the ground as if the world hadn’t fundamentally shifted overnight. I envied him that.
The forest was waking up. Birds calling, branches creaking, the distant rush of water somewhere down the slope. Normally, this was my favorite part of the day. The part where everything made sense. Today, my thoughts kept circling back to a woman in my cabin.
“This is temporary,” I told Tuck, even though he hadn’t asked. He flicked an ear but kept walking, clearly not convinced.
We walked farther than usual, my stride long and punishing, like I could outpace the mess in my head.
I told myself I was angry because she was here, because she might take the cabin, because she disrupted my routine.
I didn’t tell myself the other thing: that some selfish, traitorous part of me didn’t want her to leave at all.
By the time we turned back, the edge had worn off my anger, leaving something worse behind. Resignation.
When the cabin came into view, quiet and unchanged from the outside, I slowed. I let Tuck off the leash, and he bounded ahead, tail high. I followed more cautiously, bracing myself for the swirl of feelings to start all over again.
I needed a shower, and the rest of my coffee. Then I needed life to start making sense again.