Chapter 14
The smell of coffee and eggs greets me as I pad barefoot into the lodge’s kitchen, wearing nothing but Luke’s flannel shirt from last night. The morning light streaming through the windows is that perfect golden autumn color, painting everything in warm honey tones.
Luke is already up, standing at the stove with his back to me, wearing only a pair of jeans that hang low on his hips. The sight of his bare shoulders and the way his muscles shift as he moves makes heat pool low in my belly, even after last night’s thorough... exploration.
“Morning,” I say, my voice still husky with sleep.
He turns, and his smile is devastating—soft and intimate and completely satisfied. “Morning, beautiful. Coffee’s ready.”
I accept the mug he hands me, inhaling the rich aroma. “What are you making?”
“Attempting scrambled eggs. Emphasis on attempting.” He gestures at the pan with mock helplessness. “Apparently my culinary skills are even worse than I remembered.”
I peek over his shoulder at the eggs, which look more like yellow rubber than breakfast. “Move over before you poison us both.”
“Hey,” he protests, but steps aside willingly. “I was doing fine.”
“If by fine you mean creating a biohazard.” I bump him with my hip, taking over the pan. “Hand me some butter. And maybe crack a few more eggs that aren’t completely overcooked.”
Luke moves around the kitchen with easy familiarity, gathering ingredients while I salvage what I can of breakfast. The domestic routine feels natural, comfortable, like we’ve been doing this for years instead of just one night.
“You know,” I say, whisking the new eggs with unnecessary force, “we’re supposed to be getting to know each other again. Taking things slow. Not jumping straight into bed every chance we get.”
Strong arms wrap around my waist from behind, pulling me back against his chest. His chin settles on my shoulder, his breath warm against my ear.
“We are getting to know each other,” he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to my neck that makes me shiver. “Just in a more intimate way.”
I elbow him in the ribs, but there’s no real force behind it. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”
His low chuckle vibrates through his chest and into my back. “I’m learning all sorts of new things about you. Like how you sound when you—”
“Luke!” I spin in his arms, my face flaming. “Stop it.”
But I’m laughing despite my embarrassment, and something warm unfurls in my chest as I look at his face. When’s the last time I felt this light? This... happy?
The realization makes me blink. I’m happy. Genuinely, deeply happy in a way I haven’t been in years. Maybe since I left this place the first time.
“What?” Luke asks, his expression shifting to concern at whatever he sees on my face.
“Nothing,” I say quickly, turning back to the eggs. “Just... thinking.”
His arms tighten around me briefly before he lets me go, but I can feel his eyes on me as I finish cooking. The silence is comfortable, punctuated only by the sizzle of eggs and the distant sound of birds outside.
We eat at the small table by the window, the autumn morning spread out before us like a painting.
The trees surrounding the lodge are ablaze with color—deep reds and bright golds that seem to glow in the morning light.
A hawk circles lazily overhead, riding the thermal currents rising from the warming earth.
“So,” I say, cutting into my eggs, “I heard you’ve been fielding job offers for me.”
Luke pauses mid-bite, studying my face. “You heard about that?”
“Declan mentioned it yesterday. Said the mayor’s office and county executives have been calling.” I take a sip of coffee, watching his reaction. “Want to explain why you’re making decisions about my career?”
“I’m not making decisions,” he says firmly. “I’m buying you time to make your own decisions without being pressured by every politician in three counties.”
“What kind of offers are we talking about?”
Luke leans back in his chair, his expression serious.
“Emergency management coordinator for the county. IT systems consultant for the state. Two different private companies want to hire you to design disaster response networks.” He pauses.
“The mayor wants to create an entirely new position just for you—Director of Municipal Technology Infrastructure.”
I nearly choke on my coffee. “They want to create a job for me?”
“Hazel.” Luke’s voice is gentle but firm. “The entire county is scrambling to hire you. What you did during the storm—that wasn’t just impressive, it was revolutionary. You saved lives. Plural. Lives that would have been lost without your system.”
I shift uncomfortably in my chair, focusing on cutting my eggs into precise pieces. “It was just basic network architecture—”
“Stop.” He reaches across the table and takes my hand. “Stop downplaying what you accomplished. Be proud of it.”
“I don’t like being the center of attention,” I mutter, pulling my hand away to reach for my coffee mug. “All this fuss is embarrassing.”
“Then get used to it.” His voice is warm but determined. “Whatever your reasons were for leaving this town eight years ago, wherever you’ve been, whatever you’ve done—you’ve become someone incredible. Someone I’m in awe of.”
I roll my eyes, but heat creeps up my neck anyway. “You’re being dramatic.”
“I’m being honest.” He leans forward, his blue eyes intense. “I knew you were brilliant when we were kids. But seeing you work, seeing what you can build, what you can fix—you’re extraordinary, Hazel.”
“Stop,” I say, but I’m smiling despite myself. “You’re making me uncomfortable.”
“Someone should remind you how amazing you are.”
I focus on the golden leaves dancing outside the window, trying to ignore the warmth spreading through my chest at his words. It’s easier to deflect than to sit with the unfamiliar feeling of being genuinely appreciated.
“What are you going to do?” Luke asks quietly. “When the month is up?”
The question I’ve been avoiding. “I don’t know.”
“You could stay.”
I look back at him, surprised by the intensity in his voice.
“You could take one of those jobs. Move back here permanently.” His eyes are bright, hopeful. “We could stay here at the lodge, or back at my cabin, or you could get your own place—whatever you want. But you could stay.”
My heart hammers against my ribs. “Luke, we’ve barely started getting to know each other again. Things could change—”
“Not for me.” The words are quiet but absolute. “You’re it for me, Hazel. You always have been, you always will be. But if you need time to figure that out, I can wait.”
“I need time,” I whisper.
Something flickers in his eyes—disappointment, maybe, or hurt. But he nods, his thumb still stroking over my hand. “Then I’ll wait.”
The silence stretches between us, heavy with possibility and uncertainty. Outside, the hawk cries once before disappearing into the golden canopy.
“How long?” I ask finally.
“However long you need.” His smile is soft but tinged with sadness. “I’ve waited eight years, Hazel. I can wait a little longer.”
I squeeze his hand, wishing I could give him the answer he wants. Wishing I was brave enough to trust this feeling blooming in my chest, this hope that maybe—just maybe—coming home was exactly what I needed to do.
But eight years of careful self-protection don’t disappear overnight, no matter how many stars we lie under or how thoroughly he unravels me in his arms.
“Thank you,” I say instead. “For understanding. For being patient with me.”
“Always,” he says simply, bringing my hand to his lips to press a soft kiss to my knuckles. “Always, Hazel.”
* * *
We drive back to town in comfortable silence, my hand resting on Luke’s thigh as he navigates the winding mountain road. The autumn morning is crisp and clear, the kind of day that makes you want to bottle up the feeling and save it forever.
“I need to go home and change,” I say as we reach the edge of town. “Then I should check in with Mom and Dad before diving into festival prep.”
Luke pulls into my parents’ driveway and turns to face me. “What’s your plan for today?”
“Banner hanging, garland stringing, general festival chaos.” I lean over to kiss him softly. “I’ll call you later.”
I hurry upstairs to shower and change into work clothes—jeans, boots, and a flannel shirt that can handle whatever festival preparation throws at me. My hair goes up in a messy bun, and I grab a jacket since the autumn air still has a bite to it this early in the day.
The walk to Brennen’s Brew takes five minutes, and I use the time to mentally organize my day. Festival decorations first, then maybe dinner with the family if I’m not too exhausted. The thought of spending another night at Luke’s cabin makes warmth spread through my chest.
“Morning, sweetheart,” Dad calls from behind the espresso machine as I walk in. The coffee shop smells like cinnamon and fresh pastries, and the morning rush is in full swing. “Where were you last night? Your bed wasn’t slept in.”
Heat floods my cheeks as I focus on the display of muffins instead of meeting his eyes. “I stayed at Luke’s.”
Dad goes very still. Then he sets down his coffee cup and looks out the window toward the fire station. “I think I’ll go out for a bit. Just want to have a little chat with that boy.”
“Mom!” I call desperately.
“Tom Brennen, you will do no such thing,” Mom says firmly, appearing from the kitchen with flour dusting her apron. “She’s twenty-eight years old.”
“I don’t care if she’s fifty. She’s still my little girl.” Dad continues staring out the window like he’s planning a military operation. “And that boy needs to understand there are rules if he wants to date my daughter.”
“The only rule,” Mom says, moving to block his path to the door, “is that you mind your own business and let your adult daughter make her own decisions.”