CHAPTER 17
JONATHAN
I’d just finished tightening the last bolt on a latch for cabin four’s door when my phone buzzed in my back pocket.
That gave me maybe fifteen minutes, twenty if she hit the gravel slow, which she probably would.
I set the wrench down and ran a hand through my hair, wiping the sweat off my brow with the back of my arm.
I’d already showered, trimmed my stubble, and swapped the flannel and work boots for a dark button-down shirt and clean jeans.
May had raised a brow when I’d passed her earlier, her head tilting slightly, as if she could hear the difference in my stride. She didn’t say anything, just handed me a sprig of mountain balm and grinned like she knew something was up.
I didn’t know if my efforts were going to be anything Blanche liked, but I knew I wanted her to feel welcome, wanted her to know she mattered. That this wasn’t some obligation I felt toward her because of June. It was something else now. Something more personal.
She’d said yes.
That still hadn’t fully settled in. After everything…
after the things I’d said, after how she’d looked at me in that café, uncertain if she could trust me—I hadn’t been sure she’d ever come back.
I’d told myself I was okay with that, that I’d done the right thing by apologizing, by showing up in her world instead of hiding in mine.
But when her message had come through, something in me had eased.
A tight knot releasing. And then I’d gotten excited.
And now she was on her way.
When I stepped out of the cabin, I noticed the sky had already started to fade, twilight brushing the edges of the woods in violet and blue. The trees stood tall and still, the forest hushed in that sacred way it always was when the light changed. Crickets were chirping in lazy overlapping waves.
I crossed the path down to the reception cabin and stood just outside, arms folded.
From here, I could see the gravel loop that led up from the road in.
Past that, the edge of the woods and beyond it…
the signal dead zone. No one would reach her after that last text.
I wanted to be the first thing she saw when she arrived.
It wasn’t long before I heard the crunch of tires. Her car rolled into view, headlights cutting soft paths through the trees before she pulled up and parked. She stepped out slowly, blinking up at the woods like they still caught her breath. And maybe they did.
She looked different.
Not in any drastic way, just fresher. Like the trip back had done something to her. Her eyes were clearer. Her shoulders sat a little looser. There was a flush to her cheeks that hadn’t been there before.
When her eyes met mine, they widened, just a bit…
but it was enough to freeze my heart. I’d seen her before, of course.
But now I was really taking her in and taking my time with it.
I took in her details…the shape of her mouth, the way her hair caught light, the way she carried herself trying not to take up space.
And gods help me, I felt it.
There was a sharpness to her, like her full beauty had come into focus. Bright eyes that made me forget what I’d been doing seconds before. She looked softer than before, her dangling hair loose around her face, her maroon coat catching the dusk light just right.
This isn’t smart, I knew. Inviting her into my life when I had a mountain of problems already.
But I couldn’t find it in me to care at that moment.
My gaze traced the slope of her neck, the way her lips parted like she was about to speak but hadn’t yet decided what to say.
Desire stirred. I pushed it down, not out of disinterest but caution.
“Wow,” she said. “You clean up.”
I raised a brow. “Bad?”
She laughed—a softer, looser sound than I’d expected. “No. Just…different from the way I met you. You look very nice.”
“Thanks,” I said, stepping forward to take her bags. “You do too.”
We fell into step quietly, the trail winding ahead of us.
I guided her past her old cabin—the one she’d stayed in before—without comment and almost didn’t notice when she slowed beside me.
Her eyes had flicked to the left, toward another cabin farther down the path.
A smaller structure, freshly painted, tucked back just enough to feel private.
Blanche stopped walking altogether when her gaze landed on the little wooden placard staked in front of the kitchen window.
Carved into it was a silhouette of a woman standing against a painted forest, the trees done in black walnut, her hair and dress in deep crimson, a soft white moon rising behind her.
Mushrooms ringed the bottom edge like a storybook border.
She stared at it.
Then blinked.
“This isn’t where I stayed before,” she said slowly.
“Nope,” I answered. “This one’s newer. Thought it might suit you more.”
Her head tilted as she took it in. “I don’t remember this cabin.”
“That’s because it didn’t look like this last time you were here. I repainted it.”
“Right…it was blue, wasn’t it?”
“Good memory,” I said, pushing the door open.
She lingered on the threshold a moment before stepping inside, eyes sweeping the space slowly.
The interior was warm and inviting. Walnut floors, maroon accent walls, and soft golden lamplight casting a cozy glow across the room. But it wasn’t just the lighting or the fresh paint that held her still.
Vintage prints of Everwick’s annual Summerlight and Moonshade Berry Festivals hung over the dresser…
the kind sold at roadside stands and ferry stalls, their edges curled and sun faded with time.
On the table, a basket was waiting. Inside were two still-warm fig-and-cream scones from Dahlia’s Oven, the bakery off Seaside Row that always sold out by noon.
Beside them sat a bag of her favorite coffee blend: Lighthouse Bloom, the seasonal roast from Mist & Ember Café.
Only made in summer, brewed with Everwick sea salt and toasted coastal blood-orange peel.
It came in small batches, sold only in-store—and people lined up for hours to get one. She blinked at it like it was a mirage.
Her eyes caught on a patchwork quilt folded neatly at the end of the bed, stitched with shades of coral, cream, and lavender. “My grandmother made one like that,” she murmured. “Mine had…little foxes.”
I said nothing. Just waited.
Not a moment later, she gasped softly. On the chair by one of the windows sat a gently worn, leather-bound book with gilded edges.
She approached it slowly, fingers brushing over the cover before she opened it.
“Oh my gods,” she whispered. “Wings of Ember.” Her voice caught just slightly on the name. “This was my favorite story. Grandma used to read it to me all the time,” she said softly, almost to herself. “When I moved to Graymore…my copy got lost. But it was just a battered old paperback.”
“This one’s nicer. Special edition,” I said, eyeing the leather bound book. “Figured you might like an upgrade.”
She traced the insert page, her fingers moving over the artwork: a girl silhouetted against a burning sky, standing on a crag with her dragon circling above, its wings trailing cinders.
She looked back at me, wide-eyed. “This must’ve cost a fortune. Jonathan, where did you…?”
“Cliff over at Tales & Tomes nearly got conned into a twenty-thousand-dollar roof replacement when all they had was a cracked shingle. I fixed it in under an hour. So, we made a trade.” I gestured toward the book.
“I don’t understand,” she said softly. “How could you have known all of this? The posters? The coffee? The book…”
I kept my voice even. “June kept you close, even when you were far. I think she left some clues behind for me and some things for you.”
Blanche blinked fast, as if she wasn’t sure whether to cry or smile.
“I didn’t want to guess at what you'd like,” I added. “So, I tried to remember what you loved.” I nodded toward the door. “Did you catch the sign out front?”
“I did,” she said slowly, a bit unsure. “Red’s Cabin?”
“The scarf, the car…” I let my voice trail off…then she got it and began to blush. “…the cheeks.”
She turned to me, one brow raised. “You named a cabin after me?”
I held up a hand in mock defense. “May’s idea. But I painted the walls and handled the finer touches.”
She shook her head, smiling as she looked around again. “That’s a lot of effort. Did you actually make that sign?”
“Courtesy of too many hours in the wood shop.”
“I don’t know what to say…”
“Say you like it,” I teased. “Or I’ll have done all of it for nothing.”
“I love it!” she replied, stepping toward me without thinking, then caught herself, stopping just short of a hug. There was something soft in her eyes—gratitude, unguarded and real.
I set her bag down by the foot of the bed, then turned back to her. “Come on,” I said. “There’s something else.”
I gently closed the door behind us and led her back to the reception cabin.
Warm golden light spilled through the windows—May’s doing—and a faint crackle from the fireplace pulsed within. As we stepped inside, a wave of warmth met us, laced with the scent of something savory and slow-cooked, waiting.
On the table, set for two with antique plates and linen napkins folded with care, was a meal May and I had prepared together earlier.
Fresh-baked sourdough still warm in its basket, a tomato-basil tart with a flaky golden crust, grilled squash with rosemary and lavender salt, and oysters on ice, today’s catch from the coast off Vellamara, including oysters.
I’d driven into town to pick them up myself.
Blanchette looked over the table, eyes like an owl’s. She took her seat and commented, “May makes a beautiful meal.”
“Actually,” I said, rubbing the back of my neck as I slid into the opposite chair, “I chose the menu and May helped prep.”
She glanced at me, one brow lifting. “I see. So, I’m having dinner with the chef.” A small smile curved her lips. “Lucky me.”
“Would you like to start with the…” I began to ask.
“Vellamara oysters!” she announced, lifting one carefully.