Chapter 3
KROSS
The cabin looked different with her in it.
I’d walked through this space a thousand times without really seeing it.
Now, watching Sydney take it in, I noticed every flaw—the scuff marks on the hardwood, the way the kitchen cabinets didn’t quite line up, the general emptiness of a place where a man had lived alone for six years without bothering to make it feel like a home…
“It’s not much,” I said, setting her suitcase down by the door. “Living room’s here, obviously. Kitchen’s through there. Bathroom’s down the hall, bedroom’s at the end.”
She didn’t seem to be listening. She drifted toward the fireplace, her fingers trailing along the wooden mantel I’d carved during my first winter here. Back when I’d needed something to do with my hands to keep from going crazy.
“Did you make this?” she asked, tracing the pattern of interlocking leaves I’d spent weeks perfecting.
“Yeah. Needed a project.”
She turned to look at me, and her smile tightened something in my chest. “It’s beautiful. The whole place is beautiful.”
“It’s sparse.”
“It’s peaceful.” She ran her hand along the mantel again, almost reverently. “There’s a difference.”
I didn’t know what to say to that, so I did what I always did when I felt off-balance. I offered food.
“You hungry? I was going to make dinner. Nothing fancy—just pasta and some garlic bread.”
“That sounds perfect.”
She followed me into the kitchen and settled into one of the chairs at my small wooden table. The chair looked different with her in it. Better. Like it had been waiting for her this whole time.
I pulled out the ingredients—ground beef, jarred marinara, a box of spaghetti, a loaf of bread I’d picked up yesterday—and got to work. Sydney watched me move around the space, her chin propped in her hand, asking questions.
“Where did you learn to cook?”
“My mom.” I dumped the beef into a hot skillet, breaking it apart with a wooden spoon. “She worked a lot when I was growing up. Double shifts, sometimes back-to-back. But when she was home, she’d teach me things. Said a man who couldn’t feed himself was only half a man.”
“She sounds smart.”
“She was.” The meat sizzled and popped, filling the kitchen with a familiar smell. “Toughest woman I ever knew. Raised me on her own. Never complained about it. Not once.”
“How long ago did she pass?”
“Seven years. Cancer.” I added the sauce, stirring it into the meat. “I moved here about a year after. Couldn’t stand being in the same town anymore. Too many memories.”
Sydney was quiet for a moment. Then, “Six years is a long time to live alone.”
“I guess it is.”
“Do you get lonely?”
The question caught me off guard. I watched the pasta water as it started to bubble. “I used to think I preferred it this way. Quiet. No one to answer to. Just me and the mountain.”
“Used to?”
I glanced over at her, wooden spoon in hand. She watched me with those warm, patient eyes—like she actually wanted the answer instead of just filling the silence.
“There’s a guy who lives down the road from me.
Keaton Sutter.” I turned back to the stove, adding the spaghetti to the boiling water.
“He got matched up through Mountain Mates a while back. I used to see him around town—quiet, kept to himself, kind of like me. Then his bride showed up, and everything changed.”
“Changed how?”
“He’s happy.” The word felt strange in my mouth, too small for everything I meant.
“I’d drive past their place and see them on the porch together, or working in the garden, or just…
being. And I realized what I had wasn’t peace.
It was emptiness. I’d been so busy avoiding getting hurt that I forgot to actually live. ”
The kitchen went quiet except for the bubbling water and the soft sizzle of sauce. When I looked at Sydney again, she was smiling at me in a way that made me feel seen. Understood. It should’ve made me uncomfortable. Instead, it made me want to tell her everything.
“So you called Bobbi,” she said.
“So I called Bobbi.”
“I’m glad you did.”
I drained the pasta, plated it with extra sauce the way I liked it, and set a plate in front of her along with a basket of garlic bread and a simple salad I’d thrown together. She took a bite and made a sound of appreciation that went straight to my gut.
“This is really good.”
“It’s just pasta.”
“It’s perfect pasta.”
We ate together, the conversation flowing easier than I’d expected.
She told me about the town she’d grown up in—small, insular, the kind of place where everyone knew everyone else’s business and had opinions about all of it.
I told her about the jobs I’d worked before landing in Wildwood Valley, the apartments I’d lived in, the restlessness that had followed me everywhere until I found this mountain.
She laughed at my dry observations about small-town politics. I couldn’t stop staring at her smile.
After dinner, I washed the dishes while she dried, then we moved to the couch in front of the fireplace. Close, but not quite touching. The sun had set while we ate, and the cabin had gone dark except for the lamp in the corner and the soft glow from the kitchen.
“Can I tell you something?” Sydney asked, tucking her legs underneath her.
“Anything.”
She was quiet for a moment, gathering her thoughts. When she spoke, her voice was softer than before.
“My parents weren’t just strict. They were controlling.
Every decision I made had to go through them first—what I wore, who I talked to, what classes I took, what job I worked.
They had this whole life planned out for me.
Marry someone from our church, have babies, stay close to home, never want anything more than what they decided I deserved. ”
I stayed quiet, letting her talk.
“If I pushed back, even a little, they’d make me feel like the worst daughter in the world.
Guilt trips, silent treatment, tears. My mother once didn’t speak to me for two weeks because I got a haircut without asking her first.” She laughed, but there was no humor in it.
“I spent my whole life trying to be small enough to fit inside their box. And it was never enough. I was never enough.”
“Sydney.”
“Leaving was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.” She met my eyes, and the pain there was still raw despite her steady voice. “But it was also the best. For the first time in my life, I’m making my own choices. Even if they’re wrong. Even if I fall flat on my face. At least they’re mine.”
I reached over and brushed a strand of hair from her face before I could think better of it. Her breath caught, her eyes widening, and I let my fingers linger against her cheek.
“You’re brave,” I said. “You know that?”
She looked at me like I’d said something impossible. Like no one had ever told her that before.
“I don’t feel brave.”
“Brave people usually don’t.”
She leaned into my touch, just slightly, and the air between us changed—thickened. I was suddenly very aware of how close we were sitting, how soft her skin felt under my fingers, how her lips had parted just enough that I could see the edge of her teeth.
“Kross.” Her voice was barely above a whisper. “There’s something I should tell you.”
“Okay.”
“I’ve never…” She trailed off, her cheeks flushing. “I’ve never done this before. Any of this. My parents kept me so isolated, I never even had a real boyfriend. I’m twenty-three years old, and I’ve never been with anyone.”
Something primal surged through me—protective and possessive and hungry all at once. She was trusting me with this. With herself. The weight of it settled into my bones like an anchor.
“Thank you for telling me,” I said, keeping my voice steady even as my heart hammered. “We don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for. We can take this as slow as you need.”
“What if I don’t want slow?”
The words landed hard. I searched her face for hesitation, for doubt. All I found was certainty.
“Can I kiss you?” I asked.
She nodded.
I leaned in slowly, giving her time to change her mind. She didn’t. My lips brushed hers—gentle at first, testing. She tasted like garlic bread and something sweeter underneath, and when she made a soft sound against my mouth, I was done for.
I deepened the kiss, one hand sliding into her hair, the other gripping her waist to pull her closer. She melted into me, fingers curling into the front of my shirt, and I felt the last of my restraint start to crumble.
When we finally broke apart, we were both breathing hard. Her lips were swollen, her eyes dark, her cheeks flushed. The most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.
“We don’t have to do anything else tonight,” I managed, even though every cell in my body argued otherwise. “We can wait. Whatever you need.”
She shook her head, her grip on my shirt tightening. “I don’t want to wait. I’ve been waiting my whole life.”
That was all I needed to hear.
I stood and lifted her into my arms in one smooth motion. She gasped, then laughed, her arms wrapping around my neck as I carried her down the hall toward the bedroom. Her weight was nothing. Her warmth was everything.
We were done waiting.