Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
Holt
Ilet her feet fall from my hands and ease them from my lap. The stew’s been simmering long enough, and I need a minute.
I move through the kitchen, gathering bowls and slicing thick wedges of the bread I pulled from the freezer earlier. The actions help center me and give me the space I need to think about what she just told me.
She’s leaving. Traveling. Going to go looking for herself.
Hell, she doesn’t need to look for anything. She’s right here. Amazing and perfect.
With me.
Not that I’ll tell her that. Not if what she wants is to see the world and look for whatever she thinks is missing from her life.
She’s young and still figuring out who she is. I won’t be the man who stands in the doorway of her life, blocking it, just because it feels good to have her here.
I blow out a breath and start dishing out the stew.
“Do you really think that?”
Her question stops me, ladle in hand.
“Think what?”
I look over my shoulder to see her watching me. She’s pulled her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around them.
“That I should go?”
Is it a test? Does she feel this connection between us, too? She must. Still, I won’t be the man who stops her from chasing her dreams.
“Yes,” I lie easily. “I think life is too short not to live it.”
“Is that what you’re doing?” she asks. “Living it?”
I suck in a breath, exhaling slowly with a chuckle before I finish dishing out the stew. “I lived a lifetime before you were even born.”
She frowns at the reminder of our age difference, her brow furrowing as I cross the room and hand her a bowl of stew.
“Careful,” I say. “It’s hot.”
Before I sit, I top up our wine. Something tells me this is going to be a conversation that requires more alcohol.
“You didn’t answer me,” she says when I’m settled.
“I did.” I lift the spoon to my mouth and blow before taking a bite.
“Not really.” She shakes her head. She won’t be put off so easily. “You said you’ve lived a lifetime,” she repeats. “But that doesn’t mean you should stop living now.”
Damn.
“What makes you think I have?”
She examines me as she feeds herself a bite of the rich stew, her eyes never leaving mine. After a moment, she says, “You’re hiding up here on the mountain.”
It’s not a question. More like an accusation.
The thing is, she’s not wrong.
“I’m not hiding.” I huff out a breath. “Believe it or not, this is living these days. I spent most of my life doing the things that felt important at the time. I went to places most people don’t even want to go. You talked about seeing things through different eyes?”
She nods.
“I did that,” I continue. “Probably more than I should have. I saw more than I ever wanted to. Made decisions I didn’t want to make. Did things I didn’t want to do because it was what I had to do.”
Her spoon stills halfway to her mouth.
“I watched people I care about die. And those that came back with me, I watched them die in a thousand different ways,” I continue, keeping my voice even.
My time in the service isn’t something I like to talk about.
Hell, it’s not something I do talk about.
Ever. But somehow, now that the words have started, they won’t stop.
“When I got back, I saw things differently,” I tell her.
“Everything that felt normal suddenly didn’t.
People looked at me differently. Not that I could blame them.
I was different. And trying to fit into the mold society said I should squeeze into no longer felt important.
So, you might not think so, but this,” I wave one hand around to encompass my humble cabin, “this really is living, Tessa. On my own terms.”
She’s quiet for a moment before she puts her spoon down and sets her bowl on the coffee table. “Do you like being alone?”
Her question takes me off guard after everything I just shared with her, but I nod. “I like knowing I’m not going to hurt anyone.”
Her expression softens, but she doesn’t try to argue with me or tell me I’m wrong like most people do. Instead, she shifts closer, her knee brushing mine.
It’s only the slightest touch, but I feel it everywhere. She has a way of calming me without even trying.
“What makes you think you would?” she asks quietly after a moment. “Hurt someone, I mean.”
I stare at the fire for a long moment before answering.
“Because it’s different now,” I say finally.
“I don’t always react the way I should. Loud noises and fast movements.
Crowds.” I shake my head. “It’s not as bad as it used to be, but when I first came back…
” I let the thought drift off. It’s not something I like to talk about.
I’m not proud of those days. “It’s better for me on the mountain. Quieter. I can hear myself think here.”
She nods like she knows what I’m talking about. Instead of pulling back, like almost everyone else does, she leans in.
“For what it’s worth,” she says softly, “you make me feel safe.”
Her words surprise me. Even after…
“Don’t look so surprised,” she says with a laugh before I can let myself go down that road of thinking. “It’s true. In fact, I’ve never felt quite so…” She waves her hand a little, trying to come up with the word. “Taken care of,” she says, settling on the phrase. “I don’t know how to explain it.”
I swallow.
“You don’t see what’s underneath.” I’m not sure who I’m trying to convince with that, because the thing is, more than anyone else, ever, Tessa might just be the only one who actually does see me.
She tilts her head slightly. “Maybe it’s you who doesn’t see.”
It takes me a moment to find a response to that.
“I’m not hiding here,” I say. “That was never the plan. The boys and I, we bought this land…before.” My voice catches a bit on that word.
Before. It feels like a lifetime ago when we were young and full of hope and dreams and had no idea how the things we would see and experience would change us.
“The plan was when we got out of the service, we’d settle out here with our families and build a little life.
” My lips twitch at how idealistic we were once.
“I don’t think I need to tell you that it didn’t quite work out that way. ”
“I guess not.”
I chuckle a little. “Turns out that for most of us, the mountain became our salvation anyway. It just looks different than we thought it would.”
She nods and reaches for me, taking my big, rough hand between her little, soft ones.
“What is this place for you?”
I answer without hesitation. “I can be myself here. Here I can think and work with the wood. I don’t need to pretend.”
“Are you pretending now?”
“No.” It’s an easy answer. “Not with you.”
We sit like that for a moment, just looking at each other, before she says, “For what it’s worth, I don’t think you’re broken. Maybe you just don’t like it when people see the real you.”
A corner of my mouth lifts. “You make it sound simple.”
“It doesn’t have to be so hard, Holt.”
I let that sit with me. Maybe she’s right.
After a few minutes, the conversation shifts, and we move into safer topics while we finish our dinner.
She asks about the shop, and I tell her about my furniture.
The first table I made and how far I’ve come with my skills since.
I tell her that I’ve sold a few pieces locally and in nearby Rock Creek, but I’d like to figure out a way to expand my reach.
She listens like what I’m saying matters. When our bowls are empty, I set them aside and lean back on the couch, stretching my arm along the back until she cuddles into my chest like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
“I like having you here,” I admit, surprising myself.
She looks up at me in surprise.
“I do,” I tell her with a laugh. “This place feels different with you in it. Better.”
It’s the closest I’ll come to saying what I’m really thinking—that, despite a million reasons not to, I’m starting to feel things for her, things that make me want to hold on tight and never let go.
But it’s the truth. And for now, it’s enough.