Chapter 5
TRACE
I’d been taking my frustration out on a huge pile of logs behind my cabin when the sound of tires on gravel made me pause mid-swing. Through the trees, I could see Sabrina's truck winding up my drive, moving slower than usual, like she was having second thoughts about paying an unexpected visit.
I set the axe against the chopping block and wiped my hands on my jeans. She hadn’t been to my place since things went sideways between us. The fact that she was here now, when we'd been sidestepping each other all week, made my pulse kick up.
Her truck door slammed, but she didn't immediately head toward the porch. Instead, she stood there for a long beat, staring at the cabin in the early evening light like she was seeing it for the first time. Or maybe like she was trying to memorize it.
“So, were you just in the neighborhood?” I called out.
Her head swung my way in surprise, then she walked toward me and held up a folder. "Marla sent me over with the final setup plans. She had to rush off to handle some crisis with the linen supplier, but she wanted to make sure we went over the timeline together tonight."
The way she said it, like she was reciting lines Marla had fed her, made something tight in my chest loosen just a fraction. “Is everything okay?"
"Yeah, it's just—” She let out a soft laugh. "You know Marla. She's got us running around like it’s last-minute when we’re still three weeks away. She said something about needing someone to double-check the measurements for the arch placement too. Mimi changed her mind about the arbor and wants it to look more like a pergola now.”
I studied her face… the way the porch light caught the gold flecks in her eyes and the slight pink flush on her cheeks from the cold. She looked tired, but there was something else there. Something softer than the way she’d been brushing me off all week.
"Come inside," I said. "We can spread everything out on the table."
She followed me up the porch steps and through the front door. The cabin felt different with her in it again. She'd helped me pick out half the furniture when I first moved in and had spent countless evenings curled up on the couch with a book while I worked on projects at the kitchen table.
Now she stood near the door, hesitant but not resisting. Like maybe she was starting to remember that she used to fit in here.
I grabbed two bottles of beer from the fridge and handed her one. Our fingers brushed when she took it, and I felt that familiar jolt of awareness that never seemed to fade, no matter how much distance we put between us.
"So what's Marla worried about now?" I asked, trying to keep things light.
She opened the folder and spread several papers across my kitchen table. "She's concerned about the wind coming off the mountain. Mimi is requesting a gentle breeze but doesn’t want the greenery or flowers to get blown off the pergola.”
“Does she actually think we have any control over Mother Nature?” I teased.
Sabrina rolled her eyes. “She might. I wish I could tell her to take a hike, but your Aunt Marla would never forgive me.” She leaned over the table and pointed at a hand-drawn diagram. “If we set up a few decorative panels along the edge of the property, it could minimize the effect of the wind.”
“You should suggest bringing in a couple dozen thirty-foot pines instead. Don’t you think a natural barrier would be better?” I was joking and she knew it.
“Don’t tempt me. If I thought I could pull that off without some excavator leaving marks all over the lawn I might suggest it.” She glanced back at the drawing. “We also need to make sure we take the photographer into account. Mimi said he has to be able to shoot the ceremony at the right angles."
I moved next to her, close enough to see the papers but still far enough to maintain a little distance.
Except when she shifted to point to another section, her shoulder brushed against my arm, and I caught the scent of her shampoo.
The smell of coconut reminded me of summer afternoons when we’d go swimming at the lake.
I took a deep inhale and remembered how seeing her in that pink and black bikini used to drive me wild.
"This looks pretty straightforward," I said, trying to focus on the diagrams instead of how much I wanted to brush her hair out of the way when she bent over my table.
"Does it?" She looked up at me, and suddenly we were much closer than I'd realized. Close enough that I could see the faint freckles across her nose that only showed when she'd been in the sun. "Because Marla made it sound like rocket science when she was explaining it to me."
Her laugh was genuine this time, not the careful, polite version I’d been hearing all week. It made something warm unfurl in my chest.
“My aunt has always been dramatic," I said. "Remember when she thought the haunted hayride needed a little something extra and she hired Harvey Gates to show up with a chainsaw?”
"And the horses freaked out and bolted?” Sabrina's smile was real now, unguarded. “We’re lucky they headed straight back to the barn, and no one got hurt.”
“Some things never change,” I said.
We stood there for a moment, the old familiarity settling between us like a comfortable blanket. But then she seemed to catch herself, and some of the warmth faded from her smile.
"We should probably—" She gestured toward the papers.
"Yeah." But I didn't move away, and neither did she.
She turned back to the table, her hand resting on the edge as she studied the timeline. I couldn’t look away from where her fingers drummed against the wood. It was a nervous habit she'd had since we were kids.
"You still do that," I said without thinking.
"Do what?"
“Tap your fingers. When you're thinking."
She looked down at her hand and immediately stopped while a flush inched up her neck. "Some things never change," she echoed, but her tone was soft and quiet.
The silence stretched between us, not uncomfortable but charged with something I couldn't quite name. She was close enough that if I shifted slightly, if I reached out, I could touch her hand. See if her skin was as soft as I remembered.
Instead, I cleared my throat and focused on the papers. "So the pergola goes here," I said, pointing to the diagram. "And we need to do something about the wind.”
She leaned closer to look at what I was pointing to, and her arm brushed mine again. This time she didn't immediately pull away. "I think Marla’s just nervous. This is a big deal for the inn."
"And for you." I glanced at her sideways. "Having to deal with me for a whole week."
Something flickered across her face, surprise, maybe, or something deeper. "It hasn't been that bad."
Her admission was so quiet I almost missed it. When I looked at her, really looked, I saw something in her expression that reminded me of how she used to look at me before everything got complicated. Before that night changed everything.
"Hasn't it?" I asked, my voice a little rougher than normal.
She met my gaze, and for just a second the careful walls she'd built around herself seemed to shimmer. Like they might be coming down.
"No," she said, barely above a whisper. "It hasn't been bad at all."
I started to lean closer, drawn by something I'd been fighting all week, when her phone buzzed on the table.
She jumped back, her hand flying to the phone. "It's Marla," she said, not meeting my eyes.
The spell between us broke, but something had shifted. That careful distance we'd maintained all week felt thinner somehow, like ice starting to crack. I was ready for it, too. I’d spent the past three years feeling like a part of me was missing, and I’d give anything to make things right.
Sabrina answered the phone, her voice bright and professional. "Hi, Marla. Yeah, we're going over everything now." A pause. "Uh-huh. Okay. I'll make sure he knows."
When she hung up, she gathered the papers and avoided my gaze. "She wants to confirm that you can be there by seven tomorrow morning to work on the pergola.”
"That's fine." Her hands shook a little as she tried to fold the diagram. "Sabrina."
“Yes?” She finally looked at me again, and I saw that same flicker. I hoped with all my heart it was a good sign.
"This… working together. It's been good. Better than I expected."
Her smile was small but real. "Yeah. It has been."
She finished packing up the papers and headed for the door, but she moved slower than necessary, like maybe she didn't want to leave.
"I should probably get going," she said, but she lingered on the threshold.
"Drive safe and keep an eye out for deer.”
"I will." She paused, her hand on the door handle. "Trace?"
"Yeah?"
For a moment, it looked like she might say something important. Something that might crack open the careful politeness we'd wrapped around ourselves. But then she just shook her head.
"Never mind. I'll see you tomorrow."
After she left, I stood in the kitchen for a long time, staring at the two bottles of beer on the counter.
She’d barely had any of hers. I drained mine then picked up hers and carried it over to the couch.
The cabin felt emptier without her, but not in the hollow way it usually did.
This felt more like the quiet after a storm, when the air is clean and full of possibility.
Maybe we couldn't go back to what we'd been. But for the first time in years, I was starting to think we might be able to find something new.
Something worth taking a chance on, even if it was just one baby step at a time.