11. Acacia
ACACIA
T he kitchen is filled with the warm, earthy scent of toasted oats and the sharp, sweet tang of maple.
I stand at the butcher-block island Bennett installed for me, my hands dusted in flour and my heart feeling fuller than it ever has.
I’m currently obsessing over the consistency of a brown sugar icing, whisking it until it’s thick enough to cling to the ridges of the maple oat scones cooling on the wire rack.
Things are moving so fast, blindingly fast, even. But I’m not breathless from the pace; I’m energized by it.
I look out the window at the jagged, snow-capped peaks of the Colorado mountains.
It’s been a little over a month since I skidded off that road, but the girl who lived in a sad, beige apartment and fetched coffee for ungrateful executives feels like a stranger from a book I read a long time ago.
All of this, the house, the upcoming bakery lease, the sense of belonging…
is thanks to Bennett. He didn't just save my life, he gave me the foundation to build the one I actually wanted.
Hollow Peak has become my forever home in record time. I’ve started working a few shifts at the Switchback Cafe while planning out my own business. Mae has been so helpful in giving me insights to how she runs her shop. Between Mia and Mae, us three ladies have already formed a bond.
There’s a charm here that you can't manufacture. It’s in the way June Vega always waves when I drive by in my newly reinforced and safety-certified vehicle.
It’s in the quiet, supportive nods I get from the regulars at the Timberline Tavern.
Even the air here feels different - thin, crisp, and honest.
My phone vibrates on the counter, jolting me out of my reverie. The caller ID shows a name I haven't seen in a while: Annika.
Annika was my cubicle neighbor when I first started at the marketing firm years ago.
She was the one who broke the cycle first, leaving to open a boutique floral shop.
At the time, I was so jealous of her courage, though I always respected the hell out of her.
Now, I’m just excited to share that I finally caught up to her.
"Annika! It’s been ages," I say, tucking the phone between my ear and shoulder as I drizzle the first scone.
"Acacia! I saw your cryptic 'moving' post before you deleted your socials. Where are you? Are you okay?"
I spend the next ten minutes gushing. I tell her about the move, the beauty of the Switchback Cafe, and my dream of the bakery finally becoming a reality. I tell her about Bennett, the beastly mountain man who turned out to be the most devoted, loving person I’ve ever met.
"Oh my God, Cace," Annika laughs, her voice bright. "That sounds like a literal fairy tale. I’m so happy for you. You deserve every bit of?—"
She stops abruptly. I hear a sharp gasp on the other end, followed by a heavy, oppressive silence.
"Annika? You still there?"
Suddenly, a loud, echoing crack rips through the line. It’s sharp and metallic, the unmistakable sound of a gunshot.
"Annika! What was that?" My heart hammers against my ribs, the whisk slipping from my hand and clattering onto the floor.
"I... I’m okay," Annika’s voice is a terrified whisper, shaky and thin. "I think... I think it came from the alley behind the shop."
"Call the police, Annika. Right now. Get under a table and call 911."
"I don't know if I should," she stammers, her breathing coming in jagged bursts. "I saw... oh crap. Acacia, I have to go."
"Annika, wait?—"
The line goes dead.
I stare at the phone, my breath hitching. I hit redial immediately, but it goes straight to voicemail. “Hi, you’ve reached Annika...” I hang up and try again. Voicemail. Panic begins to claw at my throat, the peace of my kitchen shattered in an instant.
A few seconds later, my screen lights up with a text message.
Annika: I’m safe, Cace, I promise. But I saw something. I need to lay low for a while. Don’t call me. I’ll call you when I can. Please don’t worry.
How can I not worry? At least she used her nickname for me, Cace. She’s the only one who calls me that, so I’m sure it was her texting. Still…
The vibrant world I’ve built here feels suddenly fragile, a reminder that the world outside this valley can still be a dangerous, unpredictable place.
The heavy thud of boots on the porch breaks my spiral. The front door opens, and a familiar wall of cedar-scented heat enters the house. Bennett is home .
He stops in the kitchen doorway, his gaze immediately finding mine. He’s still in his work gear, his massive frame dwarfing the entrance, but his eyes soften the moment they land on me. He inhales deeply, a slow smile spreading across his face.
"Maple and oats," he says, his voice like velvet over gravel. He walks over, his presence instantly grounding me. "You’re brilliant, little bird. And you look beautiful with that smudge of flour on your cheek."
I try to smile, but my hands are still trembling. He notices instantly. His brow furrows, that protective intensity returning to his blue eyes as he reaches out to cup my face.
"What’s wrong? You’re pale."
"I... I just had a weird call with a friend," I say, leaning into his touch. "She’s okay, I think. She just had a scare at her shop."
Bennett’s jaw sets, his thumb grazing my cheekbone. "If you need me to go find her, I will. If you need her here, we’ll bring her here."
The sheer certainty in his voice makes the panic recede. He doesn't ask for details or logic, he just offers protection. That’s who he is.
"She said she needs to lay low," I whisper. "I have to trust her for now."
He nods slowly, though I can see his methodical brain already cataloging the threat. To distract us both, he looks down at the cooling scones. He reaches out and picks one up, taking a large bite. A bit of the brown sugar icing clings to his bottom lip.
"This," he says through a mouthful of pastry, "is the best thing I’ve ever tasted. Our customers aren't going to know what hit them."
I laugh, the sound finally feeling real again. "You have icing on your lip, big guy."
"Do I?" He looks at me with a dark, hungry heat in his eyes. "You should probably do something about that."
I don’t need to be told twice. I reach up, threading my fingers through the thick, soft hair at the nape of his neck, and pull him down until his forehead rests against mine.
I start by kissing the lingering maple icing off his lips, but the moment our skin meets, the air in the kitchen seems to thicken.
The kiss quickly deepens, shifting from a playful taste to something passionate and all-consuming.
He groans low in his throat, a primal, vibrating sound that I feel in my own chest. Bennett’s massive hands slide from my waist to my back, pulling me so close against him that I can feel every hard line of his body.
His touch is a contradiction, both crushing and incredibly careful, as if he’s trying to memorize the very architecture of my soul.
It’s a kiss that tastes of sweet maple and fierce, unwavering devotion. Being in his arms makes me feel a profound sense of safety that I’ve never known before, an absolute acceptance that washes away every doubt I’ve ever had about myself.
With the solid weight of him against me and his scent of cedar and spice filling my senses, I feel invincible.
The outside world could be falling apart, but within the circle of his arms, I feel like I could do anything, conquer any fear, build any dream, knowing he is standing right there next to me, my mountain and my home.
"I love you," I murmur against his mouth.
"I love you more," he counters, the softness of his whisper in contrast to the sharp look in his endless blue eyes. "This,” he whispers against the shell of my ear. “ This is our reality now, Acacia. This is our forever. We’ve built our safe space, and we get to share it with others. I think that’s beautiful.”
As he lifts me onto the counter, clearing a space among the scones, I realize he’s right. The world might be chaotic, but in this cottage, in this town, I have everything I could ever want. I have my mountain man, and he has his bird. And we aren't going anywhere.