14. New Hope #2
To the left was a narrow kitchen. A wood cookstove glowed low with embers, and a metal kettle sat on top, steam curling from its spout.
On the counter beside it, a sink with an old-fashioned hand pump stood next to a faucet, a strange combination that made Addy pause.
When she stepped closer, she realized both were connected to a small system of pipes that ran down through the floor.
A faint hum came from somewhere beneath, and beside the stove stood a refrigerator, actually running.
She blinked, disbelief flashing across her face.
Jay caught her eye and smiled. “Everyone thought I was nuts for putting in the solar setup,” he said, gesturing toward the window. “Called it doomsday prepping. Now it keeps the fridge cold, water flowing, and that radio alive.” He tapped his temple. “Paranoia pays off sometimes.”
Addy ran her fingertips over the humming refrigerator, the impossible normalcy of it. “It’s… amazing.”
To the right was a small living room, cozy and surprisingly neat.
A worn couch sat facing a beautiful stone fireplace, its craftsmanship standing out against the rougher edges of the rest of the cabin.
The hearth was broad, the kind built to last generations, and the fire burning there cast a golden glow that softened everything.
Two mismatched armchairs sat nearby, a small table between them stacked with a few old paperbacks and a half-burned candle.
The large bookcase that had caught her eye when they arrived stood just to the left.
A staircase led up to a narrow loft, and a short hallway branched off the back wall with three doors, likely bedrooms and a bathroom.
Jay followed her gaze. “The left sides the guest room. You two can crash there tonight.” His tone was even, casual, but the look he gave Sawyer wasn’t. There was a quiet curiosity in it, a measure of the situation.
Sawyer’s arm came around Addy’s shoulders almost instinctively, pulling her back into his chest in a protective, unmistakably possessive way. It wasn’t overtly aggressive, but the message was clear.
Jay caught it, held his hands up slightly, a knowing half-smile crossing his face. “Fair enough,” he said simply.
Addy sensed the tension ease from Sawyer’s grip as quickly as it had appeared. Still, his arm stayed where it was.
Jay continued, motioning toward the back of the cabin. “You’ll find some clean towels in the bathroom. If you want to take a real shower, we can heat up some water from the tank; it’ll be hot within the hour.”
Addy’s eyes widened. “A hot shower?”
Jay chuckled. “Solar heater and propane backup. Took me forever to rig it right, but it works. Not fancy, but better than freezing.”
Sawyer’s expression softened, the edge of suspicion giving way to cautious approval. “You’ve done good work here,” he said.
Jay shrugged modestly. “Comes from years of fixing outboards and wiring lights for fishermen who didn’t want to pay for real help. You learn a thing or two about keeping the lights on.”
Addy smiled faintly, her eyes sweeping over the cabin again. “It’s… kind of perfect.”
Jay nodded. “Perfect’s generous. But it’s safe. That’s what matters.”
Sawyer said nothing, but his gaze followed Jay as the man walked toward the back door, checking the locks with practiced movements. Safe, sure. But Sawyer knew better than to take safety at face value.
As Addy took a seat near the fire, letting the warmth seep into her bones, Sawyer stood by the window, watching the snow swirl faintly against the glass. His hand rested lightly on the butt of his rifle.
Jay might be trustworthy.
But trust, Sawyer reminded himself, had to be earned.
* * *
They moved into the small room Jay had pointed out, the one at the end of the short hallway.
It was neat but worn, with a narrow bed covered in a patchwork quilt of faded blues and greens that looked handmade decades ago.
A pine dresser stood against the wall, its surface scarred with water rings and knife marks.
The single window, cloudy at the edges with age, looked out over the frozen expanse of the lake, now a slate-gray mirror under the darkening sky.
The faint orange glow from the fireplace in the main room flickered through the doorway, casting elongated shadows across the uneven floorboards.
Addy dropped her pack beside the bed, the canvas thudding softly against the wood, and began peeling off her gloves.
Her fingers emerged red and stiff, and she flexed them painfully, watching the white marks appear and fade across her knuckles.
Sawyer shut the door quietly behind them, the latch catching with a dull click.
His expression tightened, jaw muscles bunching beneath stubbled skin.
“Hand me the handgun,” he whispered, his voice barely audible over the creak of the wind against the walls and the soft groan of the cabin settling into the cold night.
Addy blinked, her chapped lips parting. “What? Why?”
“Better safe than sorry,” he murmured, taking it from her. The metal gleamed dully in the dim light before disappearing under his shirt, the barrel snug against the small of his back. “We don’t really know this guy. Not yet.”
Addy frowned, lowering her voice. “He’s been good to us, Sawyer.”
“I know,” he said softly, brushing her arm. “But that’s exactly when people get careless. I won’t let anything happen to you. You matter too much to me, and while this looks good…” His eyes flicked toward the closed door. “Sometimes things that look good are too good to be true.”
Her chest tightened at his words, the sincerity in his tone wrapping around her like a blanket. She nodded, whispering, “Okay.”
He pressed a quick kiss to her temple, just a brush, quick and grounding, before straightening and opening the door. “Come on,” he said quietly. “Let’s not draw attention.”
When they stepped back into the main room, the smell hit her first: rich, earthy, unmistakable. Coffee.
Jay stood at the small counter, pouring steaming liquid into three mismatched mugs. The scent filled the space, warm and intoxicating.
“Thought this might hit the spot,” he said over his shoulder. “Haven’t had company in a while, and I’ve got enough to share.”
Addy’s eyes widened as she approached. “You really do have coffee.”
Jay grinned, passing her a mug. “Sure do. Started stockpiling supplies when things started getting weird — right before the news went dark. Folks were too busy panic-buying toilet paper to think about the good stuff.” He nodded toward a shelf lined with jars, cans, and bags.
He handed her a tin of sugar, and Addy nearly gasped. “You have sugar too?”
“Had some,” Jay said with a smirk. “Might’ve robbed the grocery’s baking aisle blind while I was at it. Seems like my paranoia finally came in handy.”
She laughed softly, the sound catching both men off guard. “You’re my new favorite person.”
Jay tipped his mug toward her. “That’s the caffeine talking, but I’ll take it.”
Sawyer stood a few feet back, leaning against the wall. He accepted a cup when Jay offered it but didn’t drink right away. He studied Jay instead: the easy posture, the calm smile. The man looked like someone who’d accepted the end of the world and found a way to live with it.
Jay caught the look and chuckled quietly. “Relax, soldier. If I wanted to hurt you, I wouldn’t waste my coffee on you.”
Sawyer’s eyebrow lifted, but his lips twitched into something almost like a smile. “You clocked me that easily?”
Jay shrugged. “The stance. The haircut that still wants to be regulation. The way you scanned every window before you sat down.”
Addy sipped her coffee, hiding her grin behind the rim of the mug. “He’s got you pegged.”
Sawyer exhaled through his nose, amused despite himself. “Maybe so.” He took a sip, the heat biting his tongue. “This is… good.”
“Best thing left in the world, if you ask me,” Jay said.
The three of them sat for a while, the silence companionable, the snow whispering softly outside the windows.
Sawyer didn’t relax completely. But as he watched Addy smiling into her mug, warmth spreading across her face, a thought settled deep in his chest.
* * *
Jay moved easily around the small kitchen, the air soon filling with the smells of cooking, something Addy hadn’t realized she’d missed so much it hurt.
It wasn’t anything fancy, just a pot of stew simmering on the stove, thick with potatoes, canned beef, and carrots he’d somehow managed to keep from spoiling.
Still, to Addy, it smelled like comfort itself.
“Got a good stock pile going,” Jay said, stirring the pot. He lifted the lid and leaned back as a puff of steam escaped, fragrant and rich. “Canned stock, dried herbs, and a few odds and ends I had tucked away. Not bad for the end of the world.”
Addy smiled faintly, watching him ladle portions into three chipped bowls. “You’re full of surprises, Jay.”
He handed her one with a spoon already in it. “You stick around long enough, you’ll see I’m mostly just practical.”
They gathered around the table, Addy and Sawyer sitting side by side, Jay across from them. The fire crackled softly, the light catching the faint smile on Addy’s face as she took her first bite.
“Oh my god,” she mumbled through a mouthful. “That’s… so good.”
Jay laughed quietly. “It’s edible. That’s all I aim for these days.”
Sawyer took a slow bite, his gaze thoughtful. “It’s good,” he admitted. “You cook like a man who planned to be on his own for a while.”
Jay’s smile faded at the edges, his eyes growing distant.
“I cleaned out my savings account back in June. Three shopping carts at the warehouse store. The clerk laughed, asking if I was planning for doomsday.” He traced a finger along a crack in the wooden table.
“Every night on the news, they kept saying ‘contained’ and ‘isolated cases’ while the hospital parking lots filled up. By the time the dead outnumbered the living, I already had this place stocked to the rafters.”