Chapter Thirteen – Meryl
Meryl pressed her fingers to her lips. She could still remember the feel of his mouth on hers. Still remember the warmth of him.
Still wished she had asked him to stay.
No, that would only have made things more complicated.
And the kiss hasn’t? the voice in her head asked.
Shush, she told the voice firmly as she went back to cleaning the parts Spencer had stripped out of the range cooker.
Instead of thinking about kisses, she should be thinking about Pine Cottage.
Today had been a good day. The electrician had signed off on the electrics, so no more candles, cooler, and juggling charging her phone in her car.
This good news had led her to another decision.
Since she hadn’t had to use the portion of her budget she’d set aside for the electrics, she’d finally given Spencer the go-ahead to order the new beam for the porch.
Spencer had headed over to the hardware store to order the new beam before they closed, and to pick up replacement parts for the range cooker. He reckoned he might have it up and running tomorrow.
Yes. That’s what she should be focusing on. Not the kiss.
But what a kiss!
Her cheeks flushed pink at the thought. And then flushed deeper as she heard Spencer’s truck pull up outside. She put her hands to her cheeks, but she needed a cold shower to get rid of the heat spreading across her skin at the thought of him.
She heard his boots on the porch and took a deep breath, willing her face to cool. Why did she feel so nervous? It was just Spencer. Just the man she’d been working alongside for days now.
Just the man she’d kissed last night.
The door opened, and there he stood. But instead of the hardware store bags she expected, he held a large wicker basket in one hand and what looked like a folded blanket in the other.
“Hey,” he said, his voice warm in a way that made her stomach flip. “I got the beam ordered. It’ll be here by Thursday.”
“Great,” she managed, setting down the range part she’d been cleaning. “And the cooker parts?”
Spencer shifted his weight, the smallest hint of uncertainty crossing his face.
“Got those too. But before we dive back into repairs...” He lifted the basket slightly.
“I was thinking you might want to take a break. There’s a spot up on the lower slope that has the best view of sunset in all of Bear Creek. ”
Meryl blinked, caught completely off guard. “You want to... go watch the sunset?”
“I thought you might like to see the mountains instead of the inside of an ancient range cooker.” His smile was tentative. “I stopped by the restaurant and picked up some food. Nothing fancy, just...”
“A picnic,” she finished for him.
“A practical picnic,” he corrected, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “You’ve been working non-stop since the electrician left. And with the good news about the wiring, I thought a small celebration was called for.”
Meryl looked around at the half-assembled range, the tools scattered across the counter, the lists she’d made for tomorrow.
The kitchen was finally starting to feel like a room where actual cooking might happen someday, not just a disaster zone.
The whole cottage felt different now that she knew the wiring wasn’t a complete nightmare.
He was right. They should celebrate.
And it wasn’t as if she didn’t want to go. It was the opposite. She wanted to go. Maybe too much. That was the problem. Not because she needed a break from the work—though she did—but because she wanted to be with him, away from the cottage, away from the lists and tools and decisions.
“I should probably change,” she said, looking down at her dusty clothes.
“You look fine,” Spencer said, then cleared his throat. “But if you want to change, I can wait.”
Ten minutes later, having hastily washed her face and changed into her cleanest jeans and a soft blue sweater, Meryl followed Spencer out to his truck.
They drove away from the cottage along back roads until he parked the truck in a small graveled area. Then they set off up a narrow trail that wound through the tall pines. The air felt different out here—sharper, fresher, full of resin and earth.
As the trail grew steeper, he held out his hand, and she took it, feeling that now familiar sense of connection. They didn’t speak, enjoying the sounds of the forest around them.
The trail curved upward, steeper now, and Meryl found herself focusing on her footing rather than the forest. Spencer slowed his pace to match hers, never rushing. It was as if they had all the time in the world.
Just when she was beginning to wonder how much further they had to go, the trees thinned, and the trail opened onto a natural shelf in the mountainside. Meryl stopped beside Spencer and caught her breath.
The view stretched for miles—mountains layered against mountains, their ridges softened by distance and the golden light of late afternoon. Bear Creek lay below, nestled in its valley, looking impossibly small from this height.
“Oh,” she said softly.
“Worth the climb?” Spencer asked.
“More than worth it.” She turned slowly, taking it all in. “It’s beautiful.”
Spencer let go of her hand and left her to enjoy the view as he spread the blanket on a relatively flat section of ground.
He set the basket down and began unpacking it without ceremony: two bowls of silky mushroom risotto in lidded containers, still warm, a loaf of garlic bread wrapped in cloth, a thermos, and two enamel mugs.
“Wine?” he offered, holding up a bottle of Thornberg wine.
“Please.” Meryl settled on the blanket, tucking her legs under her as she accepted the mug. The wine smelled rich and dark, which suited the mountain air.
“Thornberg. A relation?”
“Uncle and Aunt own the vineyard. Some of my cousins help run it, too.” Spencer sat beside her, not too close but close enough that she could feel the warmth of him in the cooling air. He handed her one of the bowls and tore the garlic bread in half. “It’s not much,” he said. “Just simple food.”
But it was perfect—the risotto silky and rich with mushrooms, the garlic bread still warm enough to steam when she tore it apart. They ate in companionable silence for a while, watching as the light began to shift across the mountains, turning the distant peaks gold and amber.
“I can see why you love it here,” Meryl said eventually.
Spencer nodded. “It gets in your blood.”
“The mountains?”
“All of it.” He looked out at the view. “The mountains, the town, the way the seasons change. The way people look out for each other.”
Meryl thought about that as she sipped the wine. “I’ve never stayed anywhere long enough to feel that way about it.”
“Not even one place?” He glanced at her. “Not one town or apartment, or neighborhood?”
She shook her head. “My mother believed in moving on before you got too attached. ‘Places are just places,’ she used to say.”
“And what about you? I mean, you live your own life now. Do you still think that?”
The question caught her off guard. What did she think? She’d never really questioned her mother’s philosophy, the same philosophy she’d lived by, until now.
“I think...” she paused, gathering her thoughts. “I think I’m starting to understand that there’s another way.”
The light continued to change as they talked, the shadows lengthening across the valley.
Spencer told her about growing up in Bear Creek, about building his first shed when he was twelve, about the winter storm that had knocked out power for a week, and how the whole town had pulled together.
Meryl found herself telling him about the apartment she’d almost signed a two-year lease for before changing her mind at the last minute.
She’d gotten a fantastic job offer soon after, and that had kind of cemented the idea that she shouldn’t ever tie herself down.
When they had finished eating, he unwrapped what turned out to be berry tarts from the restaurant, still faintly warm and dusted with sugar. Meryl laughed with genuine delight.
“You thought of everything,” she said.
Spencer shrugged, but she could see he was pleased. “Just the essentials.”
The sun was properly setting now, the sky ablaze with color. Meryl watched, transfixed, as the light painted the mountains in shades of gold, rose, and amber. The clouds caught fire, burning bright against the deepening blue.
“I’ve never seen anything like this,” she murmured.
Spencer didn’t reply, but when she glanced at him, she found he was watching her instead of the sunset, his expression serious in a way that made her heart beat faster.
When the first stars appeared, pinpricks of silver in the darkening blue, Meryl felt a strange ache in her chest—not pain exactly, but something deeper, as if she were witnessing something precious that might never come again.
Spencer shifted beside her, and his hand found hers on the blanket between them. His fingers were warm and calloused, and they curled around hers with gentle certainty.
Meryl looked at their joined hands, then up at his face, barely visible now in the gathering dusk. The moment stretched between them as the stars looked down.
This time, she was the one who leaned in first.
The kiss was different from last night’s—slower, more deliberate. There was no surprise in it, no hesitation. She knew exactly what she was doing and what she wanted. His hand came up to cup her face, and she leaned into his touch, into the warmth and steadiness of him.
When they finally drew apart, the stars had multiplied overhead, scattered across the sky, too many to count. Spencer’s arm slipped around her shoulders, and Meryl leaned against him, her head fitting perfectly into the hollow of his shoulder as they looked up at the night sky together.
“We should probably head back soon,” he murmured, his breath warm against her hair. “The trail gets tricky in the dark.”
“Mm-hmm,” she agreed, not moving. The thought of returning to the cottage, to the lists and the work and the decisions, felt distant and unimportant compared to this moment, this feeling.
She did not want to go back down the mountain yet. And as Spencer sat beside her under the first stars, she knew it had as much to do with him as it did with the view.