4. Hunter #2
I settle into the booth, shoulders loosening in a way they don't when we're alone at the cabin. Berg says something about Hawke's new climbing harness that makes Hawke roll his eyes, and my mouth quirks, not quite a smile but close. This is familiar territory. Safe.
Skye's quiet beside me, and when I glance over, she's watching us with an expression I can't quite read. Not uncomfortable. Thoughtful, maybe. Like she's trying to figure out where she fits in a picture that's already complete.
"So how'd you end up in Granitehart Ridge?" Hawke asks Skye after we order.
"Desperation, mostly." She says it lightly, but her thigh muscle tightens against mine. "Needed somewhere isolated to focus. Found the cabin listing online and took a chance."
"And found Hunter in the bargain," Berg adds. "Lucky break."
"Very lucky," Skye agrees, glancing at me with warmth in her eyes that makes my throat tighten around the coffee I'm swallowing.
Archer's been mostly quiet, observing the dynamics with that careful attention he always shows. But when he speaks, his voice carries weight despite its quietness.
"Isolation can be good for focus. But it's easy to get lost in it, too." He meets Skye's eyes across the table, his understanding coming from personal experience. "Important to have someone who pulls you back out."
The observation lands heavily, and Skye's fingers find mine under the table, squeezing once. "Yeah. It really is." Her voice goes soft, and I squeeze back.
The meal stretches longer than planned, but I don't rush it. Skye needs the normalcy and community. She's laughing at something Berg said when the air shifts. We're being watched.
Half of The Taproom's attention has drifted to our table. It’s a small town, and everyone knows I don't bring women to breakfast with the crew.
"We should go," I say quietly to Skye. "Get you back to work."
She checks her phone. Her eyes widen. "We've been gone almost three hours."
"Worth it." I stand and offer my hand, pulling her up and keeping her close as we make our way to the door. The guys follow, and we spill out onto Main Street where sunlight warms the pavement and the breeze brings a fresh forest scent down from the mountains.
"Good to meet you, Skye," Hawke says, genuine warmth in his voice. "Hope we see you around more."
"Maybe when I'm not drowning in deadlines." She smiles, and I catch Archer watching again, expression unreadable, but there's something in the way he holds himself apart, like he's observing a language he used to speak but has forgotten how.
He falls into step beside me before I reach the truck, his voice low enough that only I hear. "She's good for you."
"I know."
"You planning to keep her?" It's a serious question, no teasing underneath.
I look back at Skye laughing at another of Berg’s comments, face lit up with genuine joy, and the answer is immediate. "Yeah. I am."
Archer nods once, satisfied, then claps me on the shoulder.
The drive back is different. Skye sits with her hand in mine, the other resting on my forearm, watching the trees blur past. Her mind shifts back to work mode. Tension creeps into her shoulders, thumbnail worrying at her palm.
"Hey." I squeeze her hand. "We're still ahead of schedule. You've got time."
"I know. It's just hard to turn off the panic." She looks at me, vulnerability clear. "Thank you for making me go. I needed that more than I realized."
"I know what you need. I’m taking care of you, making sure you don't burn out, keeping you steady." I bring her hand to my lips, kissing her knuckles. "You're not doing this alone anymore. The sooner you accept that, the easier this gets."
Her breath catches, and color rises in her cheeks again. "Okay," she whispers. "Okay."
We pull up to the cabin, and it feels different now; less temporary refuge, more territory I'm claiming for both of us.
Inside, Skye goes straight to the worktable, but I catch her wrist before she can dive back in. "Fifteen-minute break first. Decompress from the trip. Then we work."
"Hunter—"
"Fifteen minutes." I pull her against me, and she comes willingly, her forehead dropping to my shoulder with a sigh that sounds like surrender. "Let me hold you. Then we'll finish this thing."
Her arms wrap around my waist, and we stand in the quiet cabin with mountain light streaming through the windows. Her heartbeat slows against my ribs, matching my rhythm, and I kiss the top of her head.
"Okay," she whispers again.
When the fifteen minutes are up, we move to the worktable as one unit. The supplies from town get integrated into the workflow, and we fall into the rhythm we've built over the last two days. Work and rest and moving through the orders.
But the dynamic has shifted. The town saw us together. The brotherhood knows. Skye's body language has changed. She’s leaning into my space, seeking my touch during breaks.
By the time the sun starts to set, we've cleared another forty-seven orders. The deadline is still there, still pressing, but manageable now.
It's just work. Hard work, but manageable.
Because she's not carrying it alone.
And somewhere between the hardware store and The Taproom, she finally started to believe that.