Chapter Four
Morning light crept across the bed while I lay awake.
It slid across Talia’s curls, caught on the diamond at her throat, and stopped at the sheet tangled around her waist. One bare leg rested over mine, and she lay with one hand across my chest as though she’d placed it there on purpose.
I wanted her to stay exactly where she was.
I just didn’t know whether she’d feel the same once she woke.
Talia opened her eyes and focused on me.
“Good morning,” she said.
“Good morning.”
She moved her fingers once against my chest. “You’re thinking too loudly.”
“I haven’t said anything.”
“You’re lying there like you expect me to issue a formal complaint.”
“I wasn’t sure what you’d want.”
“That’s a reasonable question. Inventing the answer before I’m awake isn’t.”
She pushed herself onto one elbow. The sheet slipped lower over her hip, and my cock hardened against her thigh.
She smiled. “That part of you seems less confused.”
“It usually is.”
She laughed, then leaned down and kissed me.
The kiss was soft. It still tightened every muscle in my abdomen.
When she pulled back, she kept her gaze on mine and left her hand on my chest.
“I don’t regret last night,” she said. “I’m also not naming whatever this is before breakfast.”
“That wasn’t on my list.”
“Did you have a list?”
“I didn’t.”
“That’s good. I don’t want to compete with imaginary paperwork.”
I touched one curl resting against her shoulder. “Are you hungry?”
“I’m starving.”
“I can make eggs.”
Talia settled against me again. “That’s almost romantic.”
“It’s breakfast.”
“You can pretend it isn’t romantic after coffee.”
She smiled and stayed where she was.
I stayed there with her.
Eventually, hunger got both of us out of bed.
Talia took the bathroom first while I pulled on jeans and a charcoal T-shirt. When she emerged, she wore sleep shorts and the same dark shirt of mine she’d borrowed the first night. Her diamonds and layered gold were back in place, and she’d tied her curls high enough to expose her neck.
She crossed the main room barefoot and opened the refrigerator.
“You have eggs,” she said.
“I said I could make them.”
“You also have cheese, tomatoes, and half an onion.”
“We bought groceries yesterday.”
“I remember. I was present for the financial negotiations.”
She set the ingredients on the counter.
“I thought I was making breakfast.”
“You’re making breakfast. I’m improving the available materials.”
“Does that make you responsible for breakfast?”
“It makes me responsible for cutting a tomato.”
I handed her the knife.
Talia glanced from the knife to me. “That was easier than expected.”
“I’ve seen you use one.”
“You’ve also seen me naked. Neither experience means you get to supervise the tomato.”
“I wasn’t trying to supervise anything.”
“Then we agree.”
She sliced the tomato.
I cracked eggs into a bowl. “Are you worried I am?”
“No. I’m making sure we don’t become strange because we had sex.”
“We were strange before.”
“That’s fair.”
She slid the tomato pieces toward me. “I’m serious, though. Last night doesn’t make me fragile. You don’t need to watch me like I’m about to fall apart near the stove.”
“I didn’t think that.”
“You were watching me in bed like I might file one.”
“I was waiting to see what you wanted.”
“And now you know.”
“You want eggs.”
“I want eggs, coffee, and for you to stop bracing for a disaster that isn’t happening.”
I poured the eggs into the pan.
“Anything else?”
“I’d like you to kiss me again before you argue with me.”
I turned off the burner beneath the coffee and stepped toward her.
Talia tipped her face up.
I put one hand against the counter beside her and kissed her slowly. She caught the front of my shirt.
She ended the kiss first.
“That was much better,” she said.
“Better than what?”
“Watching you consider whether affection requires a permit.”
“I wasn’t considering that.”
“You should be grateful I’m not charging for the advice.”
“You aren’t my therapist.”
“No. I’m the woman you’re supposed to be kissing.”
I laughed against her mouth.
Talia smiled and kissed me once more before turning back to the counter.
We ate eggs with tomatoes, onion, and cheese at the small table. Sunlight warmed the floorboards, and the open window carried in pine and the dry scent of dust from the road.
Talia tucked one bare foot beneath her chair.
“What are you doing today?” she asked.
“I need to check the saws, sharpen two chains, and work on the truck before the next job.”
“Do you need help?”
“Not with the saws.”
“That wasn’t what I asked.”
I raised an eyebrow.
She lifted her coffee. “I’m aware that my current equipment qualifications begin and end with knowing chainsaws are loud.”
“You can hand me tools if you want.”
“That sounds dangerously close to admitting I could be useful.”
“I already know you can be useful.”
She stopped with the cup near her mouth.
I picked up my fork.
“You could’ve warned me before saying something sweet,” she said.
“It wasn’t sweet.”
“You should stop trying to take things back after they work.”
The next day settled into a rhythm I hadn’t planned.
Talia wore fitted tanks, denim shorts, her new boots, and enough jewelry to catch sunlight from across the yard. She sat on the porch while I worked on equipment without stepping into my space or touching anything dangerous.
When I handed her a clean rag, she wiped grease from a wrench and held it up.
“This feels symbolic,” she said.
“It’s dirty.”
“That doesn’t prevent symbolism.”
“What does it symbolize?”
“My successful adaptation to rural life.”
“You cleaned one wrench.”
“I’m pacing myself.”
She found a battered paperback on my shelf, stretched across the bed to read, and lifted her head every time I passed the bedroom door.
At meals, she helped without taking over. At night, the pillow stayed near the dresser.
Before we fell asleep, Talia climbed into my lap while we sat on the edge of the bed and kissed me until I forgot why stopping had seemed sensible.
Her sleep shorts rode high over her thighs. I settled my hands on her hips. She shifted against my erection and moaned into my mouth.
I caught her waist before she could do it again.
Talia pulled back enough to look at me. “Why did you stop?”
“Because if you keep moving, we aren’t going to sleep.”
“I’m not seeing the problem.”
“I have a job early tomorrow.”
“So your objection is scheduling.”
“It’s also that I don’t want every time we touch to turn into sex.”
She relaxed in my lap.
“I like that answer,” she said.
“You don’t have to sound surprised.”
“I’m allowed to be impressed.”
I slid my hand over her back. “I want you.”
“I can tell.”
“I’m not rejecting you.”
“I didn’t think you were.”
She kissed the corner of my mouth.
“This is a pause,” she said. “I’m still sleeping here.”
“That works for me.”
Talia climbed beneath the sheet and patted the mattress beside her.
I joined her without making her ask twice.
We slept tangled together.
The following morning, we left the cabin with packed sandwiches, bottled water, and enough heat already rising from the road to promise a long afternoon.
Talia wore dark jeans, a fitted white tank, and her brown ankle boots. Gold bracelets circled one wrist. Her curls fell loose around her shoulders.
“The day’s going to be hot,” I said as I opened the passenger door.
“I have a hair tie.”
“I didn’t ask.”
“You were about to.”
“That’s still your line.”
“It remains useful.”
I held out my hand.
She took it and climbed into the truck.
The property sat on the far side of Promise Ridge, where the mountain road widened around scattered houses and older cabins. Dry grass covered the slope. Pine needles had gathered in deep rust-colored layers beneath several trees near the house.
The woman who owned the property waited beside the front walk. She was small, gray-haired, and dressed in a long denim skirt despite the heat.
She glanced toward Talia.
“This is Talia,” I said. “She’s staying with me.”
Talia raised her eyebrows.
The woman smiled. “I didn’t know you had company.”
“I didn’t either.”
Talia stepped forward and offered her hand. “That explanation requires more time than we have in the sun.”
The woman laughed and shook it.
I took my gloves and measuring tape from the truck.
“Stay near the porch while I check the trees. Don’t go near the equipment.”
“I can manage that.”
“I know you can.”
“Then try to sound less surprised.”
The property owner pointed toward a group of tall pines near the back of the house.
“Those are the ones I’m worried about,” she said. “A neighbor told me they’re too close together.”
I walked the perimeter, checked the lower branches, and examined the dead growth packed beneath them. One pine had bark damage near the base. Another leaned toward the roof but remained healthy enough to preserve if we reduced the fuel around it.
Talia stayed near the porch, well clear of the trees I was inspecting.
When I finished, the woman joined us beneath the shade of an aspen.
“The damaged tree needs to come down,” I said. “The low branches on the others need to be removed, and the ground beneath them needs to be cleared.”
She pressed her lips together.
“All of them?”
“No. One tree.”
She faced the damaged pine. “My husband planted those when we built the house.”
I followed her gaze. “The damage near the base makes that one a risk.”
“I understand what you’re saying.”
She clasped her hands tighter.
“It’s close enough to the roof that a bad wind could put it through the back room,” I said. “The dry growth underneath the others also gives fire a path toward the house.”
Talia moved beside her without coming near the trees.
“He isn’t telling you the memories don’t matter,” she said. “He’s telling you which changes might protect the house and the trees you can keep.”
The woman turned to her.
Talia gestured toward the pines. “If the damaged one comes down, could part of the trunk stay here? A bench, maybe, or something else you’d use?”
I hadn’t considered that.
The woman relaxed her hands.
“My husband always sat outside with his coffee,” she said. “He liked this side of the house in the morning.”