by Katie Cross
My heart sank to the floor. “This is going to take forever,” I whispered.
JJ rested a sympathetic hand on my shoulder. “I think you’re brave, for what it’s worth. And probably not paid enough even at forty an hour, so go for a raise.”
He moved into the kitchen with a wink.
I used the reprieve to slow my traitorous heart. Eventually, I worked up the moxie to ask, “Where have you been?”
“Climbing.”
“I’m sorry, you were what?”
“Climbing.”
“There’s three feet of snow outside.”
He reached for a coffee mug, his hair still wild on his shoulders. “Well, more mountaineering. Trying to see if I can maneuver back to ice-climb the waterfall at the end of the canyon. I think it was probably too low before the cold hit, but I want to see. The snow is four feet deep in some places, so I think I’ll need a snowmobile.”
Naturally.
Because who didn’t do that during their free time?
While he filled a coffee mug with water and shoved it into the microwave, I tried to recover my senses and not swallow my tongue. Ice-climb a waterfall?
Was that a thing?
I take my adventure indoors, thanks, I thought of saying. With a side of cream and sugar. Like the adventure of trying a new kind of espresso bean.
The life he led couldn’t be farther from mine. I resisted the urge to slip onto Pinnable and create a corkboard for him. Mountains, grasses, and for some reason, I pictured sage. That would be perfect for him. Wild man, wild places.
No, that would only distract me from the mess I had surely stepped into. Two minutes later he stood in front of me with a fresh mug of coffee.
“Cream and sugar,” he said. “I made assumptions on amounts.”
“How did you know?”
“Your withdrawal is obvious.”
The first sip—perfectly warm—slid all the way into my stomach like we were meant to be. I closed my eyes, savored the smell, and waited for the caffeine to recharge me.
“Thank you.”
“Anytime.”
JJ plunked a tea bag into his mug, then wrapped his hands around it and leaned back against the couch. I purposefully turned away from him, feigning interest in a stack near an old printer. Time to sort papers that were far away, facing a direction in which I couldn’t possibly sneak a glance at him.
“I finished setting up your cabin this morning,” he said after several minutes. “Took me a while to dig it out and get the power restored, but now I think you’re good.”
“Oh, thank you.”
“Do you want me to take you to it?”
“Only if I never have to come back to this mess,” I muttered.
He laughed, set aside his tea, and motioned with a wave. “C’mon. Time for a break.”
“Hold on. I have to note it on my spreadsheet.”
“For what?”
I cleared off the top of my laptop and pulled up another spreadsheet. “For time. I have a feeling Mark hasn’t even thought of my time card, so I just created something.”
“Oh. That’s very . . . honest of you.”
I shrugged.
Once I noted the time—it had only been two hours and felt like twenty years—I popped up, slipped on my coat, and followed him outside. A walking path had been cut into the three-foot bank of snow outside. Impressive at any rate, even if it was entirely too cold. I shivered in my jacket and hurried to keep up.
The cabin was a quaint little thing from the outside. A single window and door, with round logs stacked into a perfect square that might be barely big enough for a bed and a small table. Snow, thick and white as a wedding cake, was piled on the roof. Perfect insulation for a chill like this. Weather aside, I predicted it would be warm in there. Lazy smoke drifted upward from a chimney on the left.
JJ opened the door and motioned for me to go in first. Snow flaked off my boots as I stepped inside.
“Oh, it’s so cute!”
The warmth of a homey cabin embraced me. A fire crackled in a small hearth piled high with wood on the side. A narrow bed on a cot filled the space behind the door. The hardwood floor appeared recently swept. Thankfully, no cobwebs lingered in the corners. No trails of mouse poop on the floor, either, or obvious spiders scuttling the walls. Relief swept over me.
In fact, the place was pristine. It even smelled like pine. All of my shopping bags and pillows from Bethany’s were piled on the small bed, which had what appeared to be a newish quilt on top.
“This is much nicer than I expected.”
He grinned ruefully. “It’s still not the greatest, but it is warm and private. There’s no bathroom, but you can get to ours from the back door. I’ve tamped down a path for you. I’m in charge of meals, so you won’t have to worry about that.”
“Full service.” I grinned. “How nice.”
A small table, just large enough for my laptop, a notebook, and a pen, stood off to the side. Beneath it lay a surge protector. The walls were the same wood as the exterior, but chinks in between the logs had been filled in with something like glue.
“Are you comfortable maintaining the fire for warmth?” he asked. “I plan to come out at the end of your work day and start it to get things warm for you. There’s an extinguisher behind the bed if you need it.” He cracked a smile. “We both know you can use that.”
I managed a laugh but felt pained at the reminder. “Thanks. That’s very thoughtful.”
Scratching sounded at the door. JJ pulled it open, and a black dog bounded inside, floppy pink tongue flying wild. I laughed as he swept up to me, nudging my hand.
“Hello.”
“This is Atticus.” JJ pounded him affectionately on the back. “Justin’s dog. He’s our resident mountain lion watcher.”
I swallowed hard. Mountain lions. Hadn’t thought of that. I crouched down, laughing when a wet tongue got the best of my ear. Another pair of shoulders appeared in the doorway.
“Hey, man.”
I glanced into the striking blue eyes of a man with short brown hair. JJ motioned to me with a tilt of his head.
“Justin, this is Lizbeth.”
“Ah.” Understanding flooded his features. “The brave soul who’s taking on Mark’s paper project. I’m Justin. I’m their resident maintenance guy and the one who’s dating their sister. Atticus, down.”
“Nice to meet you,” I said with a little laugh as I straightened away from the dog.
Justin tilted his head back to study the rafters. “Thanks for getting in here today, JJ. Sorry I didn’t make it. Place looks the best I’ve ever seen it. Roof is holding okay, looks like. Lizbeth, let me know if you need anything. We’re all on the same radio channel, so you just need to speak. I take the radio with me everywhere, and it works up to a half mile away in this part of the canyon.”
He gestured to a black thing sitting on the floor in the corner. A small light blinked an intermittent green.
“Thanks.”
JJ answered a few more questions about some quick repairs he’d done this morning in the kitchen. I ran a finger along a dustless shelf next to the bed, just right for my collection of library books.
So all the cleanliness was thanks to JJ. How very thoughtful and detailed of him. My fingers itched to note it in the love binder—which I’d managed to save with the cash—that waited in my backpack. A clean place to sleep? Now that was romantic.
Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad here after all.
14
JJ
Lizbeth hummed while she worked.
As she sorted through paperwork and muttered curses to Mark under her breath, she intermittently slipped into different tunes. Most of them I didn’t recognize, but some were clear classics. Vivaldi’s Les Quatre Saisons among them. She tended to prefer spring, like she was humming a wedding march.
Knowing her, she probably was.
Her second day was far less frazzled than her first. She’d eased into the pape
rwork, found a way to categorize most of it, and waded through the first half of what Mark had ready for her. I watched her out of the corner of my eye as I sipped my morning coffee, utterly intrigued by the way she pushed her lips to one side of her face when she was deep in thought.
Overall, no rampant fatigue showed on her face. She hadn’t used the radio last night, so she must not have needed anything. Hopefully she’d slept okay. It had taken me an hour and a half to dig the best cot and mattress out of a storage cabin nearly buried by snow.
“Lizbeth, I need my desk,” Mark said as he descended the ladder minutes before lunch was ready.
“Too bad,” she replied.
He stopped, then blinked. “What?”
“I said too bad.”
“But I need to work.”
“Then work in the attic.” She shuffled through a few more papers without looking up. “I have been working nonstop on this ridiculous pile of papers all day, and am about to finish. I will not stop.”
I cracked a grin. Mark stumped by a beautiful woman—delightful.
“But I need to work,” he said.
She finally looked at him. “Why?”
“Because my computer is there.”
She used a folder to gesture to the folding table. “You can work there.”
His eyes almost bugged out. “You’re kidding.”
Her less-than-amused stare suggested otherwise. I bit my bottom lip to keep from laughing. Maybe love was real. Watching her defeat Mark in a verbal battle—this was positively twitterpation.
“But . . .”
“You contracted me to do a job, and you initiated that job by putting all this paperwork right here. If you didn’t want me to work here, you shouldn’t have put it here. Because you gave me no other expectations, timelines, or milestones, I took over the job, created the rubric, and am proceeding as I see fit. That means you will defer to me. If you need your computer, I will happily reassemble it for you.” She jabbed a finger at the folding desk. “Over there.”
Mark blinked. I snorted burning-hot coffee, then hacked as it scalded my throat. Neither of them looked at me. Finally, Mark held up two hands.
“Right. Got it. I can probably figure it out later in the attic.”
Her megawatt smile returned in a flash. “Great! I should be finished with this part by Friday.”
“Lunch!” I called.
Mark waved me off as he shoved his wallet into his pocket and grabbed the Zombie Mobile keys. “Have a meeting in town, but thanks, JJ. Save it for me, and I’ll eat it for dinner.”
“Thought he had to work on his computer,” Lizbeth muttered.
It was a struggle to contain my utter validation and amusement. “Buckwheat waffles with real maple syrup, a berry reduction, and fresh butter await you.”
Lizbeth’s head popped up. She appeared in the kitchenette seconds later, eyes closed, taking a deep inhale.
“That smells . . .”
“Amazing?”
“Yes.”
“Have a seat, and it’s yours.”
It didn’t escape me that Mark had left us alone in the office at least until lunchtime, and I felt relief. Lizbeth was far tenser when Mark was flittering around, throwing ideas left and right. She’d get used to it, eventually, but in the meantime, less Mark meant a smoother ride.
“So.” I reached for the pure maple syrup I’d bought in Vermont. “How are you feeling?”
“Overwhelmed, but okay. Mark saves everything.”
“I meant after the fire, but that too.”
Surprise registered on her face. “Oh, that.” Her expression fell. “Yeah . . . I haven’t been thinking about it, to be honest.”
“Don’t want to talk about it?”
“Not really.”
“No problem. I’ve also been thinking about what you said about romance. Care to spar on that?”
One fine eyebrow lifted in her porcelain, freckled face. “Oh? Do tell.”
“Do you think romance is a cover for something else?”
Her forehead furrowed in silent question.
“Like security,” I clarified as I grabbed my fork. “A relationship with romance is likely a more certain bet, right? Romance equates with effort and security. Maybe you look forward to the security romance brings.”
“So, are we talking about security, certainty, or effort?”
“Security.”
She chewed a bite of waffle, deep in thought. “You say it like they’re two different things. Can you separate security from romance?”
“Can you?”
Her eyes tapered. “No. I don’t think so. Security is an aspect of romance. As you pointed out yourself, there are other facets too. Certainty. Security. Effort. Romance is like a diamond.”
I had pointed that out, hadn’t I? Which wasn’t at all what I expected to do.
“Back to my original point,” I said as she dug into her waffle, then closed her eyes and moaned at the first bite. “Maybe it’s security you want more than romance.”
“If I wanted security, I’d buy a home security system.”
I cracked a smile. “Good try, but it’s different.”
“How?”
She was baiting me—I could feel it in the languid drawl of the question. But I had to rise to the occasion now, because I’d put the question out there.
“Romance comes from a person,” I said, “not a thing.”
“Disagree.”
“Really?”
“Romance comes from a book. From a movie. From someone cleaning a cabin really, really well and making sure there aren’t any spiders or mice. Things can be just as romantic as people. It’s like religion.” She sent me a vague look that I swore hid a smile as she forked another bite into her mouth.
My jaw dropped. “You have to be kidding. Cleaning your cabin and setting it up for you is not romantic.”
“Was to me.”
“But I didn’t mean it that way.”
She shrugged. “Still seemed romantic.”
My head whirled in a thousand directions. The greatest of which revolved around the question: Is Lizbeth looking for romance with me?
No, that was too ridiculous. We hardly knew each other. Regardless, somehow, I’d thoroughly flummoxed myself here. I’d have to come better prepared next time.
“But if you assign romance to any random gesture, then what is it?” I asked in exasperation.
Why did it feel like we were talking in circles?
“Romance?”
“Yes.”
“Good question.” She blinked several times. “Not sure how to define it yet, honestly. But I’m working on that.”
“If you can’t define it, it’s not real.”
She snorted and leaned forward. “Maybe romance isn’t real to you, JJ, but it is to me. Maybe it’s like . . . God. Some people acknowledge God exists and others don’t. But that doesn’t make God any less real to those who do believe, right?”
“Your comparison is based on the assumption that God is real. Both romance and God are beliefs, regardless of what someone else perceives as truth. Therefore, your beliefs and expectations are pushed onto others when you hold a standard of romance onto them.”
The fire that had built in her eyes ebbed into confusion.
“We weren’t talking about me pushing my beliefs or expectations of romance onto anybody. We were talking about it being real to me, but not you. And that’s okay.”
I gulped. Right. I had introduced that out of nowhere. Why had I said that?
“Right,” I said.
An awkward silence filled the space for a couple of heartbeats. How to backpedal out of this? She spared me the pain of salvaging my pride by putting a hand on my arm.
“It’s not that I’d want to push my expectations onto anyone,” she said quietly. “If a man I dated didn’t believe in romance, that’d be fine. But I expect my belief to be respected. If that person wanted to keep me, I would expect certain romantic gesture
s. Is that fair?”
Unable to speak with her warm hand sending fire up my arm, I nodded. She smiled, dissolving the strangeness between us.
“What are they?” I asked in a poor attempt to recover some ground. “Your expectations, I mean.”
The rogue question slipped out of me before I could stop it. I cleared my throat. She grinned like a Cheshire cat, gathered her empty plate and fork, and stood up.
“Wouldn’t you love to know?”
I would love to know.
That was precisely the problem.
Thankfully, my phone rang. I grabbed it out of my pocket, saw the name on the screen, and quickly picked it up. Lizbeth waved me off before I could apologize, and I gratefully slipped outside without a jacket. No need for her to overhear this.
Not yet, anyway.
15
Lizbeth
“Please tell me that it’s safe and fun and you’re warm. Then proceed to tell me everything that’s happened.”
Bethany’s pixelated image peered at me through the phone. The Wi-Fi wasn’t too bad for this far from civilization, but it certainly took a while sometimes. She didn’t look as tired today. The rocking chair framed her shoulders, and I could just see the pink tip of an ear as Shane nursed. My heart squeezed.
“Not as fun as it would be if I were there with Shane,” I said with a little melancholy. “I wish I could help you more. Though, arguably, there may not be a person on this planet who needs more help than Mark Bailey.”
She chuckled. “You’d get wildly bored. Beyond burping, diapers, and cleaning up messes, I mostly just nurse him and bounce on that stupid exercise ball to help him fall asleep. It’s not thrilling. But it has lovely moments.”
“Any news on the shop?”
“Just waiting for the insurance adjuster.”
“Any mail?”
The question fell like a thousand-pound rock.
Bethany shook her head. “Sorry, no word from Pinnable yet.”
My hope plummeted. Asking about news from the regular mail only made my desperation obvious—they’d probably email or call if they wanted an interview. Bethany leaned her head back and studied me through the phone.
