Page 19 of Resisting the Lumberjack

Sal wraps them without a word. Sets the bag on the counter and gives me a look that isn't a wink this time. Something warmer. The look a man gives another man when he recognizes the errand.

Her sedan in the gravel lane. Porch light off. Curtains drawn. Cottage buttoned up tight against the world.

Steps. Knock.

Nothing.

"Selene."

Silence.

"Your car's here and there's nowhere to walk in this town that I wouldn't find you. Open the door."

Muffled through the wood: "Go away, Jake."

"No, ma'am." Bag on the porch railing. Shoulder against the post. "Brought sandwiches. And pie. Marie's maple recipe, same one you liked three weeks ago. I'll stand on this porch until winter if that's what it takes. My joints already hurt. Might as well hurt somewhere useful."

"I told you I need time."

"You've had twenty-four hours. In Wild Peak, that's a geological age. Empires have risen and fallen. Bev's cat moved twice."

Longer pause. The lock clicks. Door opens six inches. She's there. Dark eyes swollen from crying, hair loose, oversized sweater swallowing her frame. No armor. No walls. Raw. Open. Every layer peeled back to the woman underneath.

Most beautiful thing I've ever seen.

"Hi."

"Hi."

"Can I come in?"

The door opens wider. I step inside.

Warm. Coffee smell. The particular quietness of a space where someone's been sitting alone with their thoughts too long and the thoughts have started winning. No music. No TV. Just silence and a woman standing by the window with her arms crossed, not looking at me.

The bag goes on the counter.

"Everybody's got a voice in their head that tells them they're not enough." My voice comes out steady. Surprises me. Every nerve in my body is lit up, and the words still land straight. "Mine sounds like every ranch hand who called me kid. Every foreman who patted my shoulder and walked past me to the older guy. Every person who looked at my smile and decided there was nothing serious underneath it. Yours sounds like your ex-husband."

She turns from the window.

"But here's the thing about those voices, Selene. They're liars. Every last one. They take the thing we're most afraid of and dress it up as truth. And I'll be damned if I let a man I've never met, a man who spent eight years making you smaller, tell me what I feel is a phase or a novelty or some young man's fantasy."

Two steps closer.

"I love you."

The words fill the cottage. Heavy. Certain. Taking up all the space between us and leaving none for doubt.

"I love you, Selene. Not because you're older. Not because you're younger. Not because of any number on either side of this thing. I love you because you fight over sandwiches and fuss over scratches and came to a town where you knew nobody and started over from nothing. That takes more guts than anything I've ever done with a chainsaw."

Her eyes filling. Holding the tears the way she holds everything. With effort. With control. With the fierce determination of a woman who learned that crying was weakness and hasn't unlearned it yet.

"Your ex said I'd get bored." Another step. Close enough to touch her. Close enough to see the pulse in her throat. "Selene. I've been staring at the same mountains for four years and haven't gotten bored yet. I eat the same turkey club from Sal's three times a week. Same sandwich. Same day. Still love it. I don't do bored. I do rooted. I do deep. And I wanna grow deep with you."

Her arms uncross. Her hands are shaking.

"Jake." Whisper. "I'm scared."