In shape is what he is. It’s a little intimidating considering I’m a human marshmallow.
“Do you like it?”
He considers the question seriously, like it matters. “Actually, I love it. There’s something about working with fire. It’s the understanding it, respecting it. It’s dangerous and unpredictable, but it’s real. Fire doesn’t lie or play games— it just is what it is.” His mouth quirks. “Plus, the views don’t suck from the mountain.”
I look back at Merry and she’s curled up and sleeping. I’m almost jealous. Now that the adrenaline has worn off, I’m crashing hard. I yawn. “I’m a photographer. Or trying to be. I get the view thing.”
“What do you shoot?”
“Mostly landscapes and street photography. I’ve been working at a coffee shop to pay bills while I build my portfolio.” I pull my phone from my pocket, scrolling through the camera roll to show him a shot I took last month at Pike Place Market— early morning light slanting through the fog, a vendor setting up her flower stand, everything soft and gold and perfectly imperfect.
Calder glances at it when we stop at a crossroads, something like appreciation crossing his face. “That’s amazing. You’ve got an eye for finding beauty in what most would look past.”
The compliment warms me, filling some of the deep crevasse that the last guy left gaping.
I tuck my phone away. “Thanks. I’ve been trying to get gallery representation, maybe land some magazine work, but Seattle’s competitive. Everyone’s a photographer and these new cameras are almost as good as a Canon, Sony, or Nikon, but those are expensive. Anyway, I was between jobs and between apartments, so a road trip to see my aunt seemed like good timing.”
“And now you’re between cars,” Calder says, gently.
“And between cars,” I agree. “My life is apparently one big transition phase. My brother lives in Denver.He could come get me.” I really don’t want that to happen. My family thinks my relationship with Derek is peachy. I was just hoping to break it to them in person. Telling someone you’ve been dumped by text seems…soul destroying.
There’s a long silence.
He clears his throat like he doesn’t want to say something. “That’s probably a ten-hour drive here. It’s doable before Christmas and then to get you to Colorado Springs, that’s what? Two hours south of Denver?”
“Ninety minutes. I’ll call me after I collect my thoughts.” That might not be anytime soon.
We crest a hill, and Black Timber Peak sprawls into view below— a picture-perfect mountain town nestled in a valley, with a main street lined with shops and a white church steeple rising above snow-frosted roofs. Christmas lights are strung everywhere, visible even in the dim afternoon, and an enormous evergreen dominates the town square, decorated with what looks like hundreds of ornaments and lights.
“Wow,” I breathe out the word, my skin tingling with how special this scene is. I pull out my phone and snap a couple of pictures out the window.
“Told you we go all out.” There’s affection in Calder’s voice, the tone of someone who loves hishome. “Town’s got about eight hundred people, but we punch above our weight for Christmas spirit. Tree lighting ceremony’s tomorrow night, actually. Whole town turns out.”
He drives down Main Street slowly, pointing out landmarks: the Starry Night Café where apparently the coffee is terrible but the pie is worth it, Murphy’s Grocery that sells everything from groceries to fishing gear— including the worms. Weird. The library housed in a converted Victorian that looks like something from a postcard.
The Black Timber Inn sits just after the Sheriff’s station, a two-story craftsman-style building with a wraparound porch and window boxes that probably overflow with flowers in summer. Now they hold arrangements of evergreen boughs and red berries, dusted with sparkling snow.
“Let me grab your stuff,” Calder says, pulling to the curb. “Then I’ll introduce you to Ester— she runs the inn. She’ll take care of you.”
Calder insisted on carrying both my duffel and my camera bag despite my protests. After a quick check in, I find myself in a room on the inn’s second floor that could be featured in a magazine spread about cozy Christmas retreats.
The brass bed is covered in a white quilt, thenightstands are actual antiques, and someone left a plate of cookies on the dresser with a note in looping handwriting: Welcome to Black Timber! I grab a snickerdoodle and take a big bite. The bedroom window looks out over the street. The snow is falling heavier now, coating everything in white.
Calder rounds the corner, sets my bags down, looking almost comically large in the small space. I lift the plate of cookies and he grabs the other snickerdoodle. “God, those are good.”
Even though I don’t want to be alone, I figure it’s time to let this well-meaning man go live his own life.
“Well, I should probably—” I start, then stop, unsure what I should probably do. Unpack? Cry? Call Aunt Marie and explain why she wouldn’t be making it to Colorado Springs? Call my brother, Nash and beg him to leave his girlfriend to come get me?
“You should probably take a breath,” Calder says, reading my mind with unnerving accuracy. “Today’s been a lot.” He squats to give Merry attention and she rolls over to show her belly. Something she’s never done with me.
Dog, I know he’s pretty awesome but pull yourself together. You’re drooling!
“That’s an understatement.” I try to smile but fail. “I’m sorry. You’ve been incredibly kind, and I’m just... I’m a mess.”
“You’re dealing with car trouble and a bad month, which gives you a pass to be a mess.” He pauses in the doorway, one hand on the frame and if I wasn’t so confused, I’d ask him to stay and spend the night forgetting about a lot of things between the sheets, but that would probably only worsen things.
He clears his throat. “Look, I know we just met and you have zero reason to trust my motives, but if you want company —just company, nothing else— I’m making dinner at my place tonight. Chili and cinnamon rolls. Bear would be thrilled to have a visitor, and it beats eating alone in your room the first night in a strange town but probably doesn’t beat binging on those Christmas cookies.”
