It isn’t a yes, but it isn’t a no. I don’t push for more, purely because I know he doesn't have the answer. He might want to stay here, make a life here, but he’ll be followed, hounded, and harassed by the media. What that means for me is my face plastered on websites, my name uncovered and alerting Maribel. All things I don’t want.
His eyes flick to my rainwater collector, and he grins. “I like getting you things. You’re so resourceful, it makes me want to match your energy.” I watch him for a beat, catching the slight vulnerability sneaking through, like this is more than just a passing comment.
“You’re resourceful too.”
He looks at me like he doesn’t believe me.
“You went to Whiteman’s and talked yourself into being the face of their brand. You sneak in and out of that diner like an undercover FBI agent. You’re learning new hiking skills, walking the back path and creating a trail…” I pause, watching something shift in his expression.
“You saw that, huh?” His grin is all mischief and quiet satisfaction.
He mentioned it once when he was here weeks ago, but I had forgotten about it until I went for a walk yesterday and noticed the yellow gravel trail, the way it blended effortlessly with the forest floor. It was intentional, careful… cute.
“I just want to come to you and you to me anytime we want. Our secret little passage. Our own yellow brick road.”
My heart beats faster, suddenly very aware of the weight behind his words. “See. Resourceful…?”
He smiles like I just handed him something precious. “I own it.”
The words come so fast, so effortlessly, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, but my brain can’t process them.
I tilt my head. “Wait. What do you mean, you own it?”
“Well, after our chat in the forest, I got Sawyer to investigate. Turns out, the guy who owns all this was interested in selling. So… I made him a cash offer.”
I blink a few times. He waits for my reaction, looking a little unsure.
“You bought it?” My voice is barely above a whisper.
“All of it. Most of serial killer forest, and your little cottage, too. So, you can keep your monthly lease payments. I don’t want it.”
At that, I think my heart actually stops before speeding up again. This isn’t just a gesture. It’s a declaration. I’m speechless.
“Oh, I also built something.” He moves to the back of his truck, pulling out a white box as I stand, motionless, wondering what in the world is happening.
“A beehive?” Piecing together his words, I try to comprehend what I’m seeing.
“I’m putting hives at my new place, so I got an extra one without all the frames. For our call box in the trees…” His voice drops slightly as he places the box on the ground and then looks at me. He’s searching for my reaction, for confirmation that I understand what he’s saying.
I shake my head, perplexed. “But… you're allergic?”
“I am.” He smiles.
“Sooo, why are you getting bees?”
“Because you love them and they remind you of your mom.” My breath halts, tears blurring my eyes. “And not only are bees a big part of who you are and what you love, but they’re also great for the environment.”
My eyebrows rise at all this bee knowledge.
“Well, that’s what the books tell me,” he mumbles.
Biting my lip, I say nervously, “But you could get stung.” It’s highly likely it will happen.
“Worth it just to see you happy.” The tenderness in his tone has butterflies swirling around my stomach.
I lift my hand and cup his cheek, looking deep into the eyes of the man who has embedded himself so deep into my heart and soul it disarms me.
“Sutton… I don’t know what to say…” Because if I open my mouth, “I love you” might escape all on its own.
