“Yeah. Reggie’s got namesatthe lumberyard. We’llvet them. We’llmake sure the next person who walks up that drive in a melt finds a porch step that holds.”
She smiles.“And a man on the ridge?”
I look at the ridge. The trees. “There won’tbe a man on the ridge anymore, Tess.”
She's quiet.
“But the cabin will be there,”I say.“For someone who needs it.”
“Mm.” She tips her head back against my arm.“We’llhave done that part.”
She rests her head against my arm again. The teacools. The hawk goes over a second time becausehawksare show-offs.
I stay where I am, on the porch in the April sun, with my woman warm under my arm and a phone in my lap that just rearranged my whole life, and I let myself feel it. All of it. The strange, unfamiliar weight of being chosen and choosing back.
Itdoesn'thurt the way I thought it would.
“Sullivan.”
“Mm?”
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“Asking. About the cabin. Most people in my life haven’t asked, butyoudo.”
“I’ll keep asking.”
Tesstips her head back and smiles at me. At the man on the ridge with anewsystem that now includes her.I’venever been athe object of anyone’s joy in this way. I’dchop my way througha winter mountainforestbarefoot to keep her looking at me like that.
I lean down and kiss the tea off her lips. She makes asmall, surprisedsound that goes through me like a struck bell.
“All right.”I stand and pull her up with me.“Boots.”
“Where are we going?”
“Town. Ipromised MaeI’dgo tothe café.The woman scares me. I need you to protect me.”
“You? Scared of Mae? She’s tiny.”
“Mae is five foot nothing and pure malice. Up, Carter. Boots.”
She laughs—that laughI’dhike a mountain in a storm to hear—and goes inside to find her socks.
I stay on the porch a second longer. Look at the valley.
Then I follow her in, becausethat’sthe direction my life goes now.
Within ninety seconds of walking through the door ofThe Switchback Café,Mae Whitlock has me by the elbow and is steering me toward the back booth like a woman docking a small boat.
“Sit. Both of you. Sit, sit, sit.”She dropsmenuson the table.“June, get over here.”
June is at thecounter anddoes not need to be told twice.Sheslides into the booth across from us with hercoffee and her baconsandwichand the small smile of a womanwho’sbeen waiting all morning to be entertained.
“All right,”Mae says, hands on her hips.“You’regoing to sit in that booth, andyou’regoing to drink the coffeeI’mabout to bring you, andyou’regoing to allow me to enjoy this. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
