I didn't argue. Hard to argue with a man who handed me a set of keys to a permanent cabin, tore up my contractor agreement, and put me on salary.
"You're not a contractor," Gabe said. "You're Wild Peak."
That was September. Three months ago. The first time I've belonged to anything in twelve years.
The screen door creaks. Bare feet on cold wood. She comes up behind me and wraps her arms around my waist, presses her face between my shoulder blades. Her hands are warm from the stove.
"Come eat."
"In a minute."
"Aiden Harrison, if you let my bacon get cold, we're gonna have a conversation."
"We're having a conversation."
"We're having a conversation about breakfast." She pinches my side. "Different thing."
I turn around. She's in my flannel, the gray one, sleeves rolled to her wrists. Nothing underneath but underwear, and her legs are bare from mid-thigh down, and her hair's loose and wild from sleep, and six months of waking up next to this woman hasn't done a single thing to dull the way my chest tightens every time she's standing in front of me.
I pull her against me. Kiss the top of her head.
"Morning."
"Morning." She tilts her face up. "You've been out here since five."
"Since four."
"Four." She frowns. "You haven't done that in weeks."
"Couldn't sleep."
"Bad dream?"
"No dream." My thumb traces her jaw. "Just thinking."
"About?"
"Eat first. Then I'll tell you."
The cabin's changed. Her things are everywhere. Cedar bark basket on the shelf beside my carvings. Turquoise earrings on the windowsill. A framed photo of her mama next to the bed, beside a framed photo of my granddad that Paige found in my truck glove box and had enlarged without asking.
My chisels share the workbench with her tablet now. The mugs hang on hooks she installed, and they're those same two dented tin ones from the thermos, because she refused to buy new ones. Said they were ours.
We eat at the table. Bacon, eggs, toast she made from bread she baked yesterday because Kidd taught her and won't shut up about it. She eats the way she does everything. Fast, happy, talking between bites.
"Gwen's bringing Julian to Sunday lunch. He's been asking about the horses again, and Hunter's already building him a mounting step, which is the most adorable thing I've ever seen a man do with a power tool."
"Mm."
"And Luke wants to know if you'll look at the fence line along the south creek. He thinks the posts are rotting from the bottom."
"I'll check it."
"Also, Mama called. She's coming up in March."
"Your mama's coming here?"
"She's coming here." Paige grins over her coffee. "She wants to see the cabin. She wants to see the field. She wants to meet everyone. Also, she's bringing chili."
