Constance could’ve hugged the man. Instead she thanked him and all the other men that had come to help her. She told the volunteers she’d call them when she could reopen the store. Hugs were given as they all headed out.
The last thing she did before Frost could drag her out where the brothers could put the plywood back up was take inventory of what had been salvageable.
By the time they arrived home, Constance felt hulled out. ‘I’d love a hot bath.”
Frost shut off the car, “didn’t see a tub in your bathroom.”
“Yep. Who knew the one thing I said no too would be the one thing I missed the most living small.”
Frost knew where he could get her a tub. Pulling out his phone he called Maddog, the chapters VP. “Maddog, is your cabin available?”
He listened as the brother told him it was unoccupied for the week, “I just need it for the night. Constance could use a soak, and her place doesn’t have a tub.” He explained.
When Maddog told him to come on over, Frost hung up. “Sugar, what do you need out of the house for the night.” He saw the way she was staring at him. “What?”
She was taken back, shocked, “did you just find me a tub to soak in?”
“It’s what you need.”
“I could kiss you.”
“Hold on to that idea while I go get your things.”
“What about you? Don’t you need a change of clothes …”
“Everything I need is on my bike.” He pointed at his ride. “You feel like a ride to clear your head?”
“That would be nice.” Grabbing the handle she saw him shake his head no and held her hands up waiting for him to come around the car before opening the door.
Chapter Eleven.
Constance thanked Maddog and his wife, Faith, as she stood just inside the little house. Warmth wrapped around her immediately—not just from the heat, but from the quiet comfort of the space itself. It had everything a person needed and nothing they didn’t.
“Faith, did you decorate this place?” Constance asked, glancing around. “It’s so inviting.”
Maddog cleared his throat. “That’d be me.”
“Really?” She smiled at him. “Should’ve known. It’s very masculine.”
“No,” Frost corrected, stepping inside with both overnight bags slung easily over his shoulders. “It’s very Maddog.”
Leather furnishings anchored the room—deep, worn-in chairs and a sofa that promised long nights and lazy mornings—but they were softened by fluffy throw blankets draped with casual intention. Comfort had clearly been the priority. Without the soft touches, she could imagine the place as an expensive man cave. With them, it felt lived in.
There was no formal dining room. Instead, a simple counter with two barstools divided the sitting area from a compact, one-wall kitchen. Everything gleamed, looking barely used. No microwave—but a sleek coffee maker and a toaster oven sat side by side, making up for the omission.
A full-sized refrigerator stood at one end, and a small studio-style stove with an attached oven completed the space. Practical. Functional. Perfectly suited to the cabin’s charm.
Constance let her hand trail across the cool stone countertop, imagining mornings here—fresh coffee brewing, sunlight spilling in through the windows, the world held at arm’s length. The cabin wasn’t grand, but it didn’t need to be. It felt like a place meant to exhale. To shrug off noise and expectations and simply exist.
Her gaze drifted to the window overlooking the yard. The last rays of sunshine bathed the grass in gold, tall pale blades catching the light like stained glass.
“Maddog,” she said finally, turning back to him. “You did a great job.”
He nodded, clearly pleased with himself, surveying the room like a man who knew he’d gotten it right. Faith laughed softly at his quiet pride.
“Constance,” Faith called, waving her over. “Wait until you see the tub. It’s to die for.”
“It’s big enough for two people,” Faith tossed over her shoulder as she disappeared into the other room.
