Page 55 of Beastly Mountain Man

When Caprice stepped into the main room in leggings and her sweater, she stopped.

I knew what she was seeing, even though none of it looked unusual to me anymore.

Pine floors worn smooth along the paths between the kitchen, stove, and hallway. Heavy beams overhead. The old couch Bear considered partly his. A kitchen table scarred twice by mistakes I’d never bothered sanding out. Cookbooks mixed with repair manuals on the shelves. Family photographs at one end. A stack of unopened mail. Apples on the counter.

Nothing had been selected as a set.

I’d just accumulated a life.

Caprice moved farther into the room.

“You were right.”

“About what?”

“This isn’t a cabin. It’s a really nice house.”

I smiled. “I’ve been saying that. Thank you.”

She touched the back of a kitchen chair lightly before glancing toward the shelves.

“You actually use this kitchen. I can tell.”

“That sounded judgmental.”

“It wasn’t. The rental kitchen looks like it expects photography. This one expects dinner.”

That was one of the best descriptions of my house I’d ever heard.

Bear went to his bowl and stared at me.

“Right.”

I fed him while Caprice wandered toward the photographs.

She leaned closer but left the frames where they were.

“Your sister?”

“Yeah. Her husband and the kids.”

She moved to another.

“Your parents.”

“Right.”

“And that must be your brother.”

He stood in uniform beside me in the last photo we’d taken together.

Caprice smiled faintly.

“You look alike around the eyes.”

“I’ve heard that.”

“Not everywhere.”