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Jackson came in with another armload of groceries and said, “This is it. I think I’ll feed Gunner and then try to shore up the porch with a 2 x 4 I have in the truck. With the weight of this snowfall, I want to make sure it doesn’t completely collapse.”
He fed the dog and excused himself. She admired how he moved with purpose, his muscles flexing under his shirt as he carried the heavy piece of wood. He was strong, capable, and reliable—all good qualities in a man.
While Jackson was outside working on the porch, Amanda busied herself with putting away the groceries. She took her time organizing the pantry and the fridge.
As she worked, she found her thoughts drifting back to Jackson. She thought about his gentle nature, his kindness, his strength. She considered how he had supported Louise and her children at the store, assured her about the oncoming storm, and reinforced her porch without even being asked.
She grabbed her phone. She had one bar despite the mountain location and her lack of internet service. A call would never go through but a text ... maybe.
Meg, I’m here, and you won’t believe what’s happened.
The dots moved across her screen, and Meg’s message appeared.
You are in so much trouble, young lady. I’ve called a dozen times. I was ready to send out a search team. Are you okay?
She was better than okay.
I’m in the cabin. It’s a beautiful disaster. There was a raccoon, and now there’s a snowstorm. I may be trapped here for days.
The dots appeared again.
I’ve got a spare bedroom if you want to come here.
She loved Meg, but Florida wasn’t for her.
You have hurricanes, and humidity. And Florida doesn’t have Jackson.
She waited for all of two seconds before Meg responded in all caps.
WAIT. WHO IS JACKSON?
Amanda laughed.
He’s my handyman, my roommate, and, maybe, my muse.
Almost a minute passed before Meg replied.
I need all the deets.
She looked out the window at Jackson, who was still working on the porch. His forehead crinkled in concentration, his muscles flexing with each swing of his hammer.
No time now. I’ve got to go, but I’ll call you when I can. It will probably be a few days.
She set her phone down and decided to make hot chocolate. She took out the cocoa powder, the sugar, and the milk, put them in a pot, and began to heat them on the stove. The rich, chocolatey scent filled the cabin.
Jackson walked inside as she poured the hot cocoa into two mugs. He saw her standing there and smiled.
“You know what’s perfect with hot cocoa?”
She could think of a thousand things, like marshmallows and fresh cookies, but something in his eyes told her she’d be wrong.
“Tell me.”
"A fire," he exclaimed, nonchalantly shrugging off his jacket and draping it on the hook beside the door. Jackson moved through her cabin with a familiarity that suggested he belonged there, as if it were his own. Or perhaps it was the undeniable truth that he embodied a sense of home for her.
CHAPTEREIGHT
He headed for the fireplace, determined to get a blazing fire started. The baseboard heaters did their job, but nothing was as inviting as a fire. Pulling off his gloves, he crouched down, reaching for the neatly stacked logs on the hearth. He chose two, their surfaces smooth and dry under his fingertips, evidence of careful chopping and storage.
