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“Do you type on it?”
She gasped. “Never. Could you imagine? There’s no easy way to correct mistakes. I’d go through a forest of paper for a first draft.”
“Modern technology is a bane and a boon.”
She turned to him. “So, what else do you read?” she asked, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. Her hand went back and gripped her mug of cocoa.
“Well, I read a bit of everything. A good story is a good story, no matter the genre,” he said, a shrug playing at his broad shoulders. His eyes were drawn to her hands, how she cradled the mug, the color of her nails—a soft pink—providing a subtle contrast against the white ceramic.
“Any favorite author?” she pressed, her gaze expectant.
The question was simple, yet it sent him down a memory lane he rarely traversed. He considered his response, his mind weaving through the various authors and stories he’d read over the years. “Don’t judge me, but I love Diana Gabaldon.”
Amanda blinked, taking a moment to process his response. Then, she broke into a laugh, her eyes filled with a mixture of surprise and delight. “I didn’t see that coming. But I’m starting to realize there’s a lot about you I didn’t see coming.”
There was something in her words, in her gaze, that sent a warm thrill through him. He was used to being overlooked and people making assumptions about him based on his appearance and occupation. But she was looking at him, really seeing him. And it brought him great joy.
“Why Gabaldon?” she asked, leaning toward him.
“I suppose ... her characters. They’re raw, real, flawed.” He paused, trying to gather his thoughts into something coherent. “They endure, despite the odds. There’s a certain nobility in that, don’t you think?”
She looked at him. “I love Outlander too, but probably because of Jamie Frazier, whereas you probably like the historical part.”
“I like the whole concept of two worlds colliding.” He sipped his cocoa. “Your turn,” he prompted. “Who’s your favorite author?”
Her eyes widened as if surprised by his interest. She nibbled on her lower lip as seemed to deliberate. “Jane Austen,” she confessed.
Her answer surprised him. He expected someone like Nora Roberts, Yet, thinking about it, it also made sense. The classics, like Austen, were known for their engaging narratives, complex characters, and insightful social commentary. “Pride and Prejudice?” he asked with a lift to his brow.
She laughed then, a warm, genuine sound that bounced around the cabin and burrowed deep into his chest. “Predictable, right?” She rolled her eyes. “But yes,Pride and Prejudice. When I grow up, I want to be Elizabeth Bennett.”
“Who knew?” An unexpected sense of camaraderie overtook him. It was remarkable how quickly they’d found common ground, how easily their conversation flowed. It was refreshing how she spoke about her passions and how her eyes lit up when she delved into a subject she cared about.
The hours slipped by unnoticed as the conversation flowed naturally between them, the two of them drawn together by the shared comfort of their favorite stories.
They snacked on a frozen pizza, but the conversation never stopped.
His curiosity guided him. He observed Amanda, studying her reactions, wanting to tread carefully so he didn’t offend but he wanted … no, needed to know more.
“You don't seem the type to pack up your entire life on a whim, are you?” A smile tugged at his lips to lighten the seriousness of his question.
She shook her head. “No, I’m not.”
A series of emotions flickered across her face. There was a mix of nostalgia, melancholy, and a touch of regret, quickly replaced by a steely resolve that he’d grown to associate with her.
“I needed something different to get me out of the funk I was in, so I asked for a sign, and it came the next day. I’m not one to test fate.”
Jackson knew all about the desire for a fresh start. The feeling of being stuck in a rut, of wanting something different … something more. His gaze softened as he leaned back, tucking an ankle over his knee.
“I can understand wanting to escape the noise, the rush. Aspen Cove’s the perfect place for that.”
Her eyes met his, and he saw a flash of understanding there. “It’s peaceful,” she agreed. “A perfect place for a new beginning.”
He appreciated the small town’s serenity but hadn’t considered what it could offer to someone like Amanda. To her, this town wasn’t just a quiet place to live, it was a sanctuary, a place to heal and start anew.
He admired her for her bravery to uproot her life for something better. A strong urge coursed through him, compelling him to provide reassurance, to convey that she had indeed made the right choice. That Aspen Cove, with all its quirks and charm, would be the home she needed it to be.
“What I love about living here is that we look out for one another,” he assured her. “You’re part of the community now. You’ll never be alone.”
