Page 11 of Rescue in Misty Mountain

“I built the table,” he says.

I blink. “Seriously?”

He nods.

“Of course, you did.”

His mouth twitches again. Every smile, no matter how small, feels like a win.

We tidy up the kitchen together. Our hands bumping in the sink. It’s subtle, the way we move around each other. But it already feels synchronized.

Like we’ve been doing this forever. Whatever this is.

I shake my head, quickly dismissing the thought.

“My car…” I say.

“Right.” He clears his throat. “I’ll take you to town and the shop will have a look.”

* * *

When we pull into town, it’s the definition of quaint. It looks like something out of a postcard. The mechanic comes out to meet us, and Gage introduces us, and I introduce Whiskey, who is in an extra carrier that Gage had. She tells me she’ll send out her tow truck and bring it to the shop for a look.

“You can wait at the diner, if you want,” Gage says

“And what about you?”

“I’ve got errands,” he says.

I don’t ask what kind. We’re already getting too close for comfort.

“I think I’ll walk around town and explore,” I say.

“If you like.”

We walk to the corner and each face a different direction. “I guess this is where we part ways.”

“Guess so.”

We stand there a beat too long. I shift my weight, almost ready to turn when he steps forward just slightly. His hand brushes mine again—on purpose this time.

“Well.” I swallow past a lump. “Thank you for everything.”

He nods.

“If you need anything,” he says, “I’m out there most days.”

“Out where?”

“The rescue. If you need a place to stay a while longer, the spare room is yours.”

I smile. “I might take you up on that.”

He nods, then heads back to the truck.

As I watch him drive off, I press my hand to my chest, right over the part that suddenly feels lighter.

And heavier.

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