Page 141 of The Lineman

Then I turned back to him.

“Not bad.”

Mike scoffed. “Not bad? Seriously?”

I shrugged, unbuckling my seat belt. “We’ll see if it’s still standing when we’re done with it. You might decide to cook.”

Mike sighed. “I knew I should’ve gotten a security deposit.”

Homer let out an excited bark, shifting in my lap.

I reached down to scratch behind his ears. “At least one of us is excited.”

Mike shook his head, but his smile lingered.

We got out of the car, moving slower than I would have liked—my damn cast made everything take twice as long, but Mike didn’t rush me, just grabbed our bags from the trunk and followed me up the porch like he belonged there.

Likewebelonged there.

Inside, the cabin was simple—wooden beams, a big stone fireplace, a kitchen that looked barely used. We stepped into the single bedroom with a massive bed that Mike eyed like it was the greatest thing he’d ever seen.

“Oh hell yes,” he muttered, tossing his bag down and flopping onto his back.

I raised a brow. “Need a nap?”

“Maybe,” he said, already kicking off his shoes.

Homer, freshly excited about something, bolted past us and onto the bed, where he began scratching and making the covers his own.

Mike sighed. “And now it’s covered in dog hair.”

I shrugged. “You knew what you were signing up for.”

He looked at me then, something unreadable flickering across his face.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “I did.”

I swallowed.

Then—before I could overthink it—I turned toward the porch. “Come on, old man. We’re gonna miss the sunset.”

The lake was still, stretching wide beyond the porch, the sky melting into streaks of orange and gold and deepening blue.

Mike stood beside me, his hands braced against the railing, his face lit by the last rays of sun.

I watched him more than I watched the sky.

Everything felt so easy.

So right.

Like maybe, just maybe, I wasn’t a man built to be alone.

Mike let out a slow breath. “You ever think about it?”

I glanced at him, mystified by his ability to read my mind. “About what?”

“This,” he said, gesturing to the cabin, the lake, the stillness around us. “Getting away from everything. Making it permanent.”

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