Page 17 of Challenged By the Rugged Lumberjack

"Thank you," Mason says around his mouthful of bacon.

"You're welcome," I reply, and I'm struck by how normal this feels. How right, somehow, to have them at my table, in my space.

I watch Elisa help Mason with his eggs, cutting them into manageable pieces, wiping his chin when juice dribbles. Her earlier question still hovers between us, unanswered.

"Do you think you could ever forgive him?"

"I don't know," I say finally, meeting her eyes over Mason's head. "About Riley. Forgiveness. I don't know if I can."

She nods, not pushing, just accepting. "It's not a simple thing. Forgiveness."

"No." I take a sip of coffee. "But I've been thinking. About what you said, about your boys."

Her hand moves to her belly.

"Family's complicated," I continue, taking my time to choose my words. "But it matters. Having someone who shares your history, who knows where you came from. Even when it's... difficult."

"Yes," she says softly. "It does."

"I wouldn't want your sons to end up like Riley and me. Twenty years of silence." I set down my coffee cup. "Whatever happens between them—fights, disagreements—they should always find their way back to each other."

Elisa's eyes shine bright. "That's what I want for them. To know they always have each other, no matter what."

I nod, unable to articulate the rest of what I'm feeling—the regret for years wasted in anger, the hollow space where a brother should be. Instead, I offer more toast, refill her coffee cup.

"Will you go back to your cabin today?" I ask, changing the subject.

She hesitates, then nods. "We should. I've taken advantage of your hospitality enough."

"It's not—" I stop, unsure how to explain that their presence doesn't feel like an imposition. That in some strange way, it feels like the opposite. "You're welcome to stay longer. If you want."

Surprise flickers across her face. "That's very kind, but—"

"The generator needs constant refueling," I continue, practical reasons being easier to voice than the inexplicable emptinessI feel at the thought of them leaving. "And that woodstove is temperamental. At least here there's reliable heat, electricity."

"Are you sure? We'd be in your way."

"I'm gone most days, working. Cabin's empty anyway."

Mason, finished with his breakfast, slides from his chair and toddles over to the window, pressing his nose against the glass to look out at the forest.

"It would be easier," she admits finally. "At least until I can find work, save up for a better place." She meets my eyes. "But I'd insist on contributing—cooking, cleaning, whatever you need."

"Don't need anything," I say.

She smiles, "Everyone needs something, Josh. Even mountain hermits."

I can't argue with that, though I'm not sure I could name what I need. I haven't allowed myself to consider it for a very long time.

"So," she says, "is it settled? We'll stay? Just until I get on my feet, find a job, a better place."

I nod, relief washing through me. "It's settled."

Mason turns from the window, apparently having made his own decision. He marches over to me, Hoppy clutched in one hand, and raises his arms in the universal child's gesture for "pick me up."

I freeze, looking to Elisa for guidance. She seems as surprised as I am but nods encouragingly.

Slowly, as if handling something infinitely precious and breakable, I lift Mason onto my lap. He immediately settles against my chest, a warm, solid weight, and holds up his rabbit for my inspection.

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