Page 17 of The Maverick of the Mountain
“Right, the stew. It’s uh, coming along. Although it’s slow going. Hank’s not the best sous chef. He’s too busy snagging beef cubes to help chop the vegetables.”
Corinne laughs, and we both turn to look at Hank. He’s trying to protest, but it’s hard when his mouth is filled with beef.
“Well, I can help you out there. Give me a job and I’m all yours.”
Wish you were, sweetheart.
“Cutting board’s right there,” I rasp. “I’ll finish up the meat and fend off Hank.”
“Sounds like you’ve got a tougher job.”
She’s not wrong. I do have a tougher job, but it’s not what she thinks.
It’s keeping my hands to myself.
“Cherry Ridge Farm, huh? Nice place.”
I glance surreptitiously at Corinne—third time in the last thirty seconds. Can’t help myself. There’s something about her next to me, preparing food in our—my kitchen. I swallow hard.
I keep thinking of this cabin, everything as ours. It’s a ridiculous fantasy, but I can’t help but let it play out.This feels natural, talking with each other as we prepare a meal. I can’t remember the last time I felt this way. Never thought I would.
We’ve been talking about her work. Life. She even admitted to seeing me at the Hungry Hiker. I considered telling her first, but I didn’t want to seem crazier than I’m already coming off. Yeah, I noticed you. Your lunch order. The way you touched your wrist as you looked out at the mountains with a soft smile. A little frown before tossing your phone in your purse…
She turns, head tilted, eyes lit up as she stares at me. “It’s gorgeous. The landscape. The lodge. Thebarn!It’s hard to even call it a barn. It’s nicer than any house I’ve lived in. Those beams? The doors and windows. A photographer’s dream.”
And you’re my dream, Corinne.
She pops a carrot chunk into her mouth before turning back to the cutting board.
I swallow, shoving the last of the meat into the pot before washing my hands.
“You know I helped with those beams.”
“You did?”
“Yeah.” I turn off the faucet, shaking my hands before grabbing a hand towel. I turn to her, wiping my hands as I lean against the counter.
“Went through a restoration and renovation process a while back. I was barely out of high school, but my grandpa got me the job.” I set the towel down beside me. “Learned a lot on that job. Learned a lot from my grandpa, too.”
“Is that why you had a chainsaw? You’re a construction worker?”
“Not any more.” I scratch my beard. “I guess I’m a woodworker.”
“You’re not sure?”
I shrug. “Never put a label on it. Just work with my hands. Shaping?—”
“Chainsaw too, apparently,” Corinne interjects, smiling.
“That’s more recent. Primarily use chainsaws to cut down the trees, not for accurate, clean cuts for my building projects. But my new project requires one right now.”
“What is it?”
Can’t remember the last time I talked about what I do. Probably when Hank was a little younger and I was trying to get him used to my voice.
“A birthday present for my niece. You know those big carved bears you sometimes see downtown.”
“I missed them on my walk downtown, but I think I know what you mean.”
