Page 5 of Restored By the Mountain Man
He shrugs those impressive shoulders. "Laurel would kill me if I didn't."
"Still, I appreciate it." I glance around at the stacks of boxes filling the cozy space. Laurel's former cabin is charming, with rustic wooden walls, large windows overlooking the surrounding forest, and enough room for my modest collection of furniture. Tucked away on Hunter land about fifteen minutes from town, it feels like my own private retreat.
Laurel emerges from the bedroom, hair piled messily on top of her head. "Sheets are on the bed, towels in the bathroom. Oh, and I left some basics in the fridge so you won't starve tonight."
"You think of everything," I say gratefully.
"Years of practice dealing with your disaster energy," she teases. "Remember when you moved into our dorm and forgot to pack bedding entirely?"
"That was eight years ago!" I protest. "Are you ever going to let me live it down?"
"Nope," she grins, then turns to Grayson. "Can you grab those last bags from the car, babe? I want to show Zoe where everything is before we go."
He nods, dropping a kiss on her forehead before heading back downstairs. The casual affection between them makes my heart twist with this ache that feels like both envy and joy. They fit together so naturally, like they've been a pair for years instead of months.
Once he's gone, Laurel turns to me with a serious expression. "Are you sure you don't want to come to dinner tonight? Everyone's dying to meet you properly."
"I'm sure." I start unpacking a box of kitchen supplies, needing to keep my hands busy. "I've got unpacking to do and I want to review some notes before starting at the distillery tomorrow."
"It's just Sunday dinner. You need to eat anyway," she argues.
"I'll grab something simple tonight. I really want to get settled and be prepared for tomorrow."
She sighs but doesn't push further. "Fine, but you're coming next week. No excuses."
"We'll see," I hedge.
Laurel leads me through a detailed tour of the apartment's features, pointing out the quirks of the old building, where she keeps spare lightbulbs, how to jiggle the bathroom doorknob just right when it sticks.
Grayson returns with the last of my bags, setting them by the door. "Ready to go, Red?" he asks Laurel, using the affectionate nickname.
"Almost." She turns to me, suddenly looking like she might cry. "I can't believe we're going to be in the same town again. It's like college but better because now we're adults with actual money."
"Speak for yourself," I laugh, but emotions rise in my throat too. "Thank you for helping me get this job, this apartment... just, everything."
"That's what best friends are for." She pulls me into a fierce hug. "Call me if you need anything tonight. And I mean anything, even if it's just company while you unpack."
"I'll be fine," I assure her. "Go enjoy your family dinner."
After another round of hugs and promises to check in tomorrow, they finally leave. The cabin falls silent, the kind of quiet that seems to emphasize my solitude.
I move to the window, watching as Grayson helps Laurel into his truck, his hand lingering protectively at the small of her back. They drive away, and suddenly the reality of what I've done hits me full force.
I've left Portland, my parents, my job, everything familiar, to start over in a town where I know exactly one person, who's completely wrapped up in her own romance. I'm about to begin working for a man who communicates primarily in brooding silences and intense stares.
"What the hell am I doing?" I whisper to the empty cabin.
No answer comes, of course. Just the distant sounds of nature and a faint ticking of the vintage clock on the wall.
With a deep breath, I turn back to the boxes. One step at a time.Unpack. Settle in. Prepare for tomorrow.
I pull out a framed photo of Tom and me from one of the boxes marked "Bedroom." His smile is radiant, his arm around my waist as we stand in front of the Portland Japanese Garden. We look happy, oblivious to the future awaiting us.
"I'm trying," I tell his image, running my finger along the edge of the frame. "I don't know if this is right, but I'm trying."
I place the photo on the nightstand, then continue unpacking, working methodically through boxes until the space starts to feel like mine. When hunger finally drives me to check the fridge, I find Laurel has stocked it with all my favorites, a six-pack of local craft beer, and a bottle of decent white wine.
There's a note stuck to the wine:
