Total pages in book: 28
Estimated words: 26801 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 134(@200wpm)___ 107(@250wpm)___ 89(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 26801 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 134(@200wpm)___ 107(@250wpm)___ 89(@300wpm)
“I’ll keep Shep away from your flowers,” he says, his tone softer now. “But I’m not making any promises about the rooster.”
I roll my eyes, but there’s no real annoyance behind it. “Deal.”
We drink our coffee in relative silence, the air between us charged with something neither of us is ready to name.
As Finn heads for the door, Shep trailing behind him, he pauses, looking back at me.
“You know,” he says, his voice gruff but almost... warm, “that winter? It was a good one.”
I smile, a genuine one this time. “Yeah. It was.”
And as the door closes behind him, I can’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, all these years later, there’s still something good left between us.
Chapter Eight
Finn
The dart slams into the bullseye with a satisfying thunk, and I raise an eyebrow at Ridge. He whistles low, shaking his head like I’ve just bested him in a gladiatorial arena. “Damn, Finn. You’re deadly tonight.”
“Channeling some unresolved tension, maybe?” Fox chimes in, grinning around the rim of his beer mug.
Liam snorts from the corner, his boots kicked up on a stool. “You mean the neighbor he’s been growling about since she moved in? Yeah, I’d say there’s a little tension there.”
I toss another dart, this time purposefully missing. “If by ‘tension,’ you mean a persistent rooster and a dog who thinks her garden is a buffet, sure.”
“Oh, don’t start with the rooster again,” Ridge says, leaning against the bar. “It’s not the rooster keeping you up at night, Finn. It’s the girl.”
Fox taps his glass on the table. “The childhood sweetheart twist was a nice touch, though. Real Hallmark movie stuff.”
“Hallmark?” I glare at him, regretting telling them all about last night’s revelation. “This isn’t a damn fairy tale.”
“No,” Liam says, his tone dropping into something quieter, something that cuts through the ribbing like a hot knife. “But maybe it should be. Love’s about the only thing that matters in a place like this, Finn. Out here, it’s too easy to lose sight of what’s important.”
The bar falls quiet, save for the clink of glasses and the soft hum of conversation from the other tables. I don’t respond, but the words linger. Love. Important. They feel foreign, like trying to fit into clothes you’ve long since outgrown.
Eventually, Ridge changes the subject, diving into a story about a bear encounter on the trail. I laugh when I’m supposed to, throw a few more darts, but my mind is already halfway home. By the time I step out into the cool night air, my thoughts are tangled in the memory of Tessa’s wide-eyed determination when she told me about her plants, her rooster, and her dreams of starting fresh.
The drive home is quiet, the dark road winding through the forest like a familiar old friend. When I pull into the gravel driveway, Shep hops out of the truck before I’ve even killed the engine, his tail wagging as he trots toward Tessa’s cabin. Her light is still on, a soft glow spilling out from the basement window.
I stand there for a moment, leaning against the truck, watching. What is she doing up so late? And why the hell do I care?
With a sigh, I shove my hands in my pockets and follow Shep’s lead. I knock lightly on the basement door, the sound barely audible over the chirp of crickets.
The door creaks open, and Tessa peers out, her brow furrowing when she sees me. She’s wearing an old sweatshirt, her hair pulled into a messy knot, and there’s dirt smeared across her cheek.
“Finn? What are you doing here?”
“I could ask you the same thing,” I say, nodding toward the light inside. “Figured I’d check in before you brought another rooster into the mix.”
She rolls her eyes but steps back, letting me inside. I follow her downstairs and the warmth of the basement wraps around me, and the scent of damp soil and fresh greenery fills the air.
“I was repotting some plants,” she says, gesturing to the small table in the corner where a collection of terracotta pots sit. Her hands are covered in soil, her fingers deftly patting down the dirt around a sprig of something green and delicate.
“You’ve got a knack for making things grow,” I say, the words slipping out before I can stop them.
Tessa looks up, startled, and then a small smile curves her lips. “I like bringing things to life.”
For a moment, I can’t look away. There’s something about the way she’s standing there, so completely herself, that tugs at a part of me I thought had gone numb a long time ago. My time in the military left a mark that’s hard to shake most days. Shutting down makes it easier to get through deployment when you’re in the middle of mass destruction halfway around the world.