Fuck!
How the hell do I stop loving a woman I knew I loved three weeks in?We were sitting in a grocery store parking lot in my truck eating a snack, listening to music. She dropped a chip on her dress, and instead of picking it up with her hand, she ate it right off her chest with this satisfying grin. I knew right then and there that she was the kind of chaos I needed in my life forever. I didn’t tell her that day that I loved her, but part of me wishes I had. Instead, I wanted to wait for the perfect moment. In my head, I imagined harps and tall candles over a romantic dinner for two out by the lake. She deserved something nice, something perfect, a memory to hold on to. The water was calm, the day was quiet, and she was reeling in a pile of seaweed with all the excitement in the world. She’d barely dragged it up onto the boat when the words unintentionally slipped from my lips.
Her eyes lit up, and she fell into my arms with the sweetest smile. I hadn’t said the words in decades, and I’d never felt them like I felt them with her. I doubt I ever will again. Unfortunately, telling her all that isn’t going to turn things around.
I shake my head and stare at the tiny log cabin in front of me as Kelsi’s mom steps out onto the porch wearing an oversized flannel and a pair of black leggings. I run into her all over town, but it’s weird to show up to her home like this.
“Is that the grumpiest man in Rugged Mountain!” She smiles wide and twists back a strand of silver hair. “Come on, mister! It’s so good to see you!”
“You look great, Mrs. Winters. How are you feeling?” I climb up onto the front porch and offer her a gentle hug.
“Thank you, honey. I’m doing right as rain. Kelsi said you were staying with us for a couple of days. Is everything okay?”
She didn’t tell her mom about the accident, and I wonder if this has to do with her dad’s truck. I run through a list of possible excuses, but I have no idea what Kelsi has already said. “Sure is.I’m having some work done on my cabin, so I needed a place to crash.”
“Oh,” her mom’s voice perks, “you don’t strike me as the kind of man that would let someone else work on your place.”
She’s right, I’m not.
My chest widens with pride. “I’m having a mold issue.”Mold.That seems to get people out of conversations quickly.
“Mold is terrible. I had some last year. It was a pain in the butt and a load of money to get rid of it.” She pats me on the back. “You’re welcome to stay as long as you’d like. It’ll be nice having a man in the house again.”
“Great. Thank you. I’m here to help, so let me take care of everything. And if you need anythin’ done around the house, I like small projects.”
“Oh!” Her face lights as she says, “I couldn’t do that to you. You’re a guest.”
“I’d rather stay busy, ma’am, if it doesn’t bother you. I hate the quiet.”
“Yes, you do, dear. Kelsi told me you’re a workaholic.”
“Workaholic might be a little strong. I assume that means you can’t stop. I can stop if I want to, but I like work. It’s like a hobby.”
Mrs. Winters nods and opens the door wide, and I step inside the little cabin that raised my girl. I’d guess it’s no bigger than a thousand square feet with a wood-burning fireplace in the corner and big windows lining the back wall. Wood shelves hang on the opposite corner with pictures in carved wood frames that I study carefully, looking for images of Kelsi.
“Oh, yes. My late husband made the shelves and the frames. He loved working with his hands.” She lifts one of the pictures off the shelf. “This one is Kelsi. She was five years old, fishing with her dad. She loved being out on the water with him. They’d go out at least twice a week after school. Never caughtmuch, but she loved that time with her dad.” She scans down to the next photo. It’s Mrs. Winters and her husband. They’re much younger, maybe in their late thirties. He’s got his arm around her, and they’re leaning against his truck. She runs her weathered fingertip over the photo. “That one is my favorite. We did everything in that old thing. He’d been gluing it back together for thirty years. Got a new transmission just before he passed.” She tilts her head to the side and glances toward me. “Kelsi told me you brought her home because she left it in town for an oil change.”
I have no idea what that girl is thinking. When we get that truck back, it’s going to look like it had more than an oil change done.
Her mom sets the frame back onto the shelf. “I’ve never dropped it off before. Usually I just wait, but I guess that’s because I didn’t have another way home. That, and I have a hard time separating with the thing. Stupid, isn’t it? But every time I climb up into that driver seat, I feel like I’m getting a big warm hug from my guy, and well… the thought of something happening to that hug is too much to bear.” She wipes away a tear and shakes her head. “Jeez, sorry about that. I’m embarrassing myself. I think I might take a little nap. Please, help yourself to anything. I’m sure Kelsi will be out soon. She just ran in to take a shower.”
I nod thoughtfully, thankful I get a second to call my buddy to see what he thinks he can do with the damage to the vehicle. “Enjoy your nap. I’ll whip us up something good for dinner. Do you mind?”
“Not at all, honey. Help yourself to everything.” Her hand squeezes mine. “Thank you for being here. I hope you and Kelsi can work things out. I always thought you two were the best together.”
“I always thought so too. I just have to convince her of that.” I smile and lower my shoulders as she turns away, then peek into the cabinets to see what we have for dinner. There are a few venison steaks and some potatoes. It looks like there’s some yeast and flour, too. I could make stew and some homemade bread. It won’t be gourmet, but it’ll be edible, and I suppose that’s the point.
Reaching back into the cabinet, I pull out the flour and the oversized jar of salt. Behind that, something catches my eye. A book is tucked behind a jar of pickles with a dark-colored binding. On the cover is a couple in the shadows. A large man has leaned the woman up against an implied wall and she looks up at him as their kiss lingers in the air. I pull the title from the pantry and trace over the name.
Almost Forever by Kelsi Winters
She did it! She actually wrote her book! But… why is it in the back of the pantry? Why isn’t it proudly displayed on one of the bookshelves her father built? Hell, why isn’t it in my hands, on my nightstand, displayed on one of the shelvesIbuilt?
I flip through the pages. It was copywritten four years ago, but the publisher isn’t listed.
Chapter One: Brooks.
What the hell? Did she write our story?
