Using the wall for support, I hop to the bathroom, cringing at my reflection. Yikes. There's not much I can do without my toiletry bag, but I find an unused toothbrush still in its packaging and splash water on my face.
When I finally emerge from the bedroom, I find Caleb at the woodstove, his back to me. The muscles beneath his flannel shirt shift as he stirs something that smells like heaven.
"Morning," I call softly, not wanting to startle him.
He turns, eyes flicking over me in a quick assessment. "Ankle?"
"Still attached." I hop toward the table. "But definitely not happy."
He nods, returning to whatever he's cooking. "Breakfast in five. Coffee's ready."
I spot the coffee pot on the counter and make my way over, trying not to put weight on my bad ankle. The kitchen—if you can call this small cooking area that—is organized with military precision. Everything has a place.
"Mugs?" I ask.
He points to a cabinet without looking up. Inside, I find a mismatched collection of mugs. I select one with a faded National Parks logo and fill it with the darkest coffee I've ever seen.
"You like it strong," I observe, taking a cautious sip. Then my eyes widen. "And good. Really good."
"Told you. Standards." There's the barest hint of satisfaction in his voice.
It's the first time I've seen him in full daylight, and I try not to stare. He's even more imposing than he seemed last night—taller than my original estimate, with broad shoulders and arms built from actual labor, not gym sessions. His dark hair is cut short on the sides but longer on top, and the beard that I thought might be trying too hard for mountain man aesthetics is actually... really working for him.
He's ruggedly handsome in a way that makes my city boys look like children playing dress-up.
Ruby rises from her spot by the fire, stretching before padding over to greet me with a cautious sniff.
"Good morning to you too," I say, carefully extending my hand. She allows a quick scratch behind the ears before returning to Caleb's side. Loyal. I get it.
"Hope you like oatmeal," Caleb says, bringing two steaming bowls to the table.
It's not the sad packet oatmeal I'm used to. This is thick, hearty, loaded with what looks like dried berries and nuts.
"Looks amazing," I say, genuinely impressed. "Did you forage these berries too?"
"Picked and dried them last summer." He sits across from me, immediately digging in.
I take a bite and nearly moan. Who knew oatmeal could taste this good? "You know, for someone who doesn't like people, you're a surprisingly good host."
"Not a host. Just practical." He doesn't look up from his bowl. "You need food. I have food."
"Right. Super practical." I hide my smile behind my coffee mug. "What's the plan for today? Are you going to radio the rangers?"
He nods once. "After breakfast. Storm's passed, but roads might still be washed out. Could take a day or two."
I absorb this information, surprised by my lack of panic. Yesterday, being stuck in the woods with no cell service and a sprained ankle felt like the end of the world. Today, it feels almost... peaceful.
"I'm sorry to impose on you," I say. "I know you value your solitude."
His eyes flick up to meet mine, startled by my perception. "It's fine."
He's a man of few words, but I'm starting to read the variations in his grunts and clipped phrases. This one translates to: It's not ideal, but I won't let you die.
"How long have you lived up here?" I ask, trying again for conversation.
"Five years." He takes a sip of coffee, then surprisingly elaborates. "Came up after my last fire season."
"Fire season?" This is new information. "You were a firefighter?"
