He watches me for a moment longer than seems necessary, then leaves, closing the door partway behind him.
Alone with the financial chaos, I take a deep breath and dive in. This is what I'm good at—creating order from disorder, finding patterns in randomness. The world might be a confusing place, but numbers always make sense. They don't lie, they don't cheat,they don't tell you they're working late when they're actually with their assistant.
I push thoughts of my ex away and focus on the task at hand. Five years of records to organize in less than 48 hours. I've handled worse, though not often in the isolated cabin of a man who looks at me like he can see straight through me.
Three hours pass in a blur of sorting, scanning, and inputting data. I create basic categories first, separating personal and business expenses, organizing by year and quarter. Cole's "system" is actually more logical than he gives himself credit for. Receipts from the same vendors tend to be grouped together, and there's a rough chronology to the madness.
A soft knock interrupts my concentration. Cole stands in the doorway with a fresh mug of coffee and a plate of what looks like homemade cookies.
"Thought you might need fuel," he says.
I stretch, suddenly aware of how stiff my shoulders have become. "Thank you. What time is it?"
"Almost midnight."
"Already?" I accept the coffee. "I've barely made a dent."
"How bad is it?" His expression is guarded, but I can see concern in those green eyes.
"Honestly? Your finances are in better shape than your filing system." I gesture to my laptop screen. "You run a profitable business. Consistent income growth year over year, reasonable expenses. The issue is documentation and categorization."
Some of the tension seems to leave his shoulders. "So, we're not completely screwed?"
"Not completely," I confirm, reaching for a cookie. "But we have a lot of work to do before Monday."
The cookie is still warm, chocolate chips melting slightly. I take a bite and can't suppress a small sound of appreciation. "These are amazing."
"Old family recipe."
"Construction and baking. You're full of surprises, Cole Blackwood."
He shifts uncomfortably under the praise. "Need anything else?"
I should keep working, but my eyes are starting to blur. "Actually, I should probably get to my hotel soon. What time does the inn close their front desk?"
Cole's expression changes, a frown deepening the lines around his mouth. "You're staying at the Cedar Falls Inn?"
"That was the plan. Jim said it's the only place in town."
He looks out the window at the storm still raging outside. "Roads will be dangerous. Creek might be over the bridge by now."
I hadn't considered that. "Is there another route?"
"Not unless you have a boat." He runs a hand through his black hair, seeming to debate something internally. "You should stay here tonight."
The suggestion catches me off guard. I've just met this man, and now he's inviting me to spend the night in his isolated cabin?
He must read my expression because he quickly adds, "Bedroom. I'll take the couch. It's not safe to drive back down the mountain tonight."
I glance at my phone and see there's barely any signal. The storm has probably knocked out some cell towers.
"I don't want to impose."
"It's not an imposition if I'm offering." His tone leaves little room for argument. "And we can get an early start tomorrow."
He has a point. Driving unfamiliar mountain roads in this weather, in the dark, would be foolish. And every hour counts before Monday's audit.
"Okay," I concede. "But I'll take the couch. I'm smaller."
