Numbers have always made sense to me. They follow rules, maintain order, and when they don't add up, there's always a logical explanation. People, on the other hand, are unpredictable variables in life's complicated equation.
And Cole Blackwood might be the most perplexing variable I've ever encountered.
I glance up from the invoice I'm examining to find him watching me from the doorway, his massive frame nearly filling the space. He's been doing this all morning—hovering, asking if I need anything, finding excuses to stay close. When our eyes meet, he doesn't look away like most people would. He holds my gaze with an intensity that makes my skin warm.
"Did you need something?" I ask, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear.
He straightens, as if caught doing something he shouldn't. "Just checking your progress."
"Steady but slow," I admit, gesturing to the organized chaos I've created. "I've sorted expenses by quarter and category, but there are inconsistencies I'm still untangling."
Cole steps into the room, and I swear the air pressure changes. When he leans over my shoulder to look at the spreadsheet on my laptop, I catch that scent again—pine, cedar, and something musky and manly.
"These equipment repairs," I point to a column of figures, trying to ignore how close he stands. "They spike every few months, always around the same time. Is there a maintenance schedule I should know about?"
He hesitates just a fraction too long. "Seasonal wear. Winter is hard on the machines."
I check the dates again. "But some of these are in summer."
Another pause. "Summer jobs are more intensive. More hours on the equipment."
It makes sense, yet something about his explanation feels incomplete. I make a note to circle back to this later.
"I need fresh air," I announce, suddenly aware of how small the office feels with him in it. "Mind if we take a break?"
"Good idea. I could use one too."
The midday sun has burned away the last traces of yesterday's storm, leaving the mountain air clean and crisp. Cole's cabin sits in a small clearing surrounded by towering pines and maples just beginning to hint at fall colors. A covered porch wraps around three sides, and as we step outside, I inhale deeply, letting the mountain air fill my lungs.
"It's beautiful here," I say, leaning against the railing. "Do you ever get used to this view?"
Cole stands beside me, his forearms resting on the weathered wood. "No. That's why I built here. I wanted to see it every day."
"You said you expanded what your father left you?"
He nods, eyes scanning the tree line. "Original cabin was half this size. Added the east wing, the wraparound porch, redid the kitchen."
"With your own hands," I observe. "You must be very proud of it."
"It's home." The simple statement carries weight, like home means something more to him than just a place to live.
I stare at him, at his strong jaw dusted with stubble, the slight crease between his brows that never fully relaxes. In the sunlight, I notice flecks of gold in his green eyes, like sunlight through forest leaves.
"What?" he asks, catching me staring.
Heat rises to my cheeks. "Nothing. Just... wondering how someone who builds such beautiful things can keep such messy records."
The corner of his mouth lifts in what might be the beginning of a smile. "Different parts of the brain."
"Fair enough. That's why you hire people like me."
"People like you," he repeats, as if testing the phrase. "Emergency bookkeepers who drop everything to save strangers from the IRS?"
I laugh. "We're a rare breed. Part accountant, part superhero."
"And your superpower is..."
"Finding order in chaos," I reply, surprised by the ease of our conversation. "Seeing patterns others miss."
