The axe bites into the log with a satisfying crack, splitting the wood clean down the middle. Sweat trickles down my back despite the morning chill. I've been at this for hours, the pile of split wood growing steadily beside me. My shoulders burn with exertion, but I welcome the pain. Physical discomfort is easier to manage than whatever the hell is happening in my head.

It's been two weeks since I left her at her grandmother's house. Fourteen days of throwing myself into work, training, anything to exhaust my body enough that my mind doesn't wander to places it shouldn't. To her.

I swing the axe again. Harder. The log shatters.

"Jesus Christ, Sullivan. What did that wood ever do to you?"

I turn to find Marcus watching me from the edge of the clearing, coffee cup in hand, amusement etched across his face.

"Don't you have work to do?" I growl, embedding the axe in the chopping block.

"Already did it. Unlike some people, I don't wake up at four in the fucking morning to assault innocent trees." He sips his coffee, studying me over the rim. "You know there's such a thing as too much firewood, right? Even for these mountains."

I grunt, swiping my forearm across my sweat-slick forehead. "Winter's coming."

"It's September."

"Your point?"

Marcus sighs, handing me a cup. I take it reluctantly, the coffee inside strong and black. Just how I like it.

"My point is you've been acting like a bear with a thorn in its paw since you dropped that girl off in town." He raises an eyebrow. "Anything you want to talk about?"

"No." I drain half the mug in one swallow, burning my throat.

"Right." He doesn't sound convinced. "Well, there's been a change of plans for today. Call came in from Sheriff Winters. He needs us in town."

My stomach tightens. Town means people. Questions. Gossip.

Town means the possibility of seeing her.

"What for?"

"Supply pickup for the new emergency caches we're setting up along the eastern trails. Delivery truck couldn't make it up to the base."

"Send Thompson and Rivers," I say, reaching for the axe again. "I've got work to do here."

"Chief specifically asked for you."

"Why?"

Marcus shrugs. "Something about wanting your input on placement. You know the eastern trails better than anyone."

He's right. I spent my first year in Whitethorn hiking every inch of those mountains, mapping routes no one else bothered with. Still, the thought of going into town makes my skin itch.

"Fine," I concede. "Let me get cleaned up."

Inside the cabin, I strip off my sweat-soaked shirt and splash cold water on my face. The mirror above the sink reflects a harder version of myself than I remember—more lines around my eyes, more gray in my beard. I look like a man carrying weight.

I look like a man who kissed a woman young enough to be his daughter and can't stop thinking about it.

"Fuck," I mutter, turning away from my reflection.

Ranger watches from the doorway, head tilted in that way that says he knows exactly what's wrong with me.

"Don't start," I tell him, pulling on a clean flannel. "We're just going to town, picking up supplies, and coming straight back. No detours. No distractions."

His tail wags once, doubt written all over his canine face.

An hour later, Marcus and I are in my truck, heading down the mountain toward Whitethorn. The day is clear, fall colors painting the landscape in fire—reds and golds against the evergreen backdrop. The kind of view tourists drive hours to photograph.

All I see is the road ahead, each mile bringing me closer to the one place I've been avoiding.

"So," Marcus breaks the silence as we approach the town limits, "you going to tell me what happened with Meredith Fletcher's granddaughter or am I supposed to pretend I don't see you brooding like some teenager?"

My hands tighten on the steering wheel. "Nothing happened."

"Bullshit." He doesn't even try to sound convinced. "I've known you for years, Sullivan. You don't bring people to your cabin. Ever. Not even me, and I'm your closest friend in this godforsaken place."

"It was a rescue situation," I say flatly. "Roads were blocked. She was injured."

"And that's it?"

I turn to glare at him. "That's it."

Marcus raises his hands in surrender. "Alright, alright. Just saying, the whole town's noticed you're even more antisocial than usual lately. And Meredith's girl started working at the diner right after you dropped her off. Pretty coincidence."

Something in my chest constricts. "She's working at the diner?"

"Started last week. Lily says they've become fast friends." He's watching me too closely. "Why? Planning to grab breakfast?"

"No."

The word comes out sharper than intended. I force my grip on the wheel to relax, consciously rolling tension from my shoulders. Marcus has the decency not to comment further, but I feel his eyes on me for the rest of the drive.

We park in front of the sheriff's office. The morning is still young, but the sidewalks are already populated—locals running errands, a few tourists taking photos of the mountains looming behind the buildings.

Sheriff Winters meets us at the door, folders tucked under one arm. "Sullivan. Martinez. Thanks for coming in."

We follow him inside to the conference room where maps of the surrounding wilderness are spread across the table. Red pins mark existing emergency caches—supply points stocked with first aid, food, water, and other essentials for hikers or SAR operations.

"Eastern trails have had three rescues in the past month," Winters says, tapping sections of the map. "Two lost hikers, one injured climber. Response time was longer than I'd like."

I focus on the task at hand, grateful for the distraction. "You should put them here, here, and here." I point to three key junctions along the trails. "Natural shelters, relatively accessible even in bad weather."

Winters nods. "That's what I was thinking, too. Supply truck dropped everything at the general store. Once we finalize locations, you can load up and get these set before the first snow."

The next hour is consumed with logistics—what supplies go where, access routes, maintenance schedules. I lean into the work, letting it occupy all available mental space, pushing away thoughts of dark eyes and soft lips and the smallest hands I've ever felt against my skin.

"We'll need Ranger to check the southern cache location," I tell Marcus when we've finished with Winters. "Old mining area. Potential for wildlife dens."

"Already ahead of you," he says, glancing toward the truck where Ranger waits patiently. "But let's grab some food first. I'm starving."

My stomach drops. "I'm not hungry."

"Well, I am. And since you're my ride, you get to watch me eat." His grin is deliberately annoying. "Come on, Sullivan. The cafe has that black coffee you pretend not to love."

He knows exactly what he's doing. I could refuse, insist we grab supplies and leave. But that would only confirm what he already suspects—that I'm avoiding something.

Or someone.

"Fine," I concede. "Thirty minutes. That's it."

I whistle for Ranger, who jumps from the truck bed. The three of us head toward the diner at the corner of Main Street, my steps growing heavier with each block.

It's busy inside, the breakfast rush in full swing. The bell above the door announces our arrival, turning a few heads our way. The familiar scent of coffee and bacon fills the air, along with the hum of conversation that dies for a beat when we enter.

Small towns. Everyone notices everything.

Marcus leads us to a booth by the window. I slide in facing the door—old habits from decades of training. Ranger settles under the table, pressing against my boots. He's unusually restless, ears perked, nose twitching.

"What's wrong with the dog?" Marcus asks, noticing Ranger's behavior.

Before I can answer, I hear it. Her laugh. Bright and genuine.

My head turns before I can stop it, eyes searching until they find her. She's behind the counter, coffeepot in hand, smiling at something the purple-haired waitress beside her is saying. Her dark hair is pulled back in a ponytail, a few strands escaping to frame her face. The bruises are gone now, the cut on her temple faded to a thin line barely visible at this distance.

She's beautiful. Vibrant. Alive in a way that makes everything else in the room seem dull.

And I can't look away.

"Well, shit," Marcus murmurs, following my gaze. "Now I get it."

"Shut up," I growl, forcing my eyes down to the menu I don't need to read. I've ordered the same thing here for years.

"No judgment, man," he says, his voice uncharacteristically gentle. "Just haven't seen you look at anyone like that. Ever."

"I'm not looking at anyone like anything."

"If you say so."

Under the table, Ranger shifts, a whine building in his throat. I press my boot against his side in warning, but it's too late. Something changes in his posture, a recognition that travels through his body like an electric current.

He sees her.

"Ranger, stay," I command, voice low and firm.

For the first time since I've had him, my perfectly trained dog ignores me.

He bolts from under the table, weaving through the diner with single-minded determination, straight toward the counter. Toward her.

"Shit," I mutter, standing to follow him.

It happens in slow motion. Brynn turns, coffeepot still in hand, and spots Ranger bounding toward her. Her eyes widen, then light up. She sets down the pot just in time to kneel and receive the full force of a German Shepherd's enthusiasm, his whole body wiggling with joy as he reaches her.

"Ranger!" She laughs, her hands buried in his fur as he licks her face. "What are you doing here, boy?"

The entire diner watches the reunion, expressions ranging from surprise to happiness. I'm frozen halfway across the floor, trapped in the no-man's-land between my booth and the counter, between retreat and confrontation.

Then she looks up, still kneeling with her arms around my dog, and sees me.

Our eyes meet.

Everything stops—sound, movement, time itself. The air between us feels charged, electric, the distance both too great and not nearly enough.

Something flickers across her face. Relief? Happiness? Anger? I can't tell. But it hits me like a physical blow, stealing the breath from my lungs.

Two weeks of distance collapse in an instant.

"Knox," she says, just loud enough for me to hear.

The way she says my name should be illegal.

I force my feet to move, closing the distance between us. Ranger sits proudly at her side now, clearly pleased with himself. Traitor.

"Sorry about that," I say, my voice rougher than intended. "He's not usually so... enthusiastic."

She stands, brushing dog hair from her apron. "I don't mind. It's good to see him. To see..." She hesitates, eyes darting to my face then away. "How have you been?"

Such a simple question. Such an impossible answer.

Terrible. Restless. Haunted by the memory of your taste.

"Fine," I say instead. "Busy. You?"

"Good." She nods, a strand of hair falling across her cheek. I fight the urge to brush it away. "I started working here. Living with Gran. Getting settled."

"I heard."

The purple-haired waitress appears beside her, giving me a familiar nod. "Mountain Man graces us with his presence. The usual black coffee?"

I see the flush rise in Brynn's cheeks. "You two know each other?"

"Everyone knows Knox," Lily says with a smirk. "Or at least, we know of him. The legend of the Mountain Hermit precedes him."

"Not a hermit," I mutter, the familiar correction automatic. "Just private."

"Same difference around here." Lily nudges Brynn. "Your friend seems to like our newest waitress, though."

Ranger is still glued to Brynn's side, looking up at her with adoring eyes.

"Dogs have good taste," Lily adds with a meaningful look. "They always know."

Brynn's blush deepens. "Lily, don't you have orders to deliver?"

"Fine, fine. I know when I'm not wanted." Lily winks at me before sauntering away, the message clear: hurt my friend and pay the price.

We're left in awkward silence, the diner's background noise filling the space between us. I should say something. Anything. But words have never been my strong suit, especially around her.

"Your table's waiting," she says finally, nodding toward where Marcus watches with undisguised interest. "I should get back to work."

"Right." I clear my throat. "Come on, Ranger."

The dog doesn't move, still pressed against Brynn's legs like he belongs there. She smiles down at him, scratching behind his ears in that spot only she seems to find.

"He's missed you," I say before I can stop myself.

Her eyes meet mine, something vulnerable flickering in their depths. "I've missed him too."

We both know we're not just talking about the dog.

"I should go," I repeat, but I don't move.

"Okay." She doesn't move either.

We stand there, caught in an orbit I don't understand and can't escape. The chatter of the diner fades to white noise. There's only her—the slight part of her lips, the rapid pulse at the base of her throat, the way her fingers have stilled in Ranger's fur.

"Your coffee's getting cold," she says softly.

"I haven't ordered yet."

"Black. No sugar. Just like at the cabin." The hint of a smile touches her lips. "I remember."

The fact that she's noticed, remembered, hits something raw inside me. "Brynn—"

"Can I get you boys anything else?" Maggie's voice cuts through the moment as she approaches, coffeepot in hand. "Brynn, table six is asking for their check."

Reality crashes back. I step away, tugging Ranger's collar. This time he follows reluctantly, throwing a longing look at Brynn.

"I know, buddy," I mutter as we return to the booth. "I know."

Marcus watches me slide in across from him, his expression carefully neutral. "Everything okay?"

"Fine." I stare out the window, avoiding his gaze.

"She seems nice."

I grunt in response.

"Pretty, too."

My eyes snap to his. "Drop it."

He raises his hands. "Just making conversation."

A waitress who isn't Brynn takes our orders. I watch from the corner of my eye as Brynn moves around the diner, filling coffee cups, taking orders, smiling at customers. She's good at this—the easy conversation, the warm presence. She belongs here among people.

Not isolated in the mountains with a broken man twice her age.

"She keeps looking over here," Marcus says casually, cutting into his pancakes.

"She's not."

"Is too. When she thinks you're not watching." He chews thoughtfully. "Which is funny, because you're watching her when you think she's not looking. It's weird."

"Are you always this irritating, or are you making a special effort today?"

He grins. "Special effort, just for you."

I force down coffee that's too hot, scalding my throat. Anything to focus on something other than the pull I feel every time Brynn passes near our table. Each time, Ranger's tail thumps against the floor, his body shifting toward her like a compass finding north.

"We should go," I say, dropping cash on the table for a meal I barely touched. "Supplies won't load themselves."

Marcus sighs but nods, wiping his mouth. "Whatever you say, boss. Just one question before we go."

"What?"

His eyes are serious now, the teasing gone. "What are you running from? Her? Or yourself?"

I don't answer, just slide out of the booth and head for the door, Ranger at my heels. The bell jingles as I push outside, gulping in air that doesn't smell like her.

Marcus follows, saying nothing more, but his question echoes in my head. What am I running from?

The memory of her taste? The way she fit against me? The fact that for the first time in years, I wanted something that wasn't solitude?

Or am I running from the man I might become if I let myself have what I want? The kind of man who takes what isn't his to take, consequences be damned.

"Knox."

Her voice stops me halfway down the block. I turn to find her standing there, apron still tied around her waist, cheeks flushed like she ran to catch up.

Marcus glances between us. "I'll uh... wait by the truck."

He steps away, leaving us alone on the sidewalk. Ranger whines happily, tail wagging as he strains toward Brynn, but I hold his collar firm.

"What is it?" I ask, harsher than intended.

She doesn't flinch. "You didn't say goodbye."

"I didn't think it mattered."

"It does." Her chin lifts, defiant. "You've been avoiding town. Avoiding me."

No point denying it. "Yes."

"Why?"

One simple word. Such a complicated answer.

"You know why."

"Because you think it was a mistake," she says, taking a step closer. "What happened at the cabin."

I don't confirm or deny, so I just watch her, fighting the urge to close the distance between us.

"What if it wasn't?" she asks, voice dropping lower. "What if it was the only thing that's made sense in months?"

Something dangerous unfurls in my chest—hope, maybe. Or hunger. Or both.

"It can't happen again," I say, but the conviction has bled from my words.

"Why? Because I'm too young? Because you're too old?"

Her questions mirror the ones she asked the last time we spoke, on her grandmother's porch. I still don't have better answers.

"Because you deserve better than someone like me," I say finally. "Someone broken."

She laughs, a short, bitter sound. "Newsflash, Knox. I'm broken too. Have been since long before I met you."

Ranger whines again, pulling against my grip until I have to either release him or risk hurting him. I let go. He bounds to Brynn, pressing against her legs like he's trying to hold her up.

"I've never pretended to be good for you," I say, watching her hands sink into Ranger's fur.

"I never asked you to be good for me." Her eyes meet mine, unflinching. "Maybe I just need you to be real. To be exactly who you are. Even if that person scares you."

The words hit too close to home, exposing nerves I've spent years protecting. This girl sees too much. Understands too much.

"I have to go," I say, the words scraping my throat raw.

Disappointment flashes across her face before she masks it. "Of course. Duty calls."

I whistle for Ranger, who returns reluctantly to my side. "Take care of yourself, Brynn."

"You too, Knox." She takes a step back, something resolute settling in her expression. "But just so you know, I'm not giving up that easily. On whatever this is."

The declaration should worry me. Should send me running faster, further. Instead, something like anticipation curls in my gut.

"There is no 'this,'" I say, but the words sound hollow even to my own ears.

"Keep telling yourself that." A small, knowing smile touches her lips. "See you around, Mountain Man."

She turns and walks back toward the diner, leaving me standing on the sidewalk watching her go. Again.

"Well, that was interesting," Marcus says, appearing at my shoulder.

"Not another word," I warn him.

He mimes zipping his lips, but the knowing look in his eyes says plenty.

We walk to the truck in silence, Ranger padding between us. I can feel the weight of Marcus's unasked questions.

"Just say it," I finally growl as we load supplies at the general store.

He pauses, a box of emergency rations in his arms. "You're into her."

"No." The denial comes automatically.

"And she's definitely into you."

I say nothing, focusing on securing tarps over the truck bed.

"The age difference is significant," he continues, "but not unheard of. She seems mature. Grounded."

"She's young enough to be my daughter," I say flatly.

"But she's not your daughter." He sets down the box. "Look, I've known you seven years, Sullivan. Seen you push away every person who tries to get close. And I get it—the divorce, the estrangement from your son, the shit you saw in the military. But that girl?" He nods toward the diner. "She looks at you like you're something worth fighting for."

"She doesn't know what she wants."

"Maybe not," he concedes. "Or maybe she knows exactly what she wants, and you're too stubborn to believe her."

I tie down the last strap with more force than necessary. "We done here?"

Marcus sighs. "Yeah, we're done. But for what it's worth? I haven't seen Ranger that happy since you found him. Dogs know, man. They always know."

I glance down at my companion, who's been unusually quiet since we left Brynn. His ears are still perked in the direction of the diner, like he's listening for her voice.

"Let's go," I say, ignoring the observation.

The drive back to base is silent, Marcus mercifully keeping further comments to himself.

When I finally get home, and Marcus is long gone, dusk settles over the mountains. I stand on my porch watching stars appear one by one. Ranger sits beside me, his warm presence a constant in a day that's slapped me around more times than I can count.

"What am I supposed to do with her?" I ask him, not expecting an answer.

He tilts his head, those intelligent eyes fixed on mine like he understands every word.

Like he's waiting for me to understand what he already knows.

That I'm still standing on my porch, looking toward town long after dark has fallen. That I'm still thinking about her words, her challenge, the determined set of her chin.

I'm not giving up that easily. On whatever this is.

I've faced armed insurgents, survived firefights, weathered blizzards with nothing but a knife and my wits. I've outlasted pain that would break most men. Built a life from the wreckage of my failures.

But something about that girl terrifies me more than all of it combined.

Not because of what she might do to me.

But because of what I might do to her—this bright, fierce creature who looks at my darkness and chooses to stay anyway.

And God help me, but a part of me wants to let her.