Page 139 of Mountain Boss

Nothing fancy.

But sturdy enough to sit on.

I cross the room and open the fridge with trembling hands.

It’s stocked.

Deli meat and sliced cheese. Cans of soda. A jar of jelly. Some type of milk and short bottles of orange juice.

I close the fridge and slowly turn around.

On the counter, next to my kettle, is a pile of cold medication. Way too much. The evidence of a panicked shopping trip, buying every sort of decongestant, fever reducer, cough suppressant, and immunity booster in sight.

It’s unnecessary. Over the top. And the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me.

I almost wish I still felt bad, that it was a real cold and not some twenty-four-hour thing, so I could use all this.

“Oh, Sterling,” I whisper.

Gratitude and guilt and wonder all crowd in around me.

My eyes tick over to the cupboard over the sink.

He must’ve looked in there.

Must’ve seen how little I had.

It’s hard to swallow, but not from illness.

I slowly step over to the sink and pull open the cabinet door.

My food shelf… is full.

Three stacks of microwavable soup.

A row ofjust microwaveAsian noodle dishes.

Crackers and bread. Packets of flavored oatmeal and those little cups of fruit suspended in Jell-O.

It’s too much.

It’s way too much.

I’m stumbling to the door before I even realize where I’m going.

I have to find Sterling.

Have to tell him to take it all back.

A tear rolls down my cheek, and I tell myself it’s because I’m still not feeling one hundred percent, and not because this man is starting to mean more to me than he should.

It’s not because this man has somehow managed to flip my fortune around in a matter of one night.

I tug on the door handle, but the door doesn’t open.

I blink down at the matte black handle in my hand. And at the deadbolt above it.

He gave me a lock for my door.

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