Page 69 of Saved By the Boss

I move to the couch, stretching and testing the weight on my ankle again. It still aches, but not nearly as bad as it did last night. Either the swelling’s gone down, or I’ve gotten used to the pain. Jade brings over two bowls of tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches. I pick up the discarded tray she used this morning and set it next to me so we can both eat on the couch. Her dark eyes flick to my ankle, then back to my face, and I can tell she’s holding back from asking if I’m okay again.

“You’re quiet,” she says, as she sets down the bowls. “How’s the ankle?”

“Better,” I admit, rotating it carefully. “Still not great, but at least I can move it without wanting to scream.”

She smiles, sitting down and pulling her legs under her. “Progress.”

“Yeah,” I say, watching her as she leans back, the firelight dancing across her features. “Progress.”

We lapse into a comfortable silence for a while as we eat, the only sounds, the crackling fire and the faint whistle of the wind outside. It’s nice, just being here with her, no pressure to fill the space with meaningless chatter. She’s good at that, at letting the quiet feel natural instead of awkward.

But eventually, curiosity gets the better of me. There’s a lot about her I still don’t know, and while I don’t want to push, I can’t help but wonder what brought her to a place like this. People don’t end up in cabins tucked away in the mountains for no reason. I know that better than anyone.

“So,” I say, leaning back against the cushions, “how’d you end up out here? This cabin, I mean.”

She hesitates, her gaze dropping to her hands. “Well, I was living above the hardware store, but it was too tiny, even for me. Ron rented it to me dirt cheap, though, so I was able to save,” she says finally, as if she’s carefully chosen her words, skipping over anything that happened before. “This place had been on the market for a long time, so the realtor was desperate to unload it. It was just a right place, right time kind of thing.”

It’s a vague answer, putting even my vagueness to shame. I put my hand on her knee and squeeze gently. “That’s not what I meant,” I say, though I know she knows.

“I grew up in a big city,” she says after a moment, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her sweater. “It was loud, crowded, a little chaotic, and some bad things happened to me there. I wanted to find somewhere quiet. Somewhere I felt like I could disappear.”

I don’t say anything, but my mind starts piecing things together. The way she carries herself, always alert, always a little guarded. The way she talks about her past, careful not to give too much away. She’s just like me. She’s either hiding from something or running away.

“Anyway,” she says, shrugging like it’s no big deal, “I just moved in last week. It’s why I wasn’t really ready for the storm. I’ve barely even unpacked as you can see.”

I nod slowly, my chest tightening as I realize that she doesn’t want to talk about this anymore.

“Seems like it’s working out for you,” I say, keeping my tone light. “This place suits you.”

She smiles faintly, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Yeah. For now.”

The weight of those last two words hangs between us. I want to tell her I understand, that I’ve been there, but I don’t want to scare her off. She’s already let me in more than I expected, and the last thing I want is to push her away because I seemed too nosy.

“What about you?” she asks, breaking the silence. “What broughtyouhere?”

I shrug, leaning forward to adjust the logs in the fire. “Same as you, I guess. Needed a change of scenery after life in the big city.”

It’s not a lie, but it’s not the whole truth either. I don’t know if I’m ready to go into all of it yet. My brother, the family business, the explosion that made me a widower. But she doesn’t press, just nods like she understands.

And maybe she does.

The conversation shifts after that, moving to lighter topics. We talk about the town, the weather, the trails winding through the mountains. She tells me about the hardware store, about Ron and his endless supply of grandfatherly advice, and I find myself smiling more than I have in a long time.

As the afternoon wears on, the storm shows no sign of letting up, but neither of us seems to mind. It’s easy, being here with her, the hours slipping by without effort. I can’t remember the last time I felt this comfortable with someone, this at ease.

At one point, I suggest going on a hike together once my ankle heals. It’s not a concrete plan, exactly, but I want her to know that I want to see her again. Her face lights up at the idea, and she agrees almost immediately, her enthusiasm catching me off guard in the best way.

“We could try the Ridge Trail,” she says, her eyes bright. “It’s not too steep, and the views are incredible.”

“Sounds perfect,” I say, and I mean it. I’m already looking forward to it, more than I probably should.

As the day turns into night, the cabin grows quieter, the fire the only source of light and warmth. Jade curls up on the couch beside me, her head resting against the armrest, and I can see her eyelids growing heavy.

“Tired?” I ask softly, and she nods, her movements slow and languid.

“A little,” she admits, her voice barely audible.

“Come on,” I say, standing and holding out a hand to her. “Let’s get you to bed.”

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