Page 14 of Grumpy on the Mountain
"That I should go." I take a step back, or try to, but Maisie is still attached to me like she's a baby koala that's been superglued to my leg. "Got things to... build."
Molly's still staring at me, and there's something in her expression that twists my gut. A flash of recognition, but also something I never saw when she was with Riley. She has a new spark of strength, of wariness.
Which is good. Sheshouldbe wary of any man with Callahan blood.
Molly steps closer, eyes studying me like I'm a puzzle she can't quite solve. I swallow hard, trapped between her gaze and memories of this woman that I can't outrun.
"You fixed my bike," she says suddenly. "That summer before senior year. The chain fell off, and you fixed it without saying a word."
She remembers that?
I remember it like it was yesterday. Her sitting on the curb outside our house, fighting tears over something Riley had said, the broken bike just another thing gone wrong in her day.
I hadn't said anything because I couldn't trust what might come out if I opened my mouth around her. Molly always had that effect on me, but I was always the weird older brother.Thatguy who was there, but not really there at all.
"Don't remember," I lie, looking away.
"Well," Sienna announces with maternal authority, "since you've both somehow ended up on my doorstep in the middle of the storm of the century, you might as well come inside. Maisie, let go of Mr. Callahan's leg before you cut off his circulation."
"I really should—"
"I insist," Sienna says with steel in her voice. "I've got hot chocolate and a child who will literally follow you into the blizzard if you leave now. Get inside."
Maisie nods vigorously, finally releasing my leg only to grab my hand with sticky fingers. "Hot chocolate withMARSHMALLOWS!"
"Lead the way, kid," I grunt, letting Molly step in front of me.
Stepping into Sienna's house feels like walking into another dimension. Warm lighting spills from vintage brass lamps, lighting up family photos that line every available surface. She has handmade quilts in a range of colors draped over furniture that looks like it's been hugged into submission over years of movie nights and Sunday afternoon naps.
Everything about this place screams home in a way that my cabin on the mountain doesn't.
I stand awkwardly in the entryway, too big for this space, too rough for these soft surroundings. Snow melts off my boots onto the welcome mat and I've never felt so out of place.
"Boots off," Maisie commands, already yanking at her own.
I comply without thinking, feeling strangely vulnerable in just my socks. Like I'm removing armor. Taking away the one thing that guarantees a quick escape.
"Come see my treehouse plans!" Maisie grabs my hand again and pulls me toward a small table covered in crayon drawings. "I want a rope swing and a secret trapdoor… and Mom said I can design my very own flag!"
I let myself be dragged along, grateful for the distraction.
Behind me, I hear Sienna's soft voice, speaking in whispers to Molly.
"So... want to explain what the hell is going on? You and Beau Callahan? That's unexpected."
"It's not—we're not—" Molly sputters. "I left him. I've been driving for two weeks, not knowing where to go. I ended up here just as my car broke down and he helped. That's all."
"Mmhmm," Sienna hums, not believing a word. "Just happened to break down, huh?"
A mug appears in my peripheral vision, and I look up to find Sienna holding out a steaming cup of hot chocolate, still looking at her sister. "Don't even try to refuse, Beau. Everyone drinks hot chocolate in this house. It's the law."
"Um…" I take it grudgingly, impressed that she can talk to me while death staring Molly at the exact same time. My hand dwarf the mug with painted snowmen on the side. "Thanks."
I can't remember the last time someone made me a hot drink I didn't pay for. The first sip is a shock. It's rich and sweet andgoodin a way I rarely allow myself to experience up in my own cabin.
"So," Sienna says, settling on the couch across from where Maisie has me trapped. "How long have you two known each other? And why have I never known about this connection?"
Molly perches on the edge of an armchair, cradling her own mug. "Well, technically since high school, but we weren't—I mean, I was with..." She trails off, glancing at me.
