Page 87 of Grumpy on the Mountain
The past two weeks might just be the most productive I've had since moving to Stone River Mountain. Aside from building the cabins around town, of course.
But I've just completed a custom jewelry box for Betty, carved from that piece of cherry wood I've been saving. Knocked up a built-in bookshelf for the library that Viv's been dreaming about for months, and finished a spice rack for Linda's kitchen that she'll probably brag about to her customers more than she'll actually use the damn thing.
I'm keeping busy. Staying useful. Building things instead of tearing myself apart.
But today's different. Today I've got two surprises for Molly.
First, though, there's a special treehouse that's also been finished this week and is ready to unveil by a very happy six-year-old.
I watch from the base of the oak tree as Maisie arranges her teddy bear guests around the most elaborate tea party setup I've ever seen. She's got actual china—tiny cups and saucers that Sienna must have found in some antique shop—and fairy cakes arranged on doilies like she's hosting the Queen of England.
"Mr. Buttons has to sit next to Lady Fluffington because they're best friends, but not too close because Lady Fluffington gets jealous if Mr. Buttons talks to Princess Sparkles too much."
"That makes perfect sense," David says with complete seriousness, securing the last of the rope ladder rungs we installed this morning. "Can't have drama at a tea party."
"Exactly!" Maisie beams at him like he's just demonstrated advanced understanding of diplomatic protocol.
David catches my eye and grins.
Working with him these past few days has been... good. Easy.
The kind of partnership where you don't need to explain what you're thinking, just hand over the right tool and get back to work. He's got steady hands and an engineer's mind forproblem-solving, plus he genuinely gives a shit about making his daughter's dreams come true.
"I think we did good," he says, stepping back to admire our completed handiwork.
He's not wrong. The treehouse is a masterpiece.
Three levels connected by rope bridges, a slide that curves around the trunk, and yes, a disco ball hanging in the main room because when a six-year-old asks for a disco ball, you give her a fucking disco ball.
Despite it taking way longer than I would have liked, the walls are painted in the rainbow colors Maisie demanded, and there's a pulley system for hauling up "treasure" and snacks.
It's everything a kid could want and more. The kind of magical childhood fort I would have killed for at her age. Riley would've claimed it, of course. Would've made it his own private kingdom where I wasn't allowed.
That was the pattern of my youth.
Anything nice, anything special, somehow became his. Dad would've called it "building character" to let Riley have it, and Mom would've smiled that tight smile that meant the conversation was over.
But a fort like this would've been my sanctuary. A place where military precision and perfect corners weren't required. Where I could've hidden the books Dad said were a waste of time. Where I could've just... breathed.
Instead, I had the shed behind our house. Cold in winter, hot in summer. But it was mine. My first solo build, actually.
"You two built me a castle!" Maisie shouts from the top platform, her voice echoing through the tree branches. "A real castle!"
"It's perfect," Sienna says, appearing beside us with her phone, snapping pictures just like her sister has been lately. "Absolutely perfect. She's going to remember this for the rest of her life."
Warmth spreads through my chest as I watch Maisie arrange her teddy bears in the tiny chairs we built. It's pure pride. The satisfaction of creating something purely joyful for another human being.
This is what family looks like. This is what I've been missing.
"Sorry I'm late!" Molly's voice cuts through the yard as she hurries toward us, still in her Mountain Rescue uniform. "We had a training exercise and it ran long."
Goddamn, my mouth goes dry as I turn on the spot and stare at the sight of her.
Two weeks of seeing her in those tactical cargo pants and that fitted uniform shirt, and I'm still not used to how fucking sexy she looks in work gear. The pants hug her ass in ways that make my hands itch to touch whenever she's nearby.
She's good at her job. Really good. And watching her confidence grow has been better than any high I've ever experienced.
"AUNT MOLLY!" Maisie shrieks from the treehouse. "Look! It's finished! Come see!"
