Page 33 of Stitch & Steel
The once quietcabin had become a fortress overnight.
Steel bolts on the back door. Motion sensors blinking along the eaves. A perimeter plan that looked straight out of a military op. Logan and his crew worked all day in silence, methodical and focused, like they were fortifying a stronghold.
And maybe they were.
The sun had dipped low behind the treeline now, casting long golden streaks across the porch. I sat in the old rocker next to Gran, sipping sweet tea that tasted like memories. Logan’s men—gritty and inked and rough-edged—sat in a loose circle just beyond the porch steps, nursing heavy liquor, some lighting cigarettes and watching the smoke curl lazily into the air like it had nowhere else to be.
It should’ve felt jarring. A war camp.
Instead, it felt like family.
Scout curled by my feet, breathing deep, belly full from the scraps Gran had snuck him under the table.
I looked out over the rolling hills, fireflies beginning to blink one by one in the dark.
It waspeaceful.
Or it should have been.
But something tugged at my chest—tight and aching. Like a goodbye that hadn’t been said yet.
I took another sip, then glanced at Gran. “Do you think you should still be out here, Gran?”
She looked over, her eyes clear and sharp tonight. “What do you mean, sugar?”
“This place,” I said gently. “It’s… remote. Big. A lot to manage. What happens when it’s too much?”
The words came out before I could soften them. I saw Logan shift out of the corner of my eye, his gaze lifting sharply from the railing.
The men stilled, just a bit. Even the smoke seemed to hang heavier in the air.
Gran didn’t flinch.
Instead, she leaned back in her chair, gaze drifting toward the distant ridgeline like it was the edge of a memory.
“I’ve lived in a lot of places,” she said softly. “But none of them werehomethe way this one is.”
Silence settled like a blanket.
“When I was a girl,” she continued, voice slow and warm like molasses, “I met a boy. Not your granddaddy—he came later. No, this one… he was wild and kind and had a smile like mischief bottled up.”
“Bella,” she said gently, “this land... this mountain... it’s not just where I live. It’s where Ibelong.When I was eighteen, I met a boy. Not your granddaddy,” she added with a faint smile. “Before him. His name doesn’t matter—not yet. What matters is the way he made me feel. Wild. Alive. Like I could touch the stars if I climbed high enough.”
I squeezed her hand, staying quiet. She was starting to repeat herself… her mind still there but signs it was slowly slipping away…
“He was military. Just passing through. We fell hard, and fast. Spent the whole summer together—barefoot through the creek, wildflowers in my hair, sleeping under the stars. He had a motorcycle that sounded like thunder, and he’d take me flying up these mountain roads like we were the only two people in the world.” Her hand trembled on the teacup, just slightly. I reached over and held it.
Logan leaned forward, elbows on his knees.
“He asked me to wait for him. Told me to finish school, that he’d come back for me. I did exactly what he said. Every day I waited. But he never came. We had one perfect summer,” she said, her voice breaking just a little. “Then he went back. And he never came home.”
The night breathed around us, soft and still.
Her voice broke a little on that last word.
“I never found out if he died... or just drifted on. No letter. No call. Just... gone.”
The porch went deathly still.
