Page 4 of Snowed in with the Grump

I roll my bum shoulder, wincing as pain radiates down my arm. Can’t baby the damn thing if it’s ever going to heal, but my shoulder won’t cut it.

I won’t be lifting the entire weight, but I can get creative. I’ll anchor a pulley system on the exposed joist, loop a steel cable around, and cinch it tight.

The mechanical advantage of hauling from a lower point will save my shoulder. Ingenuity over brute force–first lesson they drill into you as an engineer. I may be out of the service, but the training sticks.

With quick, practiced movements, I reach for my tools. All the prep work was done before Ava arrived. The beam slots into place with a satisfyingthunk. The repair is sound, but my shoulder needs more healing time.

A scraping sound snaps me alert, my honed instincts kicking in. Thankfully, it's coming from the old section of the cabin, not the newer wing where I left Ava unpacking.

How long ago was that? It couldn't have been more than an hour.

Come to think of it, it's been strangely quiet since I started repairs. It's too quiet for someone as lively as Ava. But in that time, she's abandoned unpacking to cause a stir.

It wouldn't be the first time her restless energy has led to mischief. That girl's been a magnet for mayhem since we were kids.

Her free spirit is charming but lands her in trouble. Like the time I caught her trying to wallpaper the neighbor's garage in toilet paper.

I creep along the hall, the thick carpet muffling my footsteps. I pause outside my bedroom, pressing my ear to the door. The scraping sounds are definitely coming from inside.

Strange though—the door is ajar, just as I left it this morning. What's she up to?

Ava's forehead creases as she strains to move the heavy oak dresser. It dwarfs her petite frame, but she's undeterred. Although her cheeks are flushed with exertion, she sets her jaw and tries again.

I bite back a chuckle. She's like a little kitten trying to move a boulder.

I’m torn between finding her struggle amusing and wanting to step in and help. Part of me wants to gently take her by the shoulders and guide her away before she strains something.

Ava would likely bristle at the implication she can't handle this herself. Tell me off for being overprotective and overstepping. But as she heaves against the weight, her foot slipping on the wooden floor, my amusement evaporates.

My protective instincts flare. She’ll throw out her back if she keeps this up.

I fold my arms and clear my throat gruffly, my stern expression making my displeasure clear.

“Need a hand with that?”

Surprise flashes across her face, and a hand flies to her chest as she gapes at me, cheeks flaming.

I raise an eyebrow. “You okay? You look kinda freaked out.”

“What? No, no, I'm good!” Her voice sounds too bright and fake.

I step closer, studying her face. “You're acting weird.”

She lets out an awkward laugh. “Weird? Me? No way.”

She waves a hand, pointing at the inch of space behind the dresser and stammers.

“Oh, I-I thought I heard a mouse!”

I press my lips together to keep from smiling. She's a terrible liar. Ava is hiding something. But what? And why? Instead of calling her out, I play along.

“A mouse. Right. So you rearranged the furniture in my room?”

Ava’s bright blue eyes meet mine when she glances through her lashes.

“Your room? Oh, gosh, Carter, I'm so sorry! I didn't realize—”

When she smiles, cracks form in the walls around my heart.

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