Jase set his tablet and digital pen down on the little table beside his bed, happy he’d switched to this journaling method a few months ago. It felt like writing on paper but was instantly transformed to text via an app he’d discovered, and easily saved. For so many years, he’d filled notebooks, only to discard them. He liked the permanence of this, an online collection of his own work, and was pleased with the lines he’d jotted today.
He sighed contentedly and stared up at the glowing pine ceiling of “his” cabin—a little A-frame with all the primary living space on the main floor and a beautiful loft, accessed by a wide ladder, containing a spacious bedroom with the most luxurious bed he’d ever slept on and a much smaller room with a cot. That’s where Colton could stay if he burned his bridges with his new-found friends or whatever they were in town, although what Jase would really love to do with the room—what he would do, in fact, if this cabin really were his—was make it into a mini library. Yep, line the walls with books, put in a good lamp and just one big comfy chair. He thought of Aisha. Okay, since he was dreaming, might as well make it utter fantasy—two big comfy chairs. Oh, and two little comfy ones, as well. One for Mo, of course. And one for Emily, like symbolically. . . . He hoped Bonnie read to her at bedtime. He’d never had someone to read with at night, but he imagined it would be nice. And, once the little chair’s occupant had trundled off to bed and was soundly asleep, some other nighttime activities would also be nice, but those were less original fantasies.
He stopped his thoughts there, berating himself. You work with her, as in she literally only spends time with you because she’s paid to. You exchange a few words once in a while over dinner, and you drink the odd mug of tea together. From those things you develop the mother of all crushes? Colton was right. He really was a loser. The insult came quickly, was at the top of his mind, which he guessed made sense seeing as Colton had finally responded to his last batch of texts, with a barrage of three:
The first: Not working today. Probably Monday.
The second: Jo and Callum are chill. Why not you?
The third: Stop being such a loser, bro.
Jase sighed. Colton was right. Jo and Callum were “chill.” They didn’t seem to mind that in the past two and a half weeks, Colton had only worked six days—and that now it was a Saturday again, thus a “weekend,” which, of course, meant he’d want another string of days off. Miraculously, they didn’t appear to hold his unreliability against Jase, even though he’d been the one to put himself out on a limb, at Colton’s insistence, and ask if they had work for two guys, not just one like the ad asked for. He’d even warned Colton not to blow this gig for him, but he couldn’t blame Colton for being himself. He was the one who should’ve known better.
Still, Jase couldn’t get too seriously down on himself for being duped by Colton yet again, or depressed by his other issues, not here, not in this space. Had he lucked out or what? Imagine getting to live here year-round! It would be amazing. He had assumed, when Callum originally mentioned that room and board could be part of the compensation, he was referring to a bunkhouse of some kind, or maybe an empty room or two off the dining hall for extra staff in the busy season. He never imagined in a million years they’d put him up in one of their guest cabins—and one so brand spanking new it hadn’t been named yet. He bounced lightly on the king mattress. He was the first person to ever sleep on this bed! Considering some of the seriously nasty places he’d bunked down, it was . . . surreal.
When Jo first took him over to the cabin, he thought they were making a stop for her to point out another snag or branch that needed taken care of. But then she’d handed him a key and waited expectantly. When it finally sunk in that he was meant to stay there, he was speechless—though that wasn’t exactly new. Then he broke into a huge grin that he couldn’t control.
Jo seemed to think his response was perfectly fine, however, and after a few minutes, when he finally found his voice and said he was really grateful and that he’d take good care of it, she had beamed, then asked, hesitating a second, if he needed an extra key for Colton.
Jase hadn’t needed to pause for even a moment. “Naw, he’s got other sleeping arrangements. If that changes, I’ll let you know—but I’ll still be the one in charge of the cabin and one key will be all we need.”
She’d nodded and left him to wander about the place, feeling like he’d won a lottery he hadn’t even known he’d entered. All these weeks later, he was still blown away.
Smiling, he climbed out of bed and practically slid down the ladder to the main floor, happy as an eight-year-old given his own pirate ship. Come to think of it, having a ladder to go up to the loft and a fire pole to slide down would be totally sweet.
He put coffee on—he’d never ground his own beans until staying here and it felt very fancy—something that made him both blush and feel weirdly pleased—then had a shower. He wanted to shower three times a day, and refrained—but man, the shower was . . . amazing. Instantly hot. Fantastic pressure. A panel of massaging body jets that he could turn off or set with varying levels of intensity and an adjustable shower head—that actually slid high enough that he didn’t have to stoop. Being paid a wage on top of his meals and accommodation here was sort of like stealing—and on that note, he decided he’d better stop daydreaming and get a move on. He threw on his clothes, made quick work of his breakfast—oatmeal, three eggs, and some fruit—and equally quick work of the dishes, then headed outside.
As he took the trail toward the area he planned to focus on for the rest of the week, it was like each of his senses was set to hyperdrive. He was even conscious of the air, practically feeling it move in and out of his lungs. Fresh and piney and so . . . clean and simple. Unburdened. It was a weird way to think about air—but whatever.
In a few minutes he passed the small bend that led to quirky Minnow cabin and disappointment smacked him. There was no sign of Aisha. They’d planned to cut and stack firewood together, creating enough room to fall the next set of trees. But it wasn’t like she didn’t have enough other chores to keep her busy. Maybe she wasn’t going to help him after all.
The disappointment was followed by an equally unsettling niggle of warning. It was fine to enjoy working with her. Who wouldn’t? But he’d better not be entertaining notions of anything more except as the stuff of daydreams. There was no way a girl like Aisha, someone with roots and family and firm ideas about where she wanted to go in life, would have any real, sustainable interest in someone like him. She might flirt occasionally or make a joke, but that was just her friendly way. It meant nothing and he’d never be stupid enough to think he had something to offer someone like her.
Still, there was something beyond special about this place, about Jo and Callum—and definitely about Aisha. The combo intensified the strange feelings he’d been fighting the few months before ending up here, and that was no good. No good at all.
The plan, he reminded himself. Stick with the plan, and don’t risk your luck by going gaga over the boss’s niece. There are rules in life and number one is, people like you are not for people like them.
But damn—he glanced down the still-empty trail again—he did . . . like her. It wasn’t just that she was cute as hell, though she was. She had a strange old-school goth meets Sailor Moon meets Downton Abbey meets farmer-slob vibe going on—not all at the same time, obviously. He had no idea where on earth she got her extremely varied wardrobe, but he liked her style. A lot. In the short time he’d been working at River’s Sigh, he’d already gotten used to the fact that he’d never be prepared for—or able to predict—what she’d show up looking like. She changed her hairstyle regularly, wearing it in braids or pigtails or tiny buns on either side of her head—or straightening it so it swung in a flat, shiny sheet. His favorite was her natural riotous curls, though.
Her fashion whims weren’t affected in the slightest by the work they were doing, however labor intensive or dirty. If she was wearing something delicate, she’d just pull on bulky coveralls and get to it. Her one concession to practicality was footwear. Indoors anything went. He’d seen her in stilettos at breakfast, every style of flat from converse sneakers to silver-glitter things decorated with rhinestones he suspected she’d glued on herself. Outdoors, however, her shoes of choice were always heavy duty and looked like they could kick your ass if need arose. She favoured steel-toed hiking boots—and yes, it did strike him as weird to have noticed. Why did he mentally record every single thing she wore?
He knew the answer, of course. Because she wore things very well. And every outfit was original and unique, which summed her up perfectly. He hadn’t met anyone like her before, so disciplined and rigid and extremely capable. There didn’t seem to be a job she couldn’t do and do well. It should be intimidating. But the flipside of her seemingly endless dependability and intense seriousness was a sense of humor that ranged all over the place, from silly to surprisingly dry and witty, an offbeat, cool way of viewing the world, and a transparent, obviously limitless love for her daughter.
Mike Trent, the best guy Jase had ever lived with, who ran the group home where he’d met Colton and taught them arborist and landscaping skills, as well as general construction, would’ve called Aisha a “force.” Jase never understood the old-fashioned phrase until now. It seemed made for Aisha. She was a force. Someone to be reckoned with.
He was smack dab in front of her cabin now and he paused. He could knock on the door, just in case she was there. Or he could wait for her on the porch, or—
“Hey, stalker. What’s up?” Aisha’s voice behind him made him jump.
He turned and Aisha gave him a huge, happy smile. Jase’s insides danced. Oh, yeah, he was doing a great job of not falling for her. He knew she gave that big warm smile to lots of people. It flashed numerous times a day. She was like that, generous and welcoming of everyone—even with him now that she’d let go of whatever she’d held against him the first few days.
She fell into step with him. “We still on for today?”
“Yep, firewood duty.”
“Fun!”
He laughed out loud, and she shot him a look. “What?”
“Nothing.” He shrugged self-consciously. “Just most people would’ve been saying that sarcastically and you weren’t.”
She beamed. “Thanks for noticing—and as for most people, they’re idiots, right?”
He couldn’t disagree.
“Besides, what’s not to love? Working outside in the fresh air, seeing what you accomplish stack up—literally. Not to mention, it sure beats cleaning toilets.”
“Whatever. You like cleaning toilets too.”
Aisha rolled her eyes, but Jase knew it was for show. Her real response was written all over her face, and finally she admitted it. “There’s just something satisfying in a job well done, you know? It almost doesn’t matter what kind of job. My mom always said, ‘Anything worth doing is worth doing well,’ and she wasn’t only referring to big things. She approached every task, no matter how mundane, with the same attitude. It drove me crazy. Dishes suck, right? Why are they worth doing well? I should be able to keep my room a pigsty or any other way I want. It’s my room! But then . . . I don’t know. I started to see how few people really give a damn—and how much could be changed in our world if everyone cared just a little more, in pretty much every respect, and I kind of . . . well, got what she meant, I guess. Plus, if you’re not responsible with small stuff, you won’t be with big stuff either.”
It was the longest thing she’d ever said to him in one shot and Jase wanted her to keep talking, but she didn’t. Her expression changed; angry Aisha was back. She picked up her pace and practically jogged to the worksite.
Jase followed slowly, giving her space. The admiration Aisha had for her mother was loud and clear in every word of her short anecdote. He wondered what it was like to have a parent you respected so much, and how it felt to know, whether you always agreed with them or not, that they were doing their best to raise you well. A woman with the kind of attitude Aisha described would have taken raising her child seriously too, would’ve tried to do right by her. So why, when they were so clearly close, did Aisha stop sharing about her mom so abruptly and bolt like a horse stung by a bee?
Jase had driven Jo’s old pickup down to his current work spot earlier in the day, so they’d be able to relocate the wood as they chopped it, and by the time he caught up with Aisha, she had already grabbed a splitting maul from the truck box and gotten to work. Some of the logs that Jase had bucked into lengths were winter blowdowns, not as green as the fresh trees he’d fallen, but regardless, none of the pieces were truly seasoned and that made for tough splitting. Not that anyone would guess it, looking at Aisha.
She had obviously chopped a lot of wood in her day because she had great form and rhythm. Time and again, she quartered each piece with three well-aimed blows—the first cleaving the log into halves, then a quick chop for each of those two pieces, halving them again. No sinking the blade then having to thump it again and again, fighting to either free the blade and try again or to wrestle the piece in half.
The methodic crack of her axe, the snap of wood as it gave, and the thunk and thud of piece after piece hitting the ground created a cheery soundtrack to accompany the pile rapidly growing around her chopping block. He was pretty sure there was no way she’d be able to maintain the pace she was setting for long, but her speed and strength were impressive. And man, her ass in yoga pants . . . He got a stellar view every time she bent over and reached for another piece of wood. It was impressive too.
Wishing he could watch her all day but knowing that was a bad plan for a lot of reasons—not to mention, it was dangerous to be distracted when using saws and splitting mauls—he tore his eyes away and got to work.
He’d loaded a full row in the truck’s box, stacked past the top of the cab, when Aisha approached, splitting maul in hand, sweating lightly. “My mom’s dead,” she said.
“What?” Jase asked, reeling. He’d seen her that morning with Mo. It didn’t make sense. If something had happened to Sam, why the hell was Aisha out here?
She registered his confusion at once and shook her head. “Not Sam. My real mom. Her name was Maureen—Mo for short. My Mo is named after her.”
Jase was still baffled. Mo called Sam “Grandma”—he’d heard her with his own ears—and Sam and Aisha were spitting images of each other. “Sam is my biological mother.” Aisha sighed heavily. “It’s a long story. My mom died of cancer. I went off the rails for a few years. Then I got pregnant. While I was trying to figure out what I should do, I decided to look for my birth mother. I’d never really cared about finding her until . . . well, until I did. Anyway, my search brought me here . . . To Jo first, actually, then to Sam.”
“But isn’t Charlie your dad?” Jase wasn’t one for doing a lot of talking himself in the dining hall, but he did listen. Whenever Aisha talked about Charlie, they seemed really tight, which was weird if Charlie was only her newly discovered birth mom’s husband.
Aisha huffed dramatically—but it seemed directed at the situation in general, not at him for being slow on the uptake.
“Mo and Charlie adopted me when I was only a few days’ old; they’re my real parents. My mom, Mo, Maureen, passed away—and I wasn’t the only one to lose my shit for a long time. My dad fell apart too. He was starting to piece himself together again, a bit anyway, when I got pregnant. He was super resistant to me searching for my birth mom or coming out here by myself when I did find her, so he came with me to meet Sam.”
“And they got together? They are together? That must’ve been . . . weird at the time.”
Aisha’s nose scrunched. She really was cute. Jase looked away.
“At the time? Are you kidding me? It’s still super weird.”
“Yeah, no doubt.” He hated how he was always tongue-tied. What he wouldn’t give to know what to say at critical moments.
Aisha was looking at him expectantly, which only made him feel more convinced that there was something else to be said that he was missing. “So, um,” he tried, “I’m not exactly sure . . . why are you telling me this?”
He cringed and could’ve kicked himself. He didn’t want her to think she couldn’t talk to him. The absolute reverse was true. He wanted her to feel free to talk about anything with him, even if he’d never have the same luxury.
Aisha shrugged. “I just wanted to explain why I went off on that corny tangent about my mom—Rah, rah! My mom was amazing!—and then ran off like a crazy person.”
“It wasn’t corny,” Jase said. She was open and direct with him. He would try, as much as possible, to be the same with her. “It’s awesome you had a parent who was that inspiring and worth looking up to. You’re lucky.”
Aisha blinked and her eyes grew extra shiny.
Shit, Jase thought. He was a moron. “I mean, I’m sorry she died. Lucky is the wrong word.”
“No, you’re right. I was. I am. Just most of the time, as soon as people learn she died when I was a kid, that’s all they hear. They go into condolence mode.”
Jase suddenly realized he’d left Aisha holding the axe that she’d wanted to pass off to him. He caught her eye as he took it, then, not knowing what more to say, strode over to the chopping block and positioned a piece of wood. It was one thing to take a quick break here and there, but he wasn’t being paid to talk and he needed to remember that.
Aisha followed him but stayed far enough away to be safe from flying debris or a chunk of wood if it went wild. “So what’s your story?”
He could tell by her tone that the question wasn’t just filler, like the way people greeted each other with phrases like, “How’s it going?” or “How are you doing?” only to walk off before you even answered. The big axe was already in motion, however, like it was an extension of his arm, windmilling behind him, arcing high, slamming down. The piece split into three.
“Well, it’s not like yours,” he said, reaching for another log.
“Kinda figured.”
“I mean I didn’t end up in a place like this, or with some big loving family.”
Aisha nodded, and Jase wanted to tell her about himself, but the words, how to start, wouldn’t come. Though she’d only touched on how hard losing her mom had been on her and her dad, Jase knew what “going off the rails” looked like and how it was to live with someone as they went to pieces. Maybe in some ways Aisha’s story was even harder than his own because she’d had something solid to begin with and had to watch it come apart. Even in the “good” years with his mom, he’d lived with the sensation that he was on a sandbar, one that was slowly but inevitably washing away in the tide. He hadn’t been able to articulate it that way then, could only feel the creeping loss as her drug use took more and more ground.
Aisha waited without impatience, squatting and loading her arms with nearby pieces. When he remained silent and positioned another piece of wood on the block, she nodded again, as if his inability to converse like a normal person was no big deal. “Maybe you’ll tell me another time?” She moved toward the truck with her large armful of wood.
He grunted, relieved. “Yeah, maybe.” The big axe was already in motion again.
They got down to work in earnest, falling instantly and easily into a good rhythm. Jase had bucked everything in this location the past two days, so there was no loud, intrusive whine of the chain saw, just the repetitive crack of the axe, the clatter of wood hitting wood as they loaded Jo’s pickup, and the quiet shhh of their slightly labored breathing. The piney air was the perfect temperature for hard physical labor, brisk and refreshing but not cold. Above their heads, birds chattered and called, once they realized they weren’t at risk, and squirrels scolded them non-stop. Every so often he and Aisha exchanged conspiratorial smiles, wordlessly sharing pride in their work.
And Jase surprised himself by not missing Colton’s “help” one whit. In fact, he wished he’d bugger off for good because when he showed up, Aisha did other work around River’s Sigh. It was only when Colton was absent that she was his partner—and Jase didn’t bother lying to himself. The more time they spent together, the more he craved it.