“Tell me that’s not a flip phone,” I press incredulously.

Hunter looks amused now. “Looks that way.”

“I didn’t even know they still made those.”

“Wouldn’t know,” he tells me. “I’ve had this one forever.”

“And by ‘forever’ I assume you mean since they first started making cell phones, judging by that thing.”

“It gets the job done,” he assures me. “Your number?”

I rattle it off and watch in wonder as Hunter taps it in on the ancient keypad, flipping it shut with a thwip sound after. A thwip. That sound brings back all kinds of nostalgia from what feels like a billion years ago. Is Hunter an actual modern-day version of the caveman? I’m still staring at him with a blank expression as I try for the dozenth time to puzzle this man out, but he’s already shoving his phone back into his pocket and adjusting the gray beanie he seems so fond of.

“Don’t take too long,” he urges. “Gets colder after dark.” He frowns as he says it, eyeing my jacket. “You did bring something heavier than that, right?”

I frown down at my choice of attire. “No? It’s warmer than it looks though.”

“Not for Colorado after dark in the middle of October it isn’t.” He huffs out a breath, and before I even register what he’s doing, he’s shrugged off his brown Carhartt coat, leaving him in only his thick flannel as he thrusts it toward me. “Take this.”

“I can’t take your—”

“I can’t have Miss Fixit freezing to death on me,” he counters before I can finish. “Too much to do.”

I scoff at his smirk, but at that moment, a stiff breeze chooses to gust over us, and I shiver. Damn it.

“Fine,” I say, snatching his coat and putting it on. “Thank you.”

He pauses, eyeing the way I’m shrugging into his coat like he’s now understanding what he’s done. A mask of indifference slides over his face, his jaw clenching a bit. “It’s just a coat. Don’t think much of it.”

“If you say so,” I huff. “I guess tell me where I can buy a warmer coat as well.”

“Check out Cat’s place,” he tells me. “It’s that way”—he dips his chin opposite from where I need to go first—“but it’s not far.”

I nod dumbly, watching him turn to stalk off, his broad, plaid-clad form obvious against the stark white of our surroundings. I can’t help the way I turn my face and press my nose to the dense fabric of his coat, inhaling deeply and getting a lungful of his fresh, enticing smell. One I’m realizing now must not be some sort of cologne but instead is just him. His scent hits me like a freight train, seeming to seep into my skin, and going deeper, as if settling on my bones. It’s an odd sensation.

My skin prickles and my cheeks flush, and for the briefest and most embarrassing of moments I imagine a pulse between my legs that comes on so suddenly it gives me pause. I quickly jerk my face away from the coat, debating whether or not I should take it off, but honestly, it is really warm.

I finally remember I came here to do something, putting away my incredulity of everything that is Hunter Barrett to turn and head toward the pharmacy. As I walk, it dawns on me that I didn’t get his number.

I find the pharmacy without much difficulty, and thanks to the elderly shopkeeper, Martha, I walk out with my prescription as well as a rather large tub of saltwater taffy that she convinced me I needed after I casually mentioned I’d never tried it. I’m not usually one to argue against candy, so it didn’t take much nudging on her part, truthfully.

I carry my items in a brown paper sack with twine handles, exploring the quiet sidewalk of Pleasant Hill as I make my way back to where Hunter parked the Bronco. The people here are all bundled up in winter coats as they pass me by, but still they take the time to offer a wave or a kind smile if their face coverings allow for it. I can’t help but notice how different the atmosphere is from California—and not just the weather. People back home barely look up when they’re crowding sidewalks, too busy checking their texts or their fantasy football picks or whatever else is so important on their phones.

My own phone buzzes in my pocket, and I fish it out to swipe it open and read the text there.

Dad: Everything looks great, kiddo. Don’t work yourself too hard out there.

A smile touches my face, though I still feel a pang in my chest. I sent my dad some pictures I took this morning of the lodge with some of my initial ideas, something I always do when I start a job, but now there’s a tinge of sadness to the ritual that comes from wondering how much more time I get to do this with him if I can’t land the signing bonus with this HGTV deal.

Shrugging off my potential melancholy, I pass a storefront window that holds several outfits on vintage-looking dressmaker’s mannequins. A hand-painted logo across the glass that reads Cat’s Closet catches my eye and makes me stop on the sidewalk.

I realize this must be the store Hunter mentioned. I pull his coat a little tighter around me as another breeze blows through, and I can’t pretend that it isn’t partly because it smells so good. It’s like being wrapped up in a spa towel, the smell of clean sunshine and rain enveloping me, making me feel strangely calm and more than just a bit warm. Instead, my limbs feel a little laxer, my skin thrumming with heat. Maybe the whole scent thing isn’t so bad.

I wager it wouldn’t hurt to check things out considering he was so confident he could find me at any given time within city limits. With that in mind, I pull open the wooden door to the sound of a bell jingling, signaling my entry. There are more mannequins boasting various pieces of winter clothing scattered about the inside, as well as hanging displays on the walls and even some home decor here and there. I pick up the end of a knitted scarf that catches my eye near the entrance and rub the soft material between my fingers as a voice calls out from somewhere in the back.

“Hey, be right there!”

I decide that the scarf is a must-have as I pull it from around the mannequin’s neck, and I’m moving on to check out a rack of sweaters when I hear footsteps sounding nearby. A woman who’s a tad shorter than me with thick dark hair appears from between the clothes racks, her smile warm and genuine as she notices me browsing.

“Sorry about that,” she says. “I was nuking some leftovers in the back.”

“Oh, that’s fine,” I tell her. “I just saw the display outside, and everything looked so cute.”

Her nose wrinkles as her head cocks to the side. “You’re not from around here.”

“What gave it away?”

Her lips quirk. “Because I know everyone from around here.” Her brow furrows. “You look familiar though. Have you visited before?”

I shake my head. “No. First time.”

“Hmm. I swear I’ve—Oh my God.” She snaps her fingers. “Are you Tess Covington?”

I reel a little, blinking. “Yes?”

“Oh my God! I’m sorry, total stalker moment,” she laughs. “I follow you on TikTok.”

“Oh!” I laugh nervously. I always feel awkward when people recognize me. “Right.”

“I’ve been following you since the North Carolina remodel,” she laughs. “I swear, I have an entire reno wish list, thanks to you. My boyfriend is so excited about that.” She says this last bit with a hint of sarcasm, smiling good-naturedly. “Jesus, I’m sorry. I’m having a starstruck moment.” She sticks out her hand. “My name’s Cat. Cat Campbell.” She shakes my hand enthusiastically when I give it. “Well, technically my name is Catalina—named after my grandma, mind you; she’s full Greek—but after Step Brothers came out, it was all ‘It’s the fucking Catalina Wine Mixer!’ shouted after me everywhere I went in high school, so you can imagine—” She presses her lips together suddenly, looking sheepish as she releases my hand, which she’s realized she’s still shaking. “Sorry,” she offers. “I’m told I talk too much when I get excited.”