“You haven’t told him?”

“No, and I told my brothers not to tell him either.”

“But why?”

“Because…” I frown, thinking of the awful year he’s had. That we’ve all had. “I don’t want to get my parents’ hopes up if it doesn’t come through. I’ll tell them when I have good news.”

“Babe, that’s a lot of pressure to put on yourself.”

“I know,” I sigh. “But what choice do I have?”

I can practically see the sympathy in her eyes even from so far away, my chest constricting when I think about everything riding on this deal. Of the good it could do when it comes to dad’s medical issues.

“This is all contingent on whether or not HGTV passes,” I grumble.

“Shut up,” she tuts. “If they do, then they’re walnuts.”

“Walnuts?”

“Felt appropriate,” she replies. “If they do pass on it, they suck, and I will boycott their channel.”

“You and I both know the day you give up Property Brothers is the day you’re six feet under.”

“They’re hot twins with hammers. I won’t be judged for this. Just a sec.” I hear her shuffling on the other end for a moment before her voice returns. “Can I call you back? That’s Perry’s school on the other line.”

“Absolutely. I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

“Sure. Call you later.”

She disconnects the call, and I’m suddenly even more glad I decided not to tell her yet about everything happening with me. It’s not that I don’t trust Ada enough to tell her what’s going on, it’s just that I know how much she worries—it’s the mom in her—and if I tell her about everything that’s happening, there’s a good chance she’ll be packing up herself and her son, Perry, and hopping on the first flight out. She has enough going on with the whole single mother thing; she definitely doesn’t need any of my drama stressing her out even more. I’ll give myself a few days to wrap my head around it first.

It isn’t long after I hang up with Ada that I see the end of the driveway. A faded wooden sign that reads The Bear Essentials Wilderness Lodge leans at a not-so-straight angle to signal that I’m at the right place. I can just make out the lodge nestled in the pristine white of the surrounding snow as I drive up, the log siding stark amid the wintery scenery. A deck wraps around the front to lead down to a set of stairs, and on either side of the heavy wooden door is a series of wide windows that go all the way up to the roof. The sky behind it is now painted in a rich array of pinks and purples as the sun begins to sink below the horizon, giving the entire thing more of that postcard feel—save for the wear and tear.

It’s still…pretty, mostly. But it’s definitely seen some hard years. There are broken rails on the stairs that I notice as I get closer, a few missing shingles on the roof—even the sign above the door is faded and chipped, as if long overdue for a touch-up. I’m already making a mental note of all the people in Denver I’m going to have to call to contract some work out to.

It’s less picturesque than the one (literally one) photo I saw on the very basic website, and I’m gathering now that it was most likely dated. I doubt they’ve updated the lodge since it was built.

“Kind of a funny name for a lodge,” I mutter to myself as I shift my rental car into park.

I sit in the car for a minute so I can shoot a text to my brothers, following that up with one to my dad to let him know I arrived at the jobsite. I stare down at my phone as I watch the little dots pop up with his impending response, a small smile touching my mouth when he replies, You be careful out there, kiddo.

It feels weird keeping all that’s happened today from him, considering I tell him everything, but with what he’s going through…I don’t want to add to his stress. In fact, it’s imperative that I don’t, what with the state of his heart.

I step out of the car, letting the door shut behind me, to get a better look at the place. There’s an old Bronco parked just outside, the forest-green paint still shiny despite the vehicle being at least thirty years old by my best guess, and it somehow looks like it’s in better shape than the lodge itself. I eye the broken railing that seems to have cracks and rotting wood as far as the eye can see; I really have my work cut out with this one.

I’m staring at the railing so intensely that I almost miss it when the front door opens and someone steps outside, but I catch a large, dark shape out of the corner of my eye, stark against the light flakes of the gently falling snow—and it’s hard to focus on much else when the person finally comes into view. He’s heading right for me, and I can feel my mouth part as I take in the hulking size of the man walking down the rickety stairs.

Tall is an understatement; this man looks more than a foot taller than I am, and I’m five foot four. But more than that, he is wide. Shoulders that seem to go on for miles in the thick red plaid of his coat, a broad chest that stretches the black-knit thermal beneath—it’s like he stepped right out of Lumberjack Weekly, with his trimmed beard and gray beanie with dark curls poking out of it that are just a shade or two darker than his eyes. I most likely spend a second too long studying the soft-looking mouth that peeks out from his scruff, but honestly, given that this stranger might be one of the most attractive people I have ever seen—and I have seen a lot of people—I think it’s probably excusable. He comes to a stop right in front of me, and my gaze goes up and up and up, to the point that I’m forced to crane my neck as I gape at this giant of a man.

“You Esther?”

I blink, the abruptness of his question catching me off guard. “Tess.”

“Jeannie said an Esther was coming.”

“Yeah,” I answer. “I go by Tess.”

He shrugs. “Fair enough.”

“Sorry.” I stick out one gloved hand. “I’m the contractor Jeannie hired for the renovations. Do you work here?”

His eyes flick to my outstretched hand, but he doesn’t take it. “Looks that way.”

Jeez. Talk about frosty.

He’s still frowning at my hand, so I draw it back slowly, my eyes lingering on the way his mouth turns down at the corners. The expression only makes him look more rugged, and I think to myself that he really does give off a lumberjack vibe, albeit a very terse one. I’m pretty sure there’s a Harlequin romance on my shelf at home that he was the cover model for at some point in his life. All that’s missing is an axe, really.

I can’t help but laugh at that, recalling Ada’s and my conversation about being murdered out here. The guy arches a brow at the giggle that escapes me.

“Something funny?”

I wave my hand in front of my face. “Not unless you think murder is funny.”

“Excuse me?”

“Not, like, actual murder,” I correct, sort of. “I mean, well, okay, I guess kind of actual murder. My friend made this joke when I was on my way that I was going to get murdered out here, and I was thinking you totally give me lumberjack vibes, and that got me thinking about axes, which got me thinking about the murder again, and—”

I notice he’s staring at me as if I’ve lost my mind.

“This is probably one of those things that should have stayed in my head.”

He continues to frown at me for exactly four more seconds, then: “I’m not gonna argue with you there.”

“Right. Um.” I clear my throat. “Is Jeannie around? I would love to introduce myself in person after all the emails we’ve exchanged.”

“Jeannie’s down the mountain. Had something come up at her place.”

“Oh. When will she be back?”

“Tomorrow, I figure.”

“Oh.”

I don’t really know what else to say to that. This is all going very different from how I pictured, but I guess that’s par for the course, considering how this entire trip has been.