Page 160 of The Lumberjack and the City Slicker

“Sure can, bud,” I tell him, grabbing a glass.

Clara hands him a dish with half a muffin on it like she’s done it a thousand times.

Like she might do someday for our kids.

My heart squeezes tight inside my chest.

God, I want that. For the first time in my life, I want it all.

Kelly finally ends the call with a sharp, “No, Mr. Lawrence, you can’t bully me into breaking contract terms. Goodbye.”

She exhales and joins us.

The four of us crowd around the small table—burritos, buttered muffins, orange juice, tea.

It’s messy.

Unplanned.

Normal.

And something in my chest shifts.

I’ve eaten alone in my cabin for years.

This? It feels different.

Feels like something I didn’t know I wanted until it was in front of me.

“So,” I say casually, though I’m very aware of Clara beside me, “what are your plans for the day?”

She dabs her mouth with a napkin.

“I have a FaceTime call with my investment broker at noon, actually.”

There’s a flicker of self-consciousness in her expression.

Like she expects me to judge her for having that kind of life.

For being connected to money and markets and things that don’t involve sawdust.

“Sounds important,” I say simply.

Her shoulders ease a little.

“It’s just housekeeping stuff,” she adds.

I nod. “Alright. How about I come by and pick you up for dinner at six?”

I don’t phrase it like a question. Not exactly.

I’m not trying to be controlling.

Just certain.

Because she said she loves me. And I love her right back.

She studies me for half a second, like she’s measuring something.