Page 20 of Oops I Fell For The Lumberjack Next Door

He studies me. That quiet, unhurried way he reads a room. Then he sets the glass down. "Something happened."

"My ex husband called."

His body goes still. "Daniel."

"He got my number from my mother. Wanted to talk about reconciliation."

"And?"

"And I told him no. Obviously." My voice is sharper than I mean it to be. "But it made me think."

"About?"

"About patterns. About the fact that I came here to figure out how to exist on my own, and instead I've spent two weeks letting you fix everything."

"Margot." He waits. "Please."

"The porch. The pipes. The floor. Princess Buttercup. My entire existence in this cabin is held together by things you've done for me. With your hands. Your lumber. Your connections. I called Ray because you told me to. I met Holly at the bakery because your mother walked me there. My cat only comes when you call her. My cat trusts you more than she trusts me."

He leans against the counter. Arms at his sides. Waiting. Patient. God, always patient. It makes me want to scream.

"You keep fixing things."

"Your house needs fixing."

"My house isn't the only thing you're trying to fix."

His jaw tightens. "What does that mean."

"It means you show up every morning with tools and lumber and solutions. You cooked me dinner. You held me while I slept. You rescued my cat and you didn't ask for anything in return, and it's exactly what you did in college. You decided I needed saving. You decided what was best for me. You made yourself the answer to problems I didn't ask you to solve."

The words hang in the kitchen. I hear how they sound. Unfair. Ungrateful. Aimed to wound. But they're already out, propelled by fear that's been building since Daniel's voice on the phone reminded me what happens when I let a man become the infrastructure of my life.

Briggs is quiet for a long time. His gaze stays on me. Steady, even when mine can't hold still.

"I'm not fixing you, Margot."

"Then what are you doing."

"I'm trying to love you."

The words land. Precise. Quiet. Delivered with the same economy he brings to everything, no embellishment, no performance. Five words with fifteen years of weight behind them.

My chest cracks open. Right down the center. Because I want to believe him. Every bone in my body wants to walk across this kitchen, put my hands on his face, and let him mean it.

But I believed Ryan too. Believed Daniel. Believed the story I told about my own judgment for fifteen years, and look where it got me. Alone in a cabin with a broken porch and a man who keeps showing up, and I can't tell anymore if that's love or control wearing a better costume.

"I need space."

His hands grip the counter behind him. Knuckles white. "Space."

"I need to think. Without you here. Without the flannel and the coffee and the seven AM knocks. I need to figure out if this is real or if I'm just... falling into the same pattern again."

"You think I'm a pattern."

"I think I've been letting men save me my whole life, and every single time, it's ended with me standing in wreckage. Confused about who I am without them. I can't do that again, Briggs. Not even for you."

He looks at me. Long. Measured. Then he pushes off the counter.