Page 38 of Oops I Fell For The Electrician Next Door

“Says?”

I give her a look. “He is returning tonight.”

“Better.”

I unwrap one sandwich and discover turkey, cranberry sauce, and the good cheese she pretends is too expensive to use outside the café. “He told me he loves me.”

Millie sits in the chair across from my desk without asking. “What did you say?”

“Nothing useful. He said it immediately before driving away.”

“That was poor timing.”

“He thought it was honest timing.”

“Well, that’s possible. Do you love him?”

I expect the answer to catch somewhere between my heart and my mouth. It comes out naturally.

“Yes.”

Millie smiles, but she does not squeal, clap, or demand details. She reaches across the desk and squeezes my hand once. “Then eat your sandwich. You can tell him when he gets home.”

When he gets home.

The phrase feels surprisingly easy.

The reunion is complete, all seven rental cabins are operating, and the emergency reserve still contains enough to survive the next surprise. For the first time since the lights flickered in Cabin Seven, I can look beyond Friday.

Beyond Friday is winter.

I walk the property Monday afternoon with next season’s maintenance list open on my tablet. The lake reflects a high blue sky, but the air has changed. Gold is beginning to touch the aspen leaves across the water. In another month, the mountains will blaze with color. After that, snow will soften the roofs and turn the gravel paths into white curves beneath the pines.

Marc wants to see it.

He wants frozen pipes, difficult guests, slow winter weekdays, and me when I am too tired to be charming. He did not offer to save Eight Pines from any of it. He asked for the chance to learn.

I have spent years believing that protecting this place required keeping every hand but mine away from the controls. Marc has shown me another possibility. He can stand beside me without standing over me. He can be wrong, listen when I tell him, and remain. The last part is the one I am still learning.

At five twenty Monday evening, a truck turns beneath the Eight Pines sign.

I am cleaning the porch of Cabin Six. The broom falls from my hand before I can pretend composure. Marc’s dark gray pickup rolls down the gravel drive with boxes visible through the back window and two large tool cases strapped beneath a cover in the bed.

He came back.

I reach Cabin Seven before he finishes parking. Marc barely gets one boot onto the gravel before I throw myself into his arms. He catches me with a startled laugh, lifting me completely off the ground while I lock my legs around his hips.

“You were supposed to arrive at seven,” I say against his mouth.

“The meeting ended early.”

“You could have warned me.”

“Grandma Ruth said to make sure you saw me return.”

I lean back enough to look at him. “Grandma Ruth gave you relationship advice?”

“She ordered me not to explain women to her. I decided to follow all subsequent instructions.”