Chapter 11

11

ELLERY

T he cabin door creaked open, releasing a gust of warm air into the frigid morning. I stepped onto the porch, the weathered boards groaning beneath my feet. Boaz followed close behind, his breath visible in little puffs as he huddled deeper into his borrowed coat.

“Jesus, it’s colder than a witch’s tit out here,” he muttered, stamping his feet.

I chuckled. “You’ll warm up once we get moving. Ready to tackle this snow?”

The driveway I could clear with the plow on the front of my truck, but the area between my cabin and the shed had to be cleared manually, and so did the wrap-around porch and the deck.

Boaz peered out at the blanket of white covering everything in sight. His eyes went wide. “Holy shit, how much snow fell?”

“Looks like about twelve inches. Come on, city boy. I’ll show you how it’s done.”

We crunched through the fresh powder, the crisp air biting at my exposed skin. I breathed deeply, savoring the sharp scent of pine and woodsmoke. This was my element—the quiet solitude of the forest, the challenge of taming nature’s fury.

I handed Boaz a snow shovel from the side of the porch. He took it gingerly, eyeing the long handle with trepidation.

“You know, when I said I’d help out around here, I was thinking more along the lines of washing dishes. Or alphabetizing your DVD collection.” He waggled his eyebrows. “Or providing certain other…services.”

Heat bloomed in my chest that had nothing to do with exertion. I cleared my throat. “Services, huh? Well, how about you service this path first, hotshot?”

Boaz’s laugh rang out, bright and infectious. Despite the biting cold, warmth spread through me at the sound. There was something magnetic about his energy, his enthusiasm for life. It stirred feelings I’d long thought dormant.

“Alright, alright. Put me to work, you despot.” He brandished the shovel like a sword. “Point me at thy snow, good sir, and I shall vanquish it forthwith!”

I couldn’t help but grin at his antics. “Save some of that energy for later. We’ve got a long morning ahead of us.”

As I positioned my own shovel at the edge of the porch, I snuck another glance at Boaz. His cheeks were already flushed from the cold, dark curls peeking out from under his hat. He caught me looking and winked, a mischievous glint in his eye.

Christ. What had I gotten myself into with this one?

I dug my shovel into the snow, the satisfying crunch breaking the crisp morning silence. Beside me, Boaz mirrored my movements, his brow furrowed in concentration. We fell into a steady rhythm, the repetitive motion almost meditative.

“So, uh, is there, like, a special technique to this?” Boaz asked between breaths, his words coming out in little puffs of vapor. “Or do I just keep scooping until my arms fall off?”

I chuckled, pausing to lean on my shovel. “Try to push more than lift. Use your legs, not your back. And take breaks when needed.”

“Roger that, boss man.” He flashed me a grin, then stumbled, nearly face-planting into a snowbank.

I reached out to steady him, my hand lingering on his arm. “Easy there. No need to impress me with your snow-shoveling prowess.”

Boaz laughed, the sound warming me more than any amount of physical exertion could. “What, you mean my natural grace and athleticism aren’t dazzling you?”

“Oh, I’m dazzled all right,” I muttered, more to myself than to him.

We continued working, the pile of cleared snow growing. Boaz kept up a constant stream of chatter, jumping from topic to topic with dizzying speed. His energy and ability to find humor and excitement in even the most mundane tasks captivated me.

After about an hour, I straightened, my back protesting. That’s when I noticed the view beyond our little bubble of activity. The morning sun had broken through the clouds, casting a glow across the snow-laden landscape. The trees glistened, their branches heavy with pristine white powder.

“Boaz,” I said softly, touching his arm to get his attention. “Look.”

He turned, following my gaze. His constant motion stilled for a moment as he took in the scene before us. “Holy shit,” he breathed, eyes wide with wonder. “That’s fucking beautiful.”

I nodded, drinking in not only the view but Boaz’s reaction. His face was open, awestruck, a childlike joy lighting up his features. It made my chest ache in a way I couldn’t quite explain.

“I’ve never seen anything like this,” he continued, his voice quiet. “I mean, I’ve seen snow before, obviously. But not like…this. It’s like something out of a fairy tale.”

“It never gets old,” I admitted. “No matter how many winters I’ve seen, there’s always something magical about moments like this.”

Boaz turned to me, his brown eyes sparkling. “Thank you,” he said. “For sharing this with me. For…all of this.”

The sincerity in his voice caught me off guard. I swallowed hard, hyperaware of how close we were standing, of the warmth radiating from his body despite the cold air around us.

“You’re welcome.” I cleared my throat. “We should, uh, get back to work. The deck’s not gonna clear itself.”

Boaz nodded, but his gaze lingered on me for a moment longer.

We made our way toward the shed, and I noticed Boaz’s labored breathing. His usual chatter had dwindled to occasional grunts of effort and his movements were becoming sluggish. The kid was putting up a hell of a fight, but it was clear he was running on fumes.

“Hey,” I called out, leaning on my shovel. “How about we take a breather?”

Boaz looked up, his face flushed from exertion. “No, no, I’m good,” he panted, stubbornly pushing forward. “Need to catch my second wind.”

I chuckled, shaking my head. “Your second wind blew past about half an hour ago, city boy. Come on, I’ve got something to show you.”

He hesitated, clearly torn between his determination and his exhaustion. “But we’re not finished…”

“The snow’ll still be here later. Besides, you’ve earned yourself a break. How about I show you some of my woodwork?”

Boaz’s eyes lit up, his fatigue momentarily forgotten. “Really? Fuck yeah, I’d love that!”

I led him to the shed, feeling a mix of anticipation and nervousness. I sold my work online and at markets and fairs, so I was used to people seeing it, but I’d rarely cared about anyone’s opinion. I sure as fuck cared about what Boaz thought of it. Of me. More than I’d like to admit.

As I flicked on the lights, Boaz did a sharp intake of breath. “Holy shit,” he whispered, his eyes wide as saucers.

He moved slowly through the space, his gaze darting from one sculpture to another. His fingers reached out, almost reverently, to trace the contours of a life-sized bear I’d carved last winter.

“This is… Fuck, Ellery, this is incredible. How the hell did you learn to do this?”

A warmth spread through my chest at his genuine enthusiasm. “Years of practice. And a lot of trial and error.”

As Boaz continued to explore, his fingers dancing over the intricate details of the bear’s fur, I couldn’t look away from the wonder on his face. It was a stark contrast to his usual fidgeting, and I realized I was seeing yet another side of him—one that only endeared him to me further.

“You’ve got a real gift,” Boaz said, turning to me. “These are amazing. I mean, I knew you were talented, but this… This is next level.”

I felt my face heat, unused to such direct praise. “Thanks.” I rubbed the back of my neck. “It’s more of a hobby, really.”

Boaz snorted. “A hobby? Dude, these are better than most of the crap they sell in expensive stores in LA. People would pay a fortune to have these in their home or garden.”

“I do sell online, but shipping’s a bitch, so most buyers are local or at least regional.”

“Hmm, yeah, I can see that. But we need to find a way to set you up with some of those interior decorators rich people use. One of my roommates is an assistant to one. I’ll ask him if he knows how to do that. Seriously, you have an amazing talent.”

Jesus, he was almost embarrassing me with his praise, not something I’d thought possible. To distract him, I moved toward a smaller workbench, my fingers trailing over the polished surface. “Want to see something a little different?”

Boaz’s eyes lit up, his whole body seeming to vibrate with enthusiasm. “Hell yeah, I do!”

Opening a drawer, I pulled out a collection of hand-carved figurines, each no bigger than my palm. “These are my smaller projects, all hand-carved.”

“Holy shit…” Boaz leaned in close. His fingers hovered over a tiny fox, its tail curled around its body. “These are incredible, Ellery. How do you even…? I mean, the detail is insane!”

“It’s all about patience.” I picked up the fox. “This little guy took me a few days. I was inspired by a family of foxes I saw near the river last spring.”

Boaz’s eyes darted between me and the figurine, his admiration clear. “You’ve got the steadiest hands I’ve ever seen. No wonder you were such a badass smokejumper.”

I laughed, a full, hearty sound that surprised even me. “Trust me, carving is a hell of a lot safer than jumping out of planes into wildfires.”

“I bet.” Boaz pointed to a small, intricately carved tree. “What about this one? It looks… I dunno, older, maybe? It’s a little damaged.”

I picked up the tree, memories washing over me. “Good eye,” I said softly. “This was one of my first pieces. Made it as a good luck charm when I entered the Army. It’s modeled after an old Douglas fir near my childhood home, and it’s traveled all over the world with me.”

Boaz’s expression softened. “That’s beautiful. It’s like you’re preserving memories in wood.”

His insight caught me off guard. I’d never thought of it quite like that, but he was right. “Yeah, I guess I am.”

He rose on his toes and kissed me softly. “Thank you for sharing your art with me.”

I swallowed thickly. “You’re welcome. Come on, let’s get back inside. It’s time for lunch.”

The cold nipped at our faces as we trudged back to the cabin. I was also feeling the previous exertion, so it was time to refuel. “How about a veggie stir-fry?” I suggested as we stomped the snow off our boots at the door.

Boaz’s eyes lit up. “Oh, that sounds amazing.”

Once inside, I shed my outer layers and headed for the kitchen, Boaz trailing behind me like an eager puppy. The cabin felt especially cozy after the frigid outdoors, the fire I’d built earlier still crackling in the hearth.

“Can I help?” Boaz asked, hovering near the counter as I pulled ingredients from the fridge.

“Sure, you can chop the bell peppers. Think you can handle a knife without losing a finger?”

“I’m not making any guarantees, but I’ll try.”

“Please do. The road hasn’t been cleared yet, so getting you to a hospital for stitches would be a challenge right now,” I said dryly.

As I prepped the rest of the vegetables, Boaz’s steady stream of chatter filled the kitchen. It was comforting, his animated voice a pleasant counterpoint to the sizzle of the wok and the steady rhythm of my knife on the cutting board.

“So there I was,” Boaz was saying, gesticulating wildly with the knife, “in the middle of this presentation at Comic-Con, and this pretentious dude comes up and starts critiquing my art, right? And I’m like, dude, it’s gay fan art of Captain America and Bucky. It’s not that deep.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “Sounds like LA, all right. Full of pretentious folks who think they’re better than everyone else.”

“Right? God, I love it and hate it at the same time. There’s so much creative energy, you know? But also so much bullshit.”

As I tossed the veggies into the wok, I asked, “What keeps you there, then? Seems like a tough place for an artist.”

Boaz’s expression turned thoughtful. “The opportunities, I guess. And, I dunno, the chaos of it all? It’s like, there’s always something happening, always a chance to meet someone new or stumble into something amazing.”

I nodded, stirring the vegetables. “I can see the appeal. Different from what brought me here, that’s for sure.”

“What made you choose Forestville? I mean, besides the obvious wood supply for your art.”

I paused, considering my words. “Needed a change, I suppose. After retiring from the Army and smokejumping, I wanted somewhere quieter. Somewhere I could hear myself think.”

Boaz’s eyes met mine, and I saw a flash of understanding. “Makes sense. Sometimes I wonder if I need that too, you know? A place to just…be.”

The vulnerability in his voice stirred something in me. I wanted to reach out, to offer comfort, but instead, I nodded. “I know exactly what you mean.”

After lunch—Boaz cleared a heaping bowl of veggies, declaring it the best stir-fry ever—we settled into the living room, the fire crackling in the background. Boaz curled up on one end of the couch, his iPad propped against his knees. I took my usual spot in the armchair, a half-carved wooden figure in my hands.

The quiet that fell between us was comfortable, punctuated only by the soft scratch of my carving tools and the occasional tap of Boaz’s stylus against the screen. Every small movement, every quiet hum or muttered word as he worked drew my attention. My eyes kept drifting to him, taking in the way his brow furrowed in concentration, his tongue poking out slightly as he worked.

“What are you working on?” I asked, breaking the silence.

Boaz glanced up, his eyes bright. “Oh, it’s a commission for a romance author who writes dragon shifter books.”

“Wait, what?”

“Dragon shifters. Men who can shift into a dragon. It’s a thing in romance.”

“Apparently.”

“Anyway, she wanted character art for the ten male dragons in her series, so that’s what I’m working on. They all have a different color, but other than that, she gave me full creative freedom, so it’s a lot of fun.”

“You’ll have to show me when you’re done.”

Boaz grinned. “It’s ridiculous but also kind of awesome. What about you? What’s taking shape there?”

I looked at the wood in my hands, realizing I’d been carving on autopilot. “A squirrel.”

“Cool,” Boaz said, his attention already drifting back to his iPad. “Like me.”

As I returned to my carving, my thoughts wandered. There was something about Boaz that both excited and terrified me. The way he could light up a room with his energy, the depth I glimpsed behind his chatter. I wanted to know everything about him. What made him happy, what made him sad, what made him tick.

But with that desire came fear. It had been a long time since I’d let anyone get close. The life of a smokejumper didn’t lend itself to lasting relationships, and after retiring, I’d grown comfortable with my solitude. Now, faced with the possibility of something more, I felt woefully unprepared.

I focused on the squirrel taking shape beneath my hands, trying to lose myself in the familiar motions. But my mind kept circling back to Boaz, to the warmth that spread through me when he smiled, to the way his laughter seemed to chase away the shadows of my past.

I stole another glance. His brow was furrowed in concentration, his bottom lip caught between his teeth as he worked on his iPad. The soft glow of the screen illuminated his face, highlighting the curve of his cheekbones and the warmth in his brown eyes.

It was comfortable, peaceful in a way I hadn’t experienced in years. The lines of his face were relaxed, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. In that moment, I felt a surge of emotion so strong it nearly took my breath away.

I wanted this. Not just for now, while we were trapped by the storm, but always.

As if sensing my gaze, Boaz looked up, his eyes meeting mine. “Everything okay?”

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. How could I explain the depth of what I was feeling? How could I tell him that in a few short days, he’d managed to crack open the walls I’d built around my heart?

Instead, I simply said, “Yeah. Everything’s perfect.”

And in that moment, with Boaz’s warm smile lighting up the room, it truly was.