“You’ve never even talked to a man besides Galvin before. Sorry, but this is all a little much for me.”
“I was always with Galvin, so I had no reason to,” I point out.
“You’ve lost your mind,” she whispers, and I let my head fall back against the headrest. One thing I haven’t missed this last week is everyone questioning my judgment and thinking I can’t make decisions for myself.
“You need to trust me,” I reply.
“Cybil, this is—”
“Jade, I love you,” I say, cutting her off again. “But I’m not a child, so please stop. You’re not going to change my mind.”
“Okay.” She sounds somewhat stunned, then is quiet for a long moment. “Will you at least send me his information?”
“She can do that.” Tanner glances over at me as he gives my thigh a squeeze.
“Thanks, Tanner.” She laughs, sounding disgruntled.
“I’ll be fine, and I’ll call your mom and dad so you don’t have to break the news to them.”
“Dammit, Cybil, I knew I should have gone with you,” she grumbles. “I knew you’d go to Montana and find a cowboy with a deep voice and never come home.”
“Tanner isn’t a cowboy. He’s a former marine, and I didn’t say I wasn’t coming home.” Truth be told, I have no idea what will happen after this week, and really I don’t want to think about it, because the thought of this not working out makes me feel anxious, especially after realizing that you can know someone for years and have no idea who they are.
“Even worse,” she gripes. “Just promise you’ll call me.”
“I promise I’ll call you.”
“All right,” she agrees, then calls out, “Tanner!”
“Yeah.”
“If you don’t take care of my best friend, I will drive to Montana, track you down, and kill you in your sleep.”
“Right,” he says, his lips twitching into a smile that causes his dimple to pop out.
“I’m serious.”
“I promise I’ll take care of her,” he says, glancing over at me, and my entire chest warms from the look he gives me. Right, it’s those looks that remind me exactly why I’m taking this risk.
“Good, and Cybil? You’d better call Mom and Dad. I’m not dealing with that mess.”
“I’ll call them.”
“Love you,” she huffs.
“Love you too. I’ll call soon.” I press end on the call, then tuck my cell back into my bag. I know I said I would call her parents, but I didn’t say when, and I have no desire to hear them lecture me with Tanner here for the conversation.
“She loves you.”
“Yeah. She’s also a little overprotective.”
“She’s worried. It’s understandable, and you’re lucky you have people who care.” He gives my thigh another squeeze, and I cover his hand with mine. “You’re tight with her parents?”
“They were my mom’s best friends.” I let out a breath as I fiddle with his fingers. “When Mom passed away, they took me in, and I lived with them until I was old enough to be on my own.” I lift my head to look at his profile. “What about your family? Are they going to freak out that you have a woman staying with you who you don’t really know?”
“I haven’t seen or talked to my parents in nine years,” he says, and my chest starts to ache. “When I turned eighteen, I joined the military and didn’t look back.”
“Tanner,” I murmur, not sure what to say, not even sure that if I said something, it would be enough.
“They didn’t want kids; they didn’t want to do anything but party all night and sleep all day. I was an inconvenience.”
“I hate that for you,” I say as the ache in my chest causes my eyes to burn.
“Don’t.” He glances over at me while his fingers lace carefully through mine. “As fucked up as they were, I wouldn’t be where I am now without them,” he tells me quietly, then shakes his head. “I’ve made a life for myself, have friends who are like family, got money in the bank, and do a job I love. Because of them and in spite of them, I’ve succeeded.”
“Well, I’m proud of you,” I tell him, giving his fingers a squeeze. “And not in the way you’re proud of me for doing nothing but walk up a hill,” I say, and he chuckles, the sound easing the pain around my heart and the lines around his eyes.
“Thanks, sunshine.”
“Anytime,” I say, shifting to look out the windshield.
“We’re here.” He flips on the turn signal and turns onto a dirt road lined with tall spruce and pine trees.
At the sight of a log cabin–style home with a large arch of windows and a wraparound porch, my breath catches in my throat. I never tried to picture where he might live, but if I had, it would have been a cool condo or something similar. Not this. The home in front of me looks like the house I grew up in, the wooden structure blending in with its surroundings and making it feel like a piece of the landscape instead of standing out.
“This is where you live?”
“This is it.” He sounds nervous, so I turn to face him.
“It . . . it’s beautiful.” I bite my lip, then shake my head. “I have to show you something.” I dig through my bag until I find my phone, then quickly search my photos until I find the one I’m looking for. “Here.” I hold out my cell to him, and he takes it, studying the picture I took, looking confused. “That’s my house in Oregon, or the house I grew up in.”
“Seriously?” His eyes meet mine, and I nod, my throat tight.
“How wild is that?”
“Wild,” he agrees, looking out the windshield before dropping his gaze to the photo once more. The two homes that are thousands of miles apart look almost identical, which should be impossible but is obviously not. Another connection we didn’t even know we shared. “I designed this place myself,” he says, sounding like he’s talking more to himself than me.
“My mom spent a year drawing up designs for our house. The builder threatened to quit at least once a week, because she could never make up her mind on what she wanted.” I smile as a million memories come back to me and then take my phone back, studying the photo. “All she cared about was the light. She was an artist at heart.” I look at him and swallow when I see the look in his eyes.
“How about we go inside?” he suggests, and I nod, watching him get out of Sammy, and then a moment later, he opens my door and lifts me out. Taking his hand, I walk with him toward the front porch of the cabin, then stand back as he types in a code and opens the door.
I step in when he motions me to enter before him and am slightly disappointed when the place looks nothing like the house I grew up in. The walls are bare instead of covered with paintings and photos, and the wood floors are naked rather than covered with random mismatched rugs to keep out the cold. After setting down my purse on the island in the kitchen, I go to the open living room and turn in a circle. Where the house I grew up in was worn from time and use, everything here is new and modern. Top-of-the-line appliances fill the kitchen, high-back barstools line the counter, and a comfortable-looking gray-suede L-shaped couch takes up most of the large living room in front of the fireplace, where the TV is hung.