Page 14 of Friends are Forever (Teton Mountain #6)

C apri shut the door softly behind her, mindful of the late hour.

The cozy scent of woodsmoke met her nose, followed by the rhythmic snip of scissors.

Jake sat cross-legged in front of the fireplace, a small vise clamped to a low table, his hands now deftly wrapping copper wire and hackle around a tiny hook.

The flickering flames cast golden light across the room, playing against the rugged slope of his cheek and the knit of concentration in his brow.

A slow smile crept across her face. She crossed the room and leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek. “You do realize fly fishing season’s just about over, right?”

Jake didn’t look up right away. He tightened a loop, tested the line, then finally lifted his head, his eyes crinkling.

“Nonsense,” he said with the quiet authority she was starting to recognize as pure Jake.

“In early fall, all the tributaries are open. Water levels might be lower, but that just means the fish are easier to find. Bigger ones are feeding up before winter, especially in those deeper pools where the current slows down. And hatches still happen when the sun warms things up in the afternoon. Trust me—if you go at the right time, the fish are biting.”

Capri sank onto the floor beside him, watching as he reached for a tuft of elk hair and trimmed it expertly. The fire popped, and she pulled her knees up beneath her. “You always this convincing?” she asked, a half-teasing edge to her voice.

Jake glanced over, the corner of his mouth lifting. “Only when I know I’m right.”

She leaned back, letting herself relax into the quiet hush of home, the hum of companionship, the soft crackle of the fire.

For once, she didn’t feel the need to fix or plan or prove anything.

Jake had a way of grounding her like that—reminding her that the world could keep spinning without her at the helm.

“Teach me?” she asked after a pause.

He looked up, surprised, then nodded slowly. “I’d like that.”

And though she didn’t say it aloud, Capri thought she might like it, too.

Jake reached beside him and held out a second vise, sliding it across the table until it rested in front of her. “Here,” he said, his voice low and steady. “This one’s yours.”

Capri hesitated, then scooted closer until their knees touched. She watched as he selected a hook and secured it in the clamp, then handed her a spool of thread. His fingers brushed hers—warm, calloused, sure—and a tingle zipped straight through her. She swallowed and steadied her breath.

“Start with a base layer,” he murmured, guiding her hand in slow, precise movements. “You want to wrap the thread evenly, keep it tight, but not too tight. Like this.”

He shifted behind her slightly, his arms coming around her sides, his hands over hers.

His chin was near her shoulder, close enough that she could feel the warmth of his breath and the subtle scratch of his beard against her hairline.

She followed his guidance, wrapping the thread slowly, her focus narrowing to the feel of his touch—firm but gentle, completely present.

It wasn’t just about the fly. It was the way he taught her—patiently, quietly—as if there was nowhere else he’d rather be. And something about that undid her a little.

“You’re good at this,” she said softly, keeping her eyes on the vise to avoid the intensity of what she felt building inside.

“So are you,” he replied. Then, after a pause, “Did you tell the girls we’re going to set a date soon?”

The question floated into the warm hush of the room like a soft ripple on still water. She blinked, her hands stilling.

“No,” she said, the answer honest and immediate. “I meant to. But between Reva’s trip to Georgia, the baby shower plans, Fleet, and everything else...it felt like later might be better.”

Jake didn’t push. He just nodded, as if he understood more than she was saying.

“I didn’t want to make it about me,” Capri added, her voice quieter now. “Everyone’s going through so much. I guess I thought...I’d wait until the moment felt right.”

Jake leaned forward and kissed the spot just behind her ear. “When you’re ready,” he said simply.

And just like that, Capri felt a flicker of peace settle beneath her ribs—the kind that only came when someone knew how to hold both your hand and your heart without asking you to let go of either.

They sat together in silence for a moment, the fire painting shadows across the walls, the half-finished fly still caught in the vise between them.

Jake shifted slightly, his voice low. “I love you, you know.”

Capri turned her head, studying him. His eyes held hers, steady and unflinching.

He set the thread spool down, then gently took her hands and pulled her to her feet. “Come here.”

She stood, letting him draw her close. He kissed her, slow and deep, his hands resting lightly on her hips. When he pulled back, she answered his non-verbal question with a smile.

Jake didn’t need further encouragement. He took her hand, guiding her down the hallway.

“What about the flies?” she whispered.

His voice was a little rough. “They’ll be there in the morning.”

Inside the bedroom, he turned to face her, brushing his fingers through her long blonde hair, the strands slipping between his hands. His gaze searched hers, unspoken questions and promises hovering just beneath the surface.

Then her phone buzzed.

Capri’s eyes fluttered closed, a groan rising in her throat. “Not now,” she muttered, ignoring the intrusion.

Jake’s hands moved gently down her arms, his touch grounding. But the phone buzzed again. And again.

She huffed, pulling away with visible frustration and grabbing the phone from her pocket. “What?”

Charlie Grace’s voice came through the speaker, breathless and urgent. “Capri. Meet us at the hospital. It’s Camille. Looks like she might be losing the baby.”

Capri’s heart thudded in her chest, her body already moving. She didn’t need details—just the message. She met Jake’s eyes, wide with worry.

“I have to go.”

He was already pulling on his jacket. “I’m coming with you.”

Together, they rushed from the house, the intimacy of moments before swept away by the force of something far more pressing—the fragile thread of new life, that of Lila’s grandbaby, now hanging in the balance.