Page 18 of Grumpy on the Mountain

When was the last time I woke up without that knot of anxiety in my stomach? Without wondering what mood Riley would be in, or what I'd done wrong, or whether today would be one of those days where he'd find new ways to make me feel like I was failing at being a human being?

I stretch in the luxuriously soft flannel sheets, thinking that this is what mornings are supposed to feel like.

Calm. Relaxed.Slow.

I slide out of bed and pad over to the dresser where I've hastily dumped my clothes every night since I crashed my sisters door unannounced. My only sweater sits on top of the pile, and I pick it up to pull it on.

It still smells likehim.

I hold the fabric to my nose and breathe in, and suddenly I'm right back in that truck with Beau Callahan. His massive hands on the steering wheel. The way his jaw clenched when I mentioned Riley. How he looked at me like he was seeing straight through to my soul.

Oh God.

I'm standing in my sister's guest room sniffing a sweater like some kind of fabric-obsessed weirdo.

This is not normal behavior. This is not—

"Mmm, yes, I'm definitely thinking about that thing you do with your hands... God, I miss you."

Sienna's voice drifts down the hallway, followed by a giggle that tells me her and her husband are gettingwayto into their phone 'conversation' again.

"Stop, babe. I'm going back in the kitchen."

I pull on the sweater, trying to ignore my sister's phone sex and how the scent of my ex-fiancés brother's scent makes my pulse quicken, then follow the sound of sizzling and the heavenly smell of pancakes toward the kitchen.

It's been three days since Beau stomped down the driveway without a backward glance. Three days of me trying not to stare out the window like some lovestruck teenager as he drove away into the wild storm. The snowstorm turned Stone River Mountain into a ghost town, everything suspended in white silence, including the mechanic who's yet to call about my car.

But this morning, the clouds have finally retreated, and sunlight sparkles across untouched snow like someone scattered diamonds everywhere.

I move towards the delicious smell creeping up the hallway, and when I get to the kitchen, I see Sienna standing at the stove, phone tucked between her shoulder and ear, expertly flipping what appears to be Mickey Mouse-shaped pancakes.

Sunshine streams through the window, illuminating the cheerful chaos of family life inside the kitchen. Coffee mugs with cartoon characters, a vase of wildflowers Maisie tells me she picked over two weeks ago, and a refrigerator covered in crayon masterpieces held up by mismatched magnets.

The air smells like butter and vanilla and my chest aches with longing at how cozy this all is.

My sister has that glow that only comes from being truly, deeply happy. Happy in life, happy in marriage and motherhood.

I'm happy for her.

And totally not jealous. Not at all.

Maisie is perched at the kitchen island, surrounded by a colorful explosion of crayons, markers, and what looks like architectural blueprints drawn by a very enthusiastic six-year-old.

Sienna is still on the phone to David, her husband of over ten years. She's grinning wickedly, unaware that I've stepped into the room.

"Well, I always start with something hot and steamy... baby. Yes!" She laughs and tosses her head back, flipping another pancake to the steaming stack beside the stovetop. "I'm talking about coffee, obviously. What did you think I meant, babe?"

I shudder, glad I can't hear the other side of that conversation.

"Aunt Molly!" Maisie looks up from her artwork, beaming. "Look! I made new treehouse plans!"

I slide onto the stool next to her, accepting the coffee mug Sienna slides my way when she finally catches on that I'm in the room.

"Wow, Maise. These are getting really elaborate."

And they are.

What started as a simple platform in a tree has evolved into something much more. Mainly with thanks to three days of boredom from yours truly.