Page 2 of Restored by the Mountain Man (Eden Ridge: Hunter Brothers #3)

ZOE

A n hour later, after completing paperwork with HR, I sit in my car, still processing what just happened. I've been offered my dream job. I'm moving to Eden Ridge. Everything is happening so fast, I barely have time to second-guess myself.

Which is probably for the best.

I pull out my phone and dial my mother's number, knowing this conversation can't wait.

"Mija!" she answers on the second ring. "How did your interview go?"

"I got the job, Ma." Even saying it out loud feels surreal. When my best friend, Laurel had recommended this, no one thought it would really pan out. "I start Monday."

"Monday? This coming Monday?" The alarm in her voice is immediate. "But that's so soon! How will you get everything ready?"

"I'll make it work." I start the car, putting her on speaker as I begin the drive back to Laurel's cabin. "I've got most of my stuff in storage already, and I’m sure Laurel won’t mind me staying with her a bit longer since she's practically living with her boyfriend now, anyway."

"So you're really doing this," she says, her voice softening. "Moving to this tiny town in the mountains."

"Eden Ridge isn't that tiny. And it's only about three hours from Portland, Ma. Not another planet."

"I know, I know." She sighs. "Your father and I just worry. We hardly see you as it is."

"I'll visit often," I promise. "And you can come see me too. You'd love it here, Ma. The mountains, the fresh air, the pace of life."

"Because of Tom's parents?" She asks suddenly, cutting to the heart of it. "Is that why you're running away?"

My stomach tightens. "I'm not running away. I'm moving toward something."

"They stopped by again yesterday," she continues as if I hadn't spoken.

"What did they want this time?"

"The same things. To talk about the anniversary plans, to ask if you're coming to the memorial service they're organizing." A pause. "They brought more of his things they thought you might want."

Another box of memories I'm not ready to face. Another obligation to perform my grief in the exact way they expect.

"Ma, I love Tom. I will always love Tom." My voice cracks despite my best efforts. "But I cannot keep reliving his death over and over to make his parents feel better. It's been a year. I need to find a way to live my life again."

"I know, Cielito." Her voice softens. "Your father and I just worry about you being alone in a strange town."

"I won't be alone. Laurel's there, remember?" I twist the engagement ring on my right hand, the diamond catching the light. "And it's a good job, Ma. Using my actual degree instead of just running basic tests on beer."

"Your father wants to talk to you."

Before I can protest, my dad's deep voice fills the line. "Zoe, princess. Are you sure about this move?"

"I'm sure, Dad." I smile despite everything, comforted by his familiar endearment. "This is a good opportunity. The kind Tom would have wanted me to take."

It's the magic phrase, the one that always softens my parents' resistance. And it's true. Tom had always been my biggest cheerleader, pushing me to follow my passion for distillation science even when it meant late nights studying or internships that paid almost nothing.

"Well, if you're certain." Dad's voice takes on that gruff quality that means he's trying not to get emotional. "Just promise you'll visit often. And call. And be careful driving those mountain roads."

"I promise all of the above," I assure him. "I have to go now. I’m meeting Laurel for lunch to celebrate, then I need to head back to Portland and start packing."

After ending the call, I toss my phone onto the passenger seat and take a deep breath. I love my parents, but they don't understand that staying in Portland means being trapped in amber, forever the grieving fiancée, never moving forward.

Eden Ridge offers something Portland can't anymore. A chance to be just Zoe Diaz, Quality Assurance Manager, not Zoe Diaz, whose fiancé died three months before their wedding.

And maybe, just maybe, a chance to remember who I was before grief became my constant companion.

"That's the last box," Grayson announces, setting a container labeled 'Kitchen Misc.' on the countertop of what's now officially my cabin. His dark hair is slightly damp with sweat, but he doesn't look remotely winded despite having carried most of my heavier items up the stairs.

"Thank you," I tell him sincerely. "You really didn't have to help with all this."

He shrugs those impressive shoulders. "Laurel would kill me if I didn't."

"Still, I appreciate it." I glance around at the stacks of boxes filling the cozy space.

Laurel's former cabin is charming, with rustic wooden walls, large windows overlooking the surrounding forest, and enough room for my modest collection of furniture.

Tucked away on Hunter land about fifteen minutes from town, it feels like my own private retreat.

Laurel emerges from the bedroom, hair piled messily on top of her head. "Sheets are on the bed, towels in the bathroom. Oh, and I left some basics in the fridge so you won't starve tonight."

"You think of everything," I say gratefully.

"Years of practice dealing with your disaster energy," she teases. "Remember when you moved into our dorm and forgot to pack bedding entirely?"

"That was eight years ago!" I protest. "Are you ever going to let me live it down?"

"Nope," she grins, then turns to Grayson. "Can you grab those last bags from the car, babe? I want to show Zoe where everything is before we go."

He nods, dropping a kiss on her forehead before heading back downstairs. The casual affection between them makes my heart twist with this ache that feels like both envy and joy. They fit together so naturally, like they've been a pair for years instead of months.

Once he's gone, Laurel turns to me with a serious expression. "Are you sure you don't want to come to dinner tonight? Everyone's dying to meet you properly."

"I'm sure." I start unpacking a box of kitchen supplies, needing to keep my hands busy. "I've got unpacking to do and I want to review some notes before starting at the distillery tomorrow."

"It's just Sunday dinner. You need to eat anyway," she argues.

"I'll grab something simple tonight. I really want to get settled and be prepared for tomorrow."

She sighs but doesn't push further. "Fine, but you're coming next week. No excuses."

"We'll see," I hedge.

Laurel leads me through a detailed tour of the apartment's features, pointing out the quirks of the old building, where she keeps spare lightbulbs, how to jiggle the bathroom doorknob just right when it sticks.

Grayson returns with the last of my bags, setting them by the door. "Ready to go, Red?" he asks Laurel, using the affectionate nickname.

"Almost." She turns to me, suddenly looking like she might cry. "I can't believe we're going to be in the same town again. It's like college but better because now we're adults with actual money."

"Speak for yourself," I laugh, but emotions rise in my throat too. "Thank you for helping me get this job, this apartment... just, everything."

"That's what best friends are for." She pulls me into a fierce hug. "Call me if you need anything tonight. And I mean anything, even if it's just company while you unpack."

"I'll be fine," I assure her. "Go enjoy your family dinner."

After another round of hugs and promises to check in tomorrow, they finally leave. The cabin falls silent, the kind of quiet that seems to emphasize my solitude.

I move to the window, watching as Grayson helps Laurel into his truck, his hand lingering protectively at the small of her back. They drive away, and suddenly the reality of what I've done hits me full force.

I've left Portland, my parents, my job, everything familiar, to start over in a town where I know exactly one person, who's completely wrapped up in her own romance. I'm about to begin working for a man who communicates primarily in brooding silences and intense stares.

"What the hell am I doing?" I whisper to the empty cabin.

No answer comes, of course. Just the distant sounds of nature and a faint ticking of the vintage clock on the wall.

With a deep breath, I turn back to the boxes. One step at a time. Unpack. Settle in. Prepare for tomorrow.

I pull out a framed photo of Tom and me from one of the boxes marked "Bedroom." His smile is radiant, his arm around my waist as we stand in front of the Portland Japanese Garden. We look happy, oblivious to the future awaiting us.

"I'm trying," I tell his image, running my finger along the edge of the frame. "I don't know if this is right, but I'm trying."

I place the photo on the nightstand, then continue unpacking, working methodically through boxes until the space starts to feel like mine.

When hunger finally drives me to check the fridge, I find Laurel has stocked it with all my favorites, a six-pack of local craft beer, and a bottle of decent white wine.

There's a note stuck to the wine:

"Welcome to Eden Ridge. To new beginnings.

Love, L."

New beginnings. Is that really what this is? Or am I just running away, hoping distance will somehow ease the weight of grief I've carried for the past year?

I pour a glass of wine and settle into the window seat overlooking the mountains. I wonder what tomorrow will bring? My new job. My new boss. My new life.

I twist the ring on my right hand once more, watching as it catches the last rays of sunlight streaming through the window. Maybe someday I'll be ready to take it off completely. But not yet. Not today.

For now, this is enough. A step forward, even if I don't know exactly where I'm going.