Page 9 of Sunshine and the Grumpy Groundskeeper (The Callahans of Elk Ridge #1)

Chapter Nine

Daisy

S unlight streams through the cabin window, catching dust motes that dance like tiny fairies in the golden beams. I stretch languidly, still wrapped in Rowan's jacket from last night, the fabric carrying the scent of pine needles and woodsmoke. My lips tingle with the memory of our kiss, and I press my fingers to them, almost afraid the sensation will vanish if I acknowledge it too directly.

"He kissed me, Rascal," I whisper to my dog, who's curled at the foot of the bed. "Grumpy, gorgeous, forest-guardian Rowan Callahan actually kissed me."

Rascal lifts his head, giving me what I choose to interpret as a "well, obviously" look before settling back down.

"Don't give me that. You thought he'd never crack that stoic exterior." I swing my legs over the side of the bed, but don't stand immediately, savoring the moment. "Though I notice you had no problem falling asleep in his arms. Traitor."

The morning feels different somehow, charged with possibility. I pad to the small kitchen area, starting the coffee maker that's become part of my lodge routine. Eight days left, and somehow this place already feels more like home than my apartment ever did.

The thought sends a jolt through me. Eight days. Just over a week until I'm supposed to return to my real life, my career, my?—

My laptop pings with an incoming email. Janet's name in the subject line draws me over immediately.

Daisy! AMAZING NEWS! Call me when you get this!

I open it with a mixture of excitement and apprehension.

Fantastic development! BookWorld wants to feature you as their Spotlight New Author for the fall season. We're talking prime placement in all 40 stores nationwide, a major launch event at their NYC flagship with Olivia Lee (yes, THAT Olivia Lee!) hosting. This is HUGE, sweetie! They love the forest friends concept and want to position you as the exciting new voice in children's literature.

Events team needs confirmation ASAP to start planning. Launch would be three weeks after you get back to the city. We'd need to hit the ground running with promotional materials, author photos, and final manuscript polishing as soon as you're back. I've scheduled meetings for your first day back.

This is everything we've worked for! Call me! Janet

I sink into a chair, the email swimming before my eyes. BookWorld. Olivia Lee. National spotlight. Everything I've dreamed of, everything I've worked for, presented in neat, exciting paragraphs that should have me dancing around the cabin.

Instead, all I can think is eight days .

Rascal nudges my hand, sensing my mood shift. I scratch his ears absently.

"This is good news, buddy. Great news. Dream-come-true news." But my voice sounds hollow even to my own ears.

I should call Janet immediately. I should be sending champagne emoji and exclamation points. Instead, I close the laptop, promising myself I'll respond after coffee. After I've had time to think.

A gentle knock at the door startles me. I quickly set the laptop aside and answer it, finding Evie Callahan standing on my porch with a basket of muffins, her silver hair catching the morning light.

"Good morning, dear. I thought you might enjoy some blueberry muffins. Still warm from the oven." Her eyes crinkle warmly, then fall to Rowan's jacket still wrapped around my shoulders. "Though I see you're staying plenty warm already."

Heat rushes to my cheeks. "Oh! I—we—it was cold last night, and?—"

"Breathe, honey." Her eyes dance with amusement. "I'm teasing. May I come in? I've brought coffee, too." She holds up a thermos. "Though it looks like you've already got some brewing."

"Please." I step back, suddenly aware of my rumpled appearance. "Sorry about the mess. I was just..." What? Daydreaming about your son? Panicking about an email? Both?

Evie settles at my small table, pouring coffee for us both while I place her muffins on a plate.

"Actually," she says, her tone casual but her eyes watchful, "I had another reason for stopping by. Janet called the lodge this morning, looking for you. She seemed quite excited about something and a little concerned when she couldn't reach you."

I freeze with a muffin halfway to the plate. "Janet called you?"

"She and I go back twenty years, dear." Evie stirs honey into her coffee. "She's been coming to the lodge since before Rowan was born. When she couldn't reach you, she called to make sure everything was alright."

"I got her email," I admit, sinking into the chair opposite her. "About BookWorld."

"She mentioned something about that." Evie's smile is genuine, maternal in a way that makes my heart ache a little. "It sounds wonderful."

"It is. I mean, it's everything I've worked for. A major launch, national exposure, Olivia Lee..." I trail off, my enthusiasm faltering as I hear myself speak.

"But?" Evie prompts gently, her eyes kind.

"But nothing. It's amazing." I fiddle with my coffee cup. "I should be ecstatic."

"Should be," she repeats, and there's no judgment in her voice, just quiet understanding. "And yet you haven't called her back."

Our eyes meet, and I see knowledge in hers. More than understanding. Insight.

"It's complicated," I finally say.

"Because of my son?" The directness is softened by her gentle tone.

My gaze drops to Rowan's jacket still wrapped around my shoulders. "Is it that obvious?"

"Only to a mother who knows her son better than he knows himself." She reaches across the table to cover my hand with hers. "And who recognizes the look of someone who's found something unexpected."

"I don't know what I'm doing, Evie," I confess, the words tumbling out. "Eight days ago, I would have been dancing around this cabin at Janet's email. Now I'm..."

"Torn," she supplies when I falter.

"Yes." The admission is both a relief and a weight. "Is that crazy? I've known Rowan for barely a week."

"Time isn't always the best measure of what matters." She breaks a muffin in half, offering me part. "Sometimes we recognize what feels like home right away."

I accept the muffin, grateful for the moment to collect my thoughts. "He told me about Heather last night."

Surprise flickers across Evie's face. "Did he?"

"Sounds like she left because she couldn't handle the isolation, the quiet life here," I say carefully, watching Evie's reaction.

She sighs. "Heather loved the idea of mountain life more than the reality. She wanted Rowan to be different. More ambitious, more worldly. When he wouldn't change, she left."

"And now he thinks everyone will leave," I finish quietly.

"Not everyone. Just anyone he might let himself care about." Her gaze is steady, compassionate but unflinching. "And now here you are. You are bright, creative, full of life. Everything these mountains need. Everything he needs."

"For eight more days," I whisper.

"Is that all it can be?" There's no judgment in her question, just gentle curiosity.

"I don't know." I press my fingers to my temples. "My life is in the city. My career, this opportunity, everything I've worked for."

"Dreams are funny things," Evie says, watching Rascal as he positions himself strategically between us, hoping for fallen crumbs. "Sometimes they change when we aren't looking. Sometimes they grow to include things we never expected."

"Or people," I add without thinking.

Her smile deepens. "Or people."

We eat in companionable silence for a moment. Finally, I find the courage to ask, "What would you do?"

"Oh, honey, I can't answer that for you." She pats my hand. "But I can tell you what I did when I faced something similar. When James—Rowan's father—and I were first married, I had a job offer in Atlanta. Office manager position at a prestigious school. More money, more opportunity, more everything."

"But you didn't take it."

"No. But not because James asked me to stay. He actually encouraged me to go." She smiles at the memory. "He said he'd follow me anywhere, even to the city he hated, if that's what would make me happy."

"What made you stay?"

"I realized something important." She brushes muffin crumbs from her fingers. "The job was amazing. But it wasn't what made my heart feel at home."

My phone buzzes with a text message. Rowan's name appears on the screen, and my heart does a ridiculous little flip.

Trail to the hidden waterfall today? Meet at 10?

"You should answer him," Evie says, eyes twinkling as she rises. "He's probably been composing that simple message for twenty minutes. My son has many talents, but casual texting isn't one of them."

I laugh despite myself. "I still don't know what to do, Evie."

"I know, dear." She gathers her basket. "About Janet. She did ask me to remind you to call her. But she also said, and I quote, 'Tell her to take a breath before she decides anything. The mountains have a way of changing perspectives.'"

I stare at her, surprised. "Janet said that?"

"She knows you well." Evie pauses at the door, glancing at Rowan's jacket still wrapped around me. "Whatever you decide, make sure it's what will bring you joy, not just success. They're not always the same thing."

After she leaves, I sit for a long moment, looking between my phone and my laptop. Eight days suddenly feels both infinitely long and heartbreakingly short.

Waterfall sounds perfect. See you at 10. I type, then add, Rascal says to bring treats. I say to bring a sense of adventure.

The reply comes faster than I expected.

Both covered.

I close my eyes, clutching the phone to my chest like a lifeline. Janet's email remains unanswered, a blinking cursor waiting for a response I'm not ready to give. But I do send her a quick text:

Got your email. Amazing news. Need a little time to think. Call you later today.

Ten o'clock finds me waiting at the trailhead, nervously smoothing my clothes and wondering if one kiss changes everything or nothing at all. Rascal prances at my feet in his purple sweater, blissfully unaware of human complications.

"Act normal," I tell him. "Whatever that means."

When Rowan appears through the trees, my heart does that ridiculous flip again. He's dressed in his usual flannel and work boots, hair slightly damp like he's just showered, and there's a new tension in his shoulders that wasn't there before. He carries a small backpack and a walking stick that he hands to me.

"Morning." His voice is gruff, but his eyes linger on mine a beat longer than usual.

"Morning." I accept the stick, our fingers brushing. The familiar spark is there, stronger now that we know what it means. "So, hidden waterfall?"

"If you're up for it." He glances at my boots. I’m wearing proper hiking boots, though I've replaced the laces with sparkly purple ones. "It's a bit of a climb in places."

"I've been practicing my trail reading," I say, aiming for our usual teasing tone. "Haven't fallen into any muddy creeks for at least three days."

Something that might be a smile tugs at his lips. "A new record."

"I'm very accomplished."

Rascal chooses this moment to get his leash completely tangled around both our legs, effectively binding us together. I laugh nervously, bending to fix it just as Rowan does the same. Our heads bump gently.

"Sorry," we say in unison.

"I've got it." His hands are sure and steady as they work on the leash, though I notice a slight tremor when his knuckles brush my calf.

"Thanks."

When we're free, an awkward silence falls. So much for acting normal.

"Ready?" He gestures to the trail.

"Lead the way, Forest Guardian."

He gives me a look, but there's warmth in it. As we start hiking, I search for our usual rhythm, the comfortable banter that's become my favorite part of these mornings.

"So, this waterfall. Is it guarded by woodland creatures? Do I need a secret password? Will Gordon the Mayor be there to give us the key to the forest?"

"It's just a waterfall, Daisy." But his tone has softened.

"Nothing is ever just anything." I follow him up a steeper section of trail. "Not in these mountains."

He glances back at me, something unreadable in his expression. "No. I guess not."

We hike in more comfortable silence after that, Rowan occasionally pointing out trail markers or interesting plants. I notice he's leading us on a path I haven't seen before, one without the usual blazes.

"Are we on a secret trail?" I ask, ducking under a low branch.

"Private trail," he corrects, but there's that ghost of a smile again. "One most guests don't know about."

"But you're showing me?"

He doesn't answer directly. "Watch your step here. The rocks can be slippery."

The trail narrows, winding between ancient trees whose branches create a green canopy overhead. Birds call to each other, and occasionally small creatures rustle in the undergrowth. Rascal, to my surprise, stays dutifully on the path, only occasionally straining toward particularly interesting scents.

"You've been training him," I realize, watching my usually chaotic dog navigate the trail with newfound purpose.

Rowan's ears redden slightly. "Basic commands. For safety."

"Of course. Safety." I hide my smile. "Not at all because you secretly adore my ridiculous dog."

Before he can defend himself, Rascal spots something and barks excitedly, pulling so hard on his leash that I stumble forward. Rowan's arm shoots out, steadying me against his side. For a moment, we're pressed together, his warmth seeping through my sweater.

"Sorry," I murmur, not moving away. "He's still a work in progress."

"Aren't we all." His voice is low, intimate in a way that makes my skin tingle.

The moment stretches, charged with everything we're not saying. Then Rascal barks again, breaking the spell.

"We're almost there," Rowan says, releasing me reluctantly. "Just around this bend."

I follow him through a natural archway formed by two leaning trees, and then suddenly—magic.

A small clearing opens before us, cradled by ancient trees. A waterfall cascades down moss-covered rocks into a crystal-clear pool, sending rainbows dancing through the mist. Wildflowers dot the edges of the clearing in bursts of purple and gold.

"Rowan," I breathe. "It's beautiful."

"That's not all." He leads me to the far side of the clearing where, nestled among the trees, stands a small structure. It takes me a moment to realize what I'm seeing. It’s a wildlife blind, perfectly positioned for viewing both the waterfall and the clearing.

As we get closer, I can see the details. It's not just a simple blind. It's a tiny studio, its design clearly inspired by the sketches in my notebook. A comfortable seat at just the right height for drawing. A small shelf for supplies. Even a tiny window positioned to capture the perfect view of where animals would drink from the pool.

But it's the little touches that steal my breath. The shelf has compartments sized exactly for my different notebooks. The seat has a cushion in my favorite shade of purple. And hanging from a small hook is a jar of the peppermint tea I mentioned loving once, in passing, days ago.

"When did you..." I can't finish the sentence, too overwhelmed by what this represents.

"Been working on restoring it for about a week." He shrugs like it's nothing.

I run my fingers over the smooth wood, feeling the care in every joint, every detail. "You carved animals into the beams."

Tiny rabbits, deer, foxes, and yes, even a distinguished-looking groundhog peer out from the wooden supports, each rendered with surprising delicacy.

"Just some simple designs," he says, but his eyes watch my reaction carefully. "For atmosphere."

"This is..." I swallow past the lump in my throat. "No one's ever made anything like this for me before."

Derek's voice echoes in my memory: When are you going to grow up and get a real job? These animal stories are cute, but they're not a career, Daisy.

Rowan's quiet voice pulls me back. "You see things others don't. The magic in these woods. Seems only fair they give you a place to capture it."

Our eyes meet, and suddenly we're not talking about the blind anymore, or the woods, or my sketches. We're talking about something neither of us is ready to name, but both feel with startling intensity.

"Thank you," I whisper.

He nods once, his expression softening in a way I'm beginning to recognize as uniquely mine. "Want to try it out?"

I settle into the seat, which fits me perfectly. Rascal immediately curls up in the small sunny patch beneath the window, as if this space was made for him too. And maybe it was.

"How did you know exactly what I needed?" I ask as Rowan leans against the doorframe, watching me explore the small space.

"I pay attention," he says simply.

Three words that encompass so much. How he notices which wildflowers make me pause on the trail. Which tea I drink in the afternoon. How I hold my notebook when sketching. Three words that stand in stark contrast to everyone who told me to be different, more practical, less dreamy.

"Rowan." His name comes out like a question.

He moves closer, until he's kneeling beside the seat, eye level with me. "Daisy."

The way he says my name—like it's something precious, something special—breaks the last of my resistance. I reach for him just as he reaches for me, and this time when our lips meet, there's nothing hesitant about it.

His hand cradles my face, thumb tracing my cheekbone with a tenderness that makes my heart ache. I grip his flannel shirt, pulling him closer, trying to memorize every sensation. The softness of his lips, the faint taste of coffee, the gentle strength in his hands.

When we break apart, his eyes are darker, more intense than I've ever seen them. "This is..." He struggles for words.

"Complicated?" I offer.

"I was going to say unexpected."

"Good unexpected or terrifying unexpected?"

"Both." His honesty is endearing. "I don't do this, Daisy."

"You don’t fall for city girls who talk to groundhogs?"

A real smile now, transforming his face. "Something like that."

The moment stretches between us, full of possibility and fear in equal measure. I should tell him about the email, about Janet, about the countdown that feels both more important and less significant with every passing second.

Before I can find the words, Rascal apparently decides we've had enough serious conversation. He jumps up, somehow manages to step directly into the small jar of pencils, then panics at the rattling sound and bolts straight into Rowan's lap, pencils flying everywhere.

"Rascal!" I lunge for him, overbalancing and sending us all sprawling in a tangle of limbs, fur, and art supplies.

I land half on top of Rowan, who has somehow managed to catch both me and my ridiculous dog. For a moment, we freeze in the absurdity of the situation. The dignified groundskeeper flat on his back, a yapping Yorkie on his chest, and me sprawled inelegantly across his legs.

Then he laughs. Not a chuckle or a snort, but a real, deep laugh that I feel rumble through his chest. It's the most beautiful sound I've ever heard.

"Your dog," he manages between laughs, "is a menace to society."

"But you like him anyway," I say, not moving from my position.

"I like his owner more." The words slip out naturally, but their impact silences us both.

Carefully, I shift until we're side by side on the floor of the small blind, Rascal now contentedly settled between us as if this whole disaster was his plan all along. Maybe it was.

"I still have to leave in eight days," I say finally, the words painful but necessary.

"I know." His hand finds mine, fingers intertwining.

"And I have to get back to my place. My life."

"Hmm."

"And we barely know each other."

His thumb traces patterns on my palm. "Don't we though?"

The question hangs between us, profound in its simplicity. Because in some ways, he's right. He knows how I take my coffee, which flowers make me stop to sketch, how I talk to animals when I think no one's listening. And I know how he moves through the forest, the rare beauty of his genuine smile, how gentle his hands can be despite their strength.

"What are we doing, Rowan?"

"I don't know," he admits. "But I'd like to find out."