This cabin was built by a guy named Jaxon and his crew in Idaho. They build custom homes—I saw them on a reality TV show. Hired them right away. And this one is fucking magnificent.
I had it built two years ago, after the windfall. I came out to the Yukon to strike it on my own, but after a year here, I managed to strike gold.
I was mining for gold, but so were a lot of guys. There were a few news stories that came out about some people going to the Yukon and finding gold.
Never thought I’d be so lucky, but I was sick of the nine to five grind, not to mention I was fucking things up left and right. Drinking too much, playing way too fucking hard dddd —it was like after years of taking care of Taylor, my body rebelled against the idea of being responsible. All I wanted was to let loose.
I needed a fresh start if I ever wanted to get my shit in order.
I was one of the lucky ones.
I hit enough gold to set me up for my lifetime.
I still mine because I love to be in the great outdoors, a modern-day treasure hunter. I love this land and I love this country. Being out here let me clear my head to figure out who I was and why.
It’s safe out here, no one getting too close. There’s no one to hurt.
My mind, though, it isn’t clear right now. Right now, I’m only thinking about Ava Grace.
Her smile and her laugh. Thinking how I left her this morning and wondering why I wasn’t the kind of man who could just stay.
I wish I could see her again, speak to her. Learn all about her. But I know a man like me would only hurt her. From what Taylor said, she’s been hurt enough.
But damn, I’m a selfish bastard because I still need to see her face.
I take another drink of my whiskey, glad to be home and drinking the good stuff, and get out my laptop. I pull up fucking Facebook, thinking that’s the best place to find this girl.
A few clicks later I have access to her public profile. It lists her birthday, where she went to college, even her email account.
My cock is hard the moment I see her face, and there is picture after picture of her. In every single one, she’s smiling, looking like a breath of fresh air.
I scroll through her feed and see her post about getting a pedicure with a girlfriend, pictures of recent jewelry designs — incredibly impressive designs — and most recently, a post about going to her sister’s engagement party.
Besides her updates, I see she’s taken quizzes. Lots of fucking quizzes.
What character from these romantic comedies are you most like?
Who should be your leading man?
What is your dream date?
Every quiz zeroing in on the fact that Ava Grace is a hopeless romantic.
I swallow, not believing I have the capacity to be the man she needs, but my memory of our night together tells me I should have her anyway.
I take another drink. My head feels less cloudy, things are becoming clearer. Even though it is the middle of the night, and it’s been a long-ass day—I know what I want. What I need.
I’ve got to talk to Ava again. But I need to take a different approach, a different angle. Because I don’t want to get close and hurt her. When I left this morning, I gave her every reason to think I was just like the rest of the men she’d been with.
Detached, unavailable, one and done.
Maybe I can try something different. Maybe I can give her a reason to think I’m more. A woman like Ava Grace deserves to be wooed —she wants a romance worthy of a movie, and fuck, I may not have any clue what it means to fall in love, but I want to see if I can win Ava Grace’s heart.
Without a second guess —because when I make up my mind, I don’t second guess myself.
I type in the URL for Fastmail and I create an account for myself. A way to get to know Ava... a way for Ava to get to know me—without judgment or preconceived ideas about what kind of man I am.
It will give me a way to figure out if I have what it takes to be the man she needs.
I can compose an email.
To: AvaGraceWentworth
From: heartofgold
8
I spend the rest of the day wishing I were more like Sophia. I can’t help think that Sophia is doing something right.
Maybe my personality is a turn-off. Maybe I drive men away with my pink tights and my pony tops.
I sort through my clothing, looking for something Sophia would wear. Unfortunately, I don’t own khakis or turtlenecks so I am left wearing my leggings and Uggs. But the record should state that I tried.