Sunrise Cabin. Stacey Donovan

your last month, or your last year, or whatever—if you had disappointments, or you messed up, you can forget about all that. Because it’s a brand-new week. A fresh start.” As Dylan stared at her, she took a sip of her latte, then wiped off a bit of foam that clung to her upper lip. She shrugged. “Anything could happen.”

      Dylan had no words for the feeling that thrummed through his veins. Something told him she was different from anyone he’d ever met before, and he needed to know her better.

      But his cynicism rose to the surface to protect him from the unfamiliar. “Do you work on Mondays?” Maybe she was a waitress in a restaurant that was closed today. Anyone could enjoy their day off. Maybe she didn’t work at all.

      “I do, actually.” Her tone was wry. “I’m a teacher. I have weekends off. Well, more or less.”

      Okay. He wasn’t sitting next to a rainbow. He was sitting next to a unicorn. A person who worked Mondays through Fridays, and called Monday the best day of the week, didn’t even seem real.

      She went back to writing in her journal and he caught a glimpse of the page. A sketch of a house occupied half of it. No, not a house: a cabin. It looked a lot like his grandparents’ cabin, where he and his sister had spent some of their childhood summers. Why would she be drawing something like that? He wondered what her life was like, and what was going through her mind.

      But although curiosity was getting to him, he looked away. He needed to stop staring at her like a creep, and whatever she was writing or drawing, it was none of his business. He had plenty of business of his own and should get back to it.

      Usually, he had no trouble settling down to work. He’d gotten himself through college with a combination of scholarships and jobs that had been unpleasant, exhausting, or both: loading delivery trucks, cleaning toilets, and one summer, even gutting salmon in a cannery in Alaska. He was made for work.

      The figures in the projections balanced out. He adjusted the formatting, advanced to the next slide, and stared at it, still acutely aware of the woman next to him. Whatever she was working on, it was probably much less crucial—and probably a lot more fun.

      His phone rang. Dylan looked down and saw his brother-in-law’s name on the screen.

      Why was Paul calling so early? Well, it could be an emergency. Dylan answered. “Hey, what’s up?” As he did, the blonde woman got up and grabbed her jacket, and disappointment flickered through him.

      “Hey,” Paul said. “Just reminding you to pick up Dee’s cake tonight.”

      No. He’d forgotten all about his sister Deidre’s birthday. Paul had planned a surprise party for her. He’d invited her favorite people, secretly bought decorations, and conspired with Dee’s best friend to get her out of the house for some spa thing and then back home again.

      Dylan had questioned this whole plan from the jump. He’d asked Paul, “Are you sure she likes surprises? I don’t even like it when one person drops by without asking.”

      His brother-in-law had shaken his head. “Most people are more spontaneous than you. Actually, everybody is.”

      “I can be spontaneous,” Dylan had said. “I just need some warning.”

      Dylan’s doubt about the party was no excuse. He’d had one job. Bring a chocolate sheet cake with the words, “Happy Birthday, Dee!” written on it in frosting.

      In response to his silence, Paul said, “You didn’t order it.”

      “It’s fine, it’s fine,” Dylan said with fake confidence. “I’ll call around. Someone can do it.” Not that he had time for calling…

      But he was in a bakery. The kind that made individual treats, not big cakes, but still. He glanced over at the display of baked goods. The blonde woman stood in line at the other end of the counter, bouncing on her toes, cash in her hand, and he was glad she hadn’t left yet. He asked Paul, “How many people are going to be there?”

      “Eh, twenty-five, maybe. Well, thirty, if you count Dee, me, the boys, and you.” He sighed. “I invited more, but people are so busy.”

      “Thirty’s a lot.” If someone had been throwing a party for Dylan, he wouldn’t have been able to think of thirty people to even invite. He walked closer to the bakery counter, surveyed the inventory, and told Paul, “I’ll get cupcakes.”

      Paul hesitated. “They can’t put her name on them.”

      Seriously? His sister was turning forty, not seven. She wasn’t going to pout if her name wasn’t on a cake. Dylan kept his voice light. “It’s a birthday party. Everyone’s going to know who the cupcakes are for. And I’ll get different flavors.”

      “All right, sounds good,” Paul said. “Thanks.”

      “No problem. I’ll be there at seven.”

      “Six-thirty,” Paul corrected. “Dee’s coming at seven.”

      Right. He had to get there early and hide behind a couch or something in the dark, and then jump out and yell, “Surprise!” Did people still do this? Apparently, Paul thought so.

      Well, Dylan appreciated his organizing it. He treated Dee right, and Dylan was happy to show up and do what was expected of him.

      He got in line behind the blonde. As he drew closer to her, his heart seemed to wake up, beating a little faster, and he didn’t really get why. She was a random girl in a café, and not his type at all.

      His last girlfriend, Lauren, had been his type, and they’d probably still be together if she hadn’t taken the job in New York. She’d scored an incredible opportunity, so he hadn’t blamed her. Dylan couldn’t see himself ever moving there, not while Dee and the boys were here in Denver. Truthfully, he also couldn’t imagine leaving the mountains behind, even if he didn’t spend as much time in the outdoors as he would’ve liked. Lauren had made a very grown-up decision to not try the long-distance thing. Maybe it was too bad that it hadn’t mattered to either of them that much.

      He hadn’t dated since. Vaguely, he imagined that first he’d get another promotion at the firm. He couldn’t focus on relationships and making VP at the same time.

      The blonde woman told the lady behind the counter, “I need twenty-five cupcakes.”

      No, no, no. Dylan’s gaze flew to the bakery counter. Five kinds of cupcakes, six of each flavor. Exactly how many he needed. Except she was going to take most of them. “You can’t do that,” he blurted out.

      She turned her head to regard him. “Excuse me?”

      Okay. He could’ve sounded more reasonable. “I need them for my sister’s birthday party.” There. She wouldn’t be able to argue with that. She’d know now that he was a nice guy, too.

      “Is that birthday party at eight-thirty in the morning?”

      He snorted. “No, it’s tonight, but—”

      “Then you have time to go somewhere else, and I don’t.” She smiled as if that settled it. The lady behind the counter began putting the cupcakes in a big box.

      He wasn’t ready to give up yet. “I don’t have time. I’m very busy.”

      “Everyone’s busy,” she said lightly. “Not just you.”

      Everyone wasn’t as busy as he was. “So what is it, one of your students’ birthdays?” She nodded. “Aren’t the kids supposed to bring those?”

      “Some kids come from homes where…” She shook her head. “There’s either not enough money or not enough paying attention.”

      That hit him right in the gut. He’d grown up in one of the latter. His memories transported him back to the first grade, when his best friend at the time loudly asked him why he hadn’t brought treats for his birthday. He hadn’t remembered that in years. After his mom had died, his dad had been distant,