Total pages in book: 44
Estimated words: 40546 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 203(@200wpm)___ 162(@250wpm)___ 135(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 40546 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 203(@200wpm)___ 162(@250wpm)___ 135(@300wpm)
"Plus, I'm curious about this cabin of yours. Please tell me it has indoor plumbing."
"It has indoor plumbing, smart ass."
"And a real bed?"
"A very real bed." His voice drops an octave. "Very comfortable."
Heat floods my cheeks. "Good. That's... practical information."
Two hours later, we've packed up and driven to Cade's real cabin. His home. As we approach the clearing, I feel my breath catch.
It's beautiful. Not the rustic shack I'd been expecting, but something that belongs in Architectural Digest. Clean lines, natural materials, floor-to-ceiling windows bringing the forest inside.
"Cade," I breathe. "This is incredible."
He shrugs, but I catch his pride. "Built most of it myself. My brother’s helped. We all helped each other build our houses. It’s kind of a thing. Like our Sunday dinners."
I follow him inside, and my chest tightens. The interior is just as perfect—minimalist, organized, everything in its place. Books line the walls, there's a stone fireplace, handcrafted furniture, and not a single thing suggesting this space could accommodate another person.
Especially not a person from my world.
"It's perfect," I say, voice cracking.
"Marley?" Cade sets down his pack, studying my face. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing. Everything. I don't know." I sink onto his beautiful handmade couch, feeling lost and small. "This is your world. Really your world. And it's amazing, but..."
"But?"
Tears come without warning. "You hate academia. You hate everything about my world—the pretension, the politics, the way people like my parents think they're better than people like you." I wipe my nose on my hand, destroying any academic sophistication I might have left. "And my world would never accept you. They'd see exactly what they want—some uneducated mountain man who corrupted their precious prodigy."
Cade crosses the room and kneels in front of me, hands gentle on my knees. "Baby, what brought this on?"
"I love you," I say, words torn from my chest. "I love you so much it terrifies me. But I don't see how this works."
"Look at me." His voice goes firm, authoritative. "You think I give a shit what your professors think of me?"
"It's not just that. If I change my thesis, I'll still need to defend it. Present to a committee of academics who think people like you are quaint curiosities to be studied, not equals to be respected. So much has happened in such a short time. My brain is short circuiting."
"So present it. Defend your work. Show them there are different kinds of intelligence." He cups my face, forcing eye contact. "If they don't like it, that's their fucking problem."
"But what about after? When I graduate and start my career? The conferences, the networking events, the politics of academia. You'd hate my world, Cade. You'd be miserable."
"Would I?" His eyebrows rise. "You sure about that?"
"Yes? You said yourself you hated school."
"I hated being told I was stupid because I learned differently. I hated being made to feel less than because I couldn't sit still in a classroom." His thumbs brush my cheekbones. "That doesn't mean I hate learning. It doesn't mean I hate intelligent conversation. It means I hate the bullshit hierarchy that says one way of being smart is better than another."
"But—"
"No buts." His voice goes stern, cutting off my protest. "You're going to write the thesis you want to write. You're going to defend the work that matters to you. And you're not going to worry about whether I can handle your world, because that's my job to figure out, not yours."
"Cade, I can't ask you to—"
"You're not asking. I'm telling you." He stands up, towering over me in that way that makes me feel small and protected and completely owned. "You focus on your work. Let me worry about everything else."
"I don't understand how you can be so calm about this."
"Because I love you, little girl. Because I'd rather spend one day in a world I hate with you than a lifetime in paradise without you." He presses a kiss to the top of my head. "Now, I need to run into town to check on my storefront. You're going to stay here and work on your thesis. The real one, the one that matters to you."
"Cade—"
"No arguments. When I get back, I want to see pages. Real pages, not academic bullshit designed to impress people you don't even like." He grabs his keys. "Can you handle that?"
Despite everything, I nod. "Yes, Daddy."
"Good girl." He pauses at the door, looking back with intensity that steals my breath. "And Marley? Stop trying to protect me from your world. I'm a big boy."
The door closes with a soft click, leaving me alone in his perfect paradise with my laptop and the growing certainty that I have no idea what I'm doing.
Hours later, I'm surrounded by crumpled pages and thesis carnage. Every time I try to write about transformative pedagogical frameworks, the words feel hollow. Academic jargon designed to hide the truth.