Page 18 of Left Cold, Wolf Owned
"What kind of galas?"
"Nonprofit fundraising, mostly. Healthcare initiatives, conservation work, and a few education programs." I hand her a stack of supply packets to check dates on. "A lot of moving parts, a lot of people who all think their priority is the priority, and a very finite amount of time to make it look effortless."
Lila laughs softly. "That sounds exhausting."
"It was, sometimes. But I liked it." I pause, because the past tense of that hits differently than I expect it to. Liked. Like it'salready something that belongs to a previous version of me. "I'm good at making complicated things run smoothly."
"I can tell." She sets the checked packets in the correct bin with precision, showing she genuinely loves an organized system. "The group runs some businesses up here. Forestry, land management. Garrett handles the vehicle fleet that supports all of it—it's more significant than you'd think. Timber contracts, sustainable harvesting, and land maintenance for some of the conservation parcels in the region."
"That's a real operation," I say.
"It is. Has been for years." She tilts her head. "Logan built most of it. Took over when he was young and kept building."
I file that away without examining why I find it interesting.
We're finishing up the last shelf when Lila gets pulled away by a radio call from Mateo about a supply order she needs to confirm. She disappears toward the back office with her notebook, and I find myself standing in a clean, organized clinic with nothing left to sort and the particular restlessness of a person who has been useful and is no longer useful.
I think about my car.
Specifically, I think about the fact that my chapstick is in the center console and my lips have been suffering since yesterday morning, which feels like the kind of small, fixable problem I can actually solve today.
The garage is a long, practical building that I've only seen from the lodge window until now. I push the side door open and find exactly what I expected—organized, purposeful, the kind of space that belongs entirely to the person who runs it. A full wall of tools arranged with military precision. Labeled parts bins on the shelving units. Eight or nine vehicles in various states, and along the far wall, my car, hood up, a few components laid out on a clean workbench beside it.
Garrett is under something large and diesel nearby. He looks up when I come in, unhurried.
"Chapstick," I say by way of explanation. "Center console."
He nods, as if this is completely reasonable, and goes back to what he's doing.
I find it exactly where I left it, pocket it, and then stand there for a second, looking at my car properly. Hood up, components on the workbench beside it.
"How's it looking?" I ask.
"Part came in." He straightens and wipes his hands on a shop rag. "Getting further into it now. More to assess."
"Good or bad more?"
"Just more." He says it evenly. "Give it some time."
I nod, and then I look around the garage properly. And then, on the workbench along the side wall, an offline laptop is open next to a stack of paper folders, with the particular chaos of a filing system that started with good intentions but ran out of time.
"Are those repair records?" I ask.
Garrett glances at them. "Supposed to be."
"Supposed to be?"
He has the demeanor of a man who is excellent at his actual job but deeply uncomfortable with the administrative side. "I fix things. I'm less good at the paperwork side."
I look at the stack. I look at him. "I organized charity galas for five years," I say. "I can have that sorted in two hours."
He studies me for a moment with those quiet blue eyes, running his calculations. Then he steps back from the workbench and gestures at it with the shop rag. "Have at it."
Two hours turn into two and a half, but by the end of it, there's a functional filing system organized by vehicle, date, and repair type; a spreadsheet on the laptop that cross-references maintenance schedules; and a separate folder flagged foroutstanding parts orders. Garrett checks it over with the focused attention he gives everything mechanical and lands on what I've come to understand is his version of impressed.
"That'll do," he says.
From Garrett, I'm starting to understand,that'll dois effusive.
