Chapter 27

Sunlight washed over the endless pines framed by the conference room’s floor-to-ceiling windows. Garrison had deliberately chosen this lodge outside of town for the production team, insisting that the executives adapting my books needed to breathe the same mountain air that had inspired the story.

I arrived early to claim the space before anyone else could. Production binders, location photographs, and budget reports lay neatly arranged across the polished oak table, centered around a small vase of wildflowers. The room exuded a calm, ordered professionalism that directly mocked the chaotic storm inside my head.

The heavy oak door clicked open.

"Good morning," Garrison’s voice broke the quiet.

I turned to find him swapping his usual rigid suit for a navy sweater beneath a charcoal jacket.

"Morning," I replied.

His gaze lingered on my face, tracing the edges of my expression before asking, "How's your head today?"