Page 8 of My Mountain Man Valentine

I grimaced, picturing Levi’s reaction. He was protective of Tessa—beyond protective, really, given what they’d been through. “I can work with that,” I said after a moment.

“Good,” she replied, relaxing a fraction. “Lastly…if this makes me uncomfortable in any way, if it crosses boundaries, then we stop. No questions asked.”

“Of course,” I said, meeting her gaze. “Tessa, I’m not trying to push you into anything. I’ll respect whatever lines you set.”

Her posture softened, tension leaking from her shoulders. “Thank you.”

The hush that fell felt loaded but not unpleasant. A faint electric current seemed to run between us, stirring in my chest. I had the distinct sense that, despite thefakelabel, we both recognized the potential for real sparks. That notion both thrilled me and turned my stomach inside out.

“How do we… do this, then?” Tessa finally asked, her cheeks turning a shade pinker. “Acting like a couple in a small town means pretty much everyone will see us.”

“That’s the point,” I said, trying for a reassuring smile. “We make a public appearance or two…somewhere people talk, like Skyline Bar & Grill. Word gets around in hours if folks see us together. Especially if we look…you know, believable.”

She let out a small laugh. “You mean if we hold hands and don’t keep three feet of personal space between us like awkward teenagers?”

“Exactly.” The mental image caused warmth to spread through me. “We don’t have to stage some huge romantic scene, just enough closeness that people suspect it’s real.”

She inhaled, squaring her shoulders. “Well, if we’re going for maximum visibility, Levi’s bar is perfect. He’ll be there,obviously, and so will half of Hope Peak on a Friday night. If Angelique is snooping for information, she’ll find out in no time.”

“Couldn’t have planned it better myself.” I paused, tilting my head. “You free tonight?”

“Tonight works.” She brushed an invisible speck of dust off her sweater, the corners of her mouth lifting in a hint of a grin. “Let’s do seven. That’s usually when it gets busy enough for rumors to really start flying.”

“Seven it is,” I said, smiling.

Her eyes flickered with a mix of resolve and apprehension, as if she couldn’t quite believe she’d agreed to this. “I…I should get back to the counter,” she murmured, glancing at the big clock above the shelf of staff picks. “I’m glad we talked, though. And I hope this helps.”

“It already does,” I said, standing. I wanted to tell her how much I appreciated her trust, but the words stuck in my throat. “Thanks, Tessa. I’ll see you later.”

A trace of a smile followed me as I left the nook and headed for the door. When I looked back, she’d already shifted into bookstore-owner mode, greeting a customer who’d just walked in. But I couldn’t help noticing how her shoulders seemed a little less rigid. She might have had her worries, but she was choosing to do this anyway, and that made me happy.

Out on Main Street, the crisp morning air slapped me in the face, and I strode back to my truck. Tonight, Tessa and I would appear at Skyline like an honest-to-God couple. If we convinced everyone else—particularly Angelique—maybe that would solve my ex problem. Yet somewhere beneath that practical logic, my heart thumped with a hum of excitement: I was about to spend real, deliberate time with Tessa, openly, infront of everyone. Fake or not, the voice in my head repeated, be careful.

My first stop was to my wilderness office to prep for the afternoon tour. While I sorted snowshoes and double-checked an emergency kit, my phone buzzed with texts confirming the final group size—three adventurous souls from Bozeman who wanted an easy route. Perfect. I grabbed a thermos of hot chocolate packets to carry along as a treat for the novices—always a crowd-pleaser, especially in sub-freezing temps.

Still, thoughts of Tessa’s sweet, serious gaze refused to leave me alone. As I loaded equipment into my truck, I kept replaying the moment she’d said, “I’m going to help you.” I hadn’t realized how tight my chest felt until she agreed. Now the adrenaline crashed into a swirl of something like—dare I admit it—anticipation for the night ahead.

Noon arrived, and I met my clients in the parking area near a popular trailhead. The next few hours unfolded in a pleasant but routine pattern: demonstrating how to strap on snowshoes, guiding them along a scenic path that wove through evergreens burdened with fresh snow, pointing out deer tracks and signs of a recent pine marten scurrying across the powder. They snapped photos, exclaiming at the stark beauty. I answered questions about the local wildlife, the best times to ski, and which gear held up best in harsh winters.

Normally, I’d be fully engrossed in my role, but a chunk of my mind stayed half-tuned to the clock. Seven o’clock. Skyline Bar & Grill. Tessa. The blend of nerves and excitement was so persistent, I nearly tripped once on an exposed root hiddenunder the snow. Focus, man, I chastised myself again, tightening my grip on a walking pole. Thankfully, my clients didn’t seem to notice.

We wrapped up around four. After saying goodbye and promising to email them discount codes for future tours, I loaded my gear and drove back to my cabin. The sun, low on the horizon, drenched the sky in a fiery orange that set the snowy peaks ablaze. Montana evenings always had a dramatic flare, but tonight felt especially charged. I hustled indoors, wanting to change into something decent—and, I admitted to myself, maybe a bit more presentable than my standard thermal shirts.

Sifting through my closet, I bypassed anything too formal—Skyline wasn’t the kind of place that required a suit—and settled on dark jeans, a comfortable-but-fitted flannel, and sturdy boots. My reflection in the mirror felt strange. You’re dressing up for a pretend date, Hawke. Yet a flicker of pride rose in me: if I was going to show Tessa off—no, show myself off to Tessa, I wanted to look good.

The drive into town took only fifteen minutes, but my pulse pounded the entire way. I parked across the street from Skyline, eyeing the warm glow spilling from its windows. Even from here, I could spot silhouettes moving inside, hear the faint thrum of music and chatter. A line of cars indicated a solid crowd. Perfect for the rumor mill.

I stepped inside to the familiar rush of voices, the savory aroma of grilled burgers, and the tang of hops. The place bustled: a few older locals perched on barstools discussing the day’s news, a table of twenty-somethings laughing raucously near the dartboard, and a handful of couples wedged into small booths. My gaze flicked toward the bar itself, where Levi was wiping a glass, his brow furrowed in that classic, vaguely stern expression he always seemed to wear.

“Hey, Ryder,” he greeted, though his tone was more cautious than welcoming. “Didn’t expect to see you tonight. Here to eat?”

“Something like that,” I said, offering a half-smile. “Might grab a table. Anyone else supposed to be joining me, you ask?”

I nearly cringed; that was too obvious a tease. But Levi just gave me a once-over, shrugged, and muttered something about me “up to no good, as always.” I chose not to dignify that with a verbal response, slipping past the bar to snag a cozy booth in the corner with a decent view of the entrance.

My phone read 6:58. Two minutes early. My heart thumped harder, and I shook my head in disbelief. Calm down, I told myself, drumming my fingers on the table. It’s not as if this is your first rodeo. But I couldn’t remember the last time I felt such jittery anticipation.

At 7:02, the door opened, and Tessa walked in. She wore snug-fitting jeans and a soft sweater that highlighted her curves just enough to make my throat go dry. Her hair was loose around her shoulders, and she paused at the threshold, scanning the bar until her gaze found me. A small smile tugged at her lips—nervous, maybe, but genuine. When she approached, I stood to greet her.

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