Page 10 of How to Love a Mountain Man

“That’s incredible.”

“Not really. It’s taken me three times longer than it should have.”

“That’s not the point.” He pauses in his work to look at me. “You taught yourself how to build a house from scratch. That’s impressive as hell, Shae.”

Warmth spreads through my chest at his words, but his compliment also makes me feel self-conscious, and I can feel my response tangling before the words reach my mouth. I focus on aligning the next rafter instead, hoping he doesn’t notice the color in my cheeks.

To my surprise, we work well together over the next few hours. Julian is strong and careful, following my instructions without argument. He does keep trying to make conversation, asking about everything from my favorite books to whether I think Bigfoot might be hanging out in these mountains. But even that isn’t as annoying as it should be. His questions are genuine, curious, and he doesn’t push when I give short answers.

When the sun starts to dip behind the mountains, we’ve made more progress than I could have managed alone in a week. We stand back to survey our work, and satisfaction fills me at how much more complete the roof looks.

“Imagine that,” Julian says, pride evident in his voice as well. “We make a pretty good team. Now, how about that hot chocolate? I’ve got marshmallows and everything.”

I hesitate, weighing the invitation. The idea of spending more time with Julian, especially without the buffer of work between us, sends an unsettling flutter through my stomach. Working together is one thing—at least then I know what to do with my hands, where to look, what to say. But just sitting and talking feels like a mountain I don’t have the equipment to climb.

On the other hand, I’m also freezing cold. Something warm and sweet to drink is awfully tempting. Plus, he did just spend hours helping me…and if I’m being honest with myself, part of me wants to say yes.

So I do.

6

SHAE

SEVERAL MONTHS LATER

“Permission to enter the hermit’s haven?”

I smile without looking up from my book. Julian’s voice through the screen door has become as familiar as the sound of wind in my maple trees. “You’re going to use that joke forever, aren’t you?”

“As long as it makes you do that thing where you try not to smile but smile anyway.” He lets himself in, his presence filling my tiny cabin the way it always does.

It’s strange how comfortable this has become—Julian dropping by unannounced, me not immediately tensing at the interruption. The months since the snowstorm have worn smooth what used to be sharp edges between us. He still teases, still pushes, still tries to draw me out of my shell. But now I know it comes from a place of genuine care, and that makes all the difference. Even if that care sometimes feels dangerous, especially in moments like this when his smile hits me with full force.

“Please tell me you have dried thyme.” He moves into my living room, his cologne wrapping around me as he approaches. “I swear I bought some, but I can’t find it anywhere.”

“For your dinner party?” I slip my bookmark between the pages I was reading and set my book aside.

“Can’t make my famous roasted chicken without it.” He follows me into the kitchen. “Which you’d know if you’d come tonight.”

I pull out the jar of thyme from a kitchen drawer and hold it up. “Here. Now you can make your chicken, and I can get back to my book.”

“Come on, Shae.” He accepts the jar but doesn’t step back. “It’s just a few people. Good food, good wine, maybe some board games after. Nothing crazy.”

“Julian.” I give him a look that we both know well by now.

“What if I promised you could leave whenever you want?” His eyes spark with hope. “The second you feel overwhelmed, no questions asked.”

My chest tightens with familiar anxiety, but also with something else. Something warmer. “I appreciate the invitation. Really. But you know crowds aren’t my thing.”

“Six people isn’t a crowd.” He takes a step closer, and my breath catches. “And they’re good people. You’d like them.”

“I’m sure they’re great.” I force myself to step back, needing distance from the earnestness in his expression. “But I’m good here. With my book.”

He sighs dramatically, but his eyes stay warm. “One of these days I’m going to convince you.” He heads for the door, thenpauses. “The offer stands, you know. If you change your mind, just come over. There’s always a place for you in my home.”

“Have fun tonight.”

“Love ya, Shae.” He gives me a little salute with the thyme jar and disappears through the screen door.

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