Page 2 of How to Love a Mountain Man

“I don’t think so.” She pauses. “Remember that guy we saw at the property? The tall one? My gut says he’s our competition.”

I do remember. Hard not to.

The bidding war starts in earnest the next day. Each time I scrape together a higher offer, convinced I’m already stretching too far, the other bidder immediately tops it. I dip further and further into my house-building fund just to stay in the game, knowing it means I’m making more and more sacrifices with each round. But for this property—for that perfect slice of solitude—I’ll make it work.

Just when I think I’ve reached my absolute limit, when I’ve cut my budget so far that I’ll be eating ramen for longer than I can bear to think about, Wendy calls with news that makes my heart plummet.

A third bidder—a developer—has emerged with an offer that blows both myself and my rival out of the water.

I spend the next few hours lying on my couch, deflated, trying not to think about bulldozers tearing down the maple trees. I’m just starting to accept the loss when Wendy calls me again.

“I might have a solution,” she says when I pick up. There’s an edge of excitement in her voice that makes me sit up hopefully. “Remember that guy we saw at the property?”

My stomach does a strange little flip. “What about him?”

“I was right—he’s the other bidder you were going back and forth with before the developer swooped in. His name is Julian North, and his realtor just called me with a proposition.”

I pull my knees to my chest, trying to process this—and trying not to remember the tall man’s way-too-attractive smile. “What kind of proposition?”

“He suggested that you and Julian could pool your resources. You could combine your offers, outbid the developer, and split the fifteen acres between you. It’d be seven and a half acres each.”

“Split it?” My chest feels tight at the thought of compromising my dream of perfect solitude. I know I’m being unreasonable—seven and a half acres is more than enough space to disappear into. But something about splitting the property in two—and sharing it withhim—unsettles my stomach.

“I know it’s not what you’ve been picturing,” Wendy says gently. “But it would still be significantly more than the five acres you were originally looking for.”

Through my apartment walls, I can hear my neighbor’s bass-heavy music pulsing into my space. I rub my temples. “How would we even split it?”

“Actually, Julian’s realtor just sent over a proposed layout. I forwarded it to your email—take a look and see what you think.”

Still holding my phone to my ear, I open my laptop and pull up the email. The attached document shows the property split into two plots, each with its own marked building site.

“Plot A has those maple trees you loved,” Wendy adds while I study the layout. “Though you might have some competition forthat side—Julian liked the clearing too. Either way, the houses would be plenty far apart.”

She’s right. Even with Julian as a neighbor, I could still build exactly where I’d planned. I could still create the sanctuary I’ve been dreaming of.

But my stomach twists at the thought of him living just through those trees. Even if I never saw him, I’d know he was there. I’d know exactly what he looked like when he smiled.

I close my eyes. This is the closest I’ve come to finding the perfect property in eighteen months of searching. And right now, it’s this or nothing.

“Tell his realtor I’m interested,” I say. “But I want Plot A.”

Twenty-four nerve-wracking hours later, the seller accepts our joint offer over the developer's. Suddenly it's real—I’m buying half of my dream property.

I’m thrilled.Elated. I’ve never felt so excited in my life.

Six weeks later, I arrive early at Wendy’s office to sign the final paperwork. The conference room feels awfully warm, but maybe it’s just my nerves. I’ve gone over the property division documents a dozen times with Wendy, but my chest still feels tight as I spread them across the table, checking one more time.

“Coffee?” Wendy asks, poking her head in. When I nod, she returns with two steaming cups. “Julian just texted. He’s running a few minutes late.”

I take a sip of coffee, trying to calm my racing thoughts. “You don’t think he’s going to back out at the last second, do you?”

“No chance.” Wendy settles into the chair across from me. “Trust me, I can tell he wants this place as much as you do.”

That shouldn’t make my stomach flutter the way it does. I focus on my coffee instead of analyzing why. I’m about to take another sip when the door behind me opens, and I catch a trace of tantalizing cologne as Julian strides in.

Julian fills the room, all broad shoulders and apologetic smile.

“Sorry I’m late,” he says, running a hand through his already-disheveled hair. “I had to rescue a cat from a tree on my way here. You know how it is around this town.”

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