Page 8 of How to Love a Mountain Man

The vulnerability in her voice hits me harder than I’m prepared for. I had a feeling there was more to her than being prickly forthe sake of being prickly, but hearing her lay it bare like this—knowing it comes from a place of genuine discomfort—makes my chest ache.

Before I can respond, she turns to me. “Why did you want to move here?”

I smile at her question, mulling over how to explain it. “I’ve always loved the idea of living in the woods. Maybe it’s because everything’s so lush, and it’s all wild and alive. I don’t know, I’m just drawn to it.”

Shae’s expression softens, and for a moment I glimpse something like understanding.

“At the same time, I love being around people,” I add. “That’s the main thing that kept me in town. That, and wanting to be close to work. It was pretty damn nice, being able to walk to the bar.”

“The bar?”

“Yeah, I’m a bartender at The Shanty, down in Fairhope.” My smile deepens. “You should stop by sometime. First drink’s on me.”

“Oh.” She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, looking uncomfortable. “Thanks, but I’m not really a bar person.”

“Well, the offer stands.” Damn. Isn’t there anything we have in common? “Anyway, earlier this year, I got a notice from my landlord. My apartment building was scheduled for construction work that was going to last months.” The fire crackles, sending sparks up the chimney. “It got me thinking. I’d been saving for a while, planning to buy my own place eventually. So I met with a realtor, started looking at properties in town. And during one ofour meetings, I mentioned this old dream of living in the woods. Just in passing, you know?”

I pause, remembering the first time I walked this property. “He showed me this place the next day. The moment I set foot here, something clicked. Like everything I’d been looking for was right here in front of me.” I glance at Shae. “Was it like that for you too?”

Surprise flickers across her face, followed by something warmer. “It was. I spent a year and a half looking at properties before I found this one. The moment I walked onto this land, I knew it was perfect.”

I let out a laugh. “A year and a half? Damn, Shae. Your realtor must have been ready to tear her hair out.”

Her warmth vanishes. She sets down her fork and straightens, that familiar distance settling back into her posture. “It’s not like I wanted it to take so long. But I wasn’t going to settle for something I didn’t love. Not when I plan to spend the rest of my life here.”

I study her, fascinated. “The rest of your life, huh? So what you’re saying is, fifty years from now we’ll be a couple of cranky old neighbors, still arguing about that boulder?”

She scoffs. “I hope not.”

“Not what? You hope we won’t be neighbors? Or that we won’t still be arguing about the boulder?”

“I—” She furrows her brows, flustered. “I just meant—never mind.” Her gaze slides over to the nearest window. “God, I hope the storm stops soon.”

The wind howls outside, and a shiver runs through her despite the fire’s warmth. She tries to hide it, but I notice.

“Let me grab some blankets,” I say, rising to my feet. “We might as well get as comfortable as possible while we wait it out.”

When I return, the sight of her hits me with renewed force. She’s moved closer to the flames, her knees drawn to her chest, the fire casting a warm glow across her face and her unbelievable curves. It feels like she’s meant to be here, in my home, in front of my fire. With me. Not just for tonight, but for?—

No. That’s too dangerous of a thought to follow.

But the longing fills my chest anyway.

5

SHAE

Iopen my eyes to bright morning light streaming through a set of unfamiliar windows. My heart pounds and my muscles tense, fight-or-flight instincts kicking in at waking up somewhere strange. Then my gaze falls on the dying embers in the fireplace, and memories of last night flood back.

The storm. Taking shelter in Julian’s house. Breaking his plate, injuring my foot, eating dinner together…and ending up here in front of the fire.

The great room is quiet except for the occasional pop of cooling embers. I turn my head to where Julian sleeps a few feet away, stretched out beneath his own blanket. His face is relaxed in sleep, the usual playful spark gone from his features. One strong arm rests above his head, his muscular bicep on display in a way that makes my chest feel tight.

My thoughts drift to last night—to his hands gentle on my injured foot, despite our earlier arguing about the storm. To how he actually listened when I tried to explain why I need solitude, even though someone like him probably can’t imagine what it’slike to be me. And then there was that comment about us still being neighbors in fifty years.

Fifty years of living next door to this man…why does that make my stomach feel the way it does?

I turn toward the windows. Fresh snow blankets everything, glittering in the early light. The storm has passed, leaving behind a winter wonderland. Through Julian’s massive windows, I can just barely make out my cabin through the snow-laden branches and white-washed landscape.

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