Page 17 of Taming the Wild Mountain Man

It's an easy question to answer. "My dad is a huge fan, and it rubbed off on me. Having four girls, I think he was secretly a little disappointed he didn't have anyone to toss a baseball with or teach how to shave. None of my other sisters like sci-fi, but I always have. And as much as I'm obsessed withStar Wars, I love it just as much for being something that my dad and I share. It makes it special."

"That's really sweet."

I bend down to give Chewy a scratch behind her eyes as she snores away, then fold my legs under my body. "You okay to keep going with this whole chitchat thing?"

Hume nods, his eyes sparkling in the dim glow of the vintage Banker’s lamp. "Always, sweetheart."

And that's another thing. Why does he keep calling me sweetheart? I used to find it grating and off-putting, but I've kinda grown to like the endearment. But why is he even using it? Unless…Is it something he says to all women?

Ignoring the yucky feeling the thought of that brings up, we trade a few more questions back and forth until it's my turn and I decide to turn things up a notch, broaching another previously un-broached topic.

"Have you dated much?" I ask, aiming for a light tone, like it's just another routine question and not something I've quietly been itching to know.

"Not a lot," he replies with a shake of his head.

"Oh."

I was bracing myself to hear all about his wild, adventurous, and very long love life. Don't know why I assumed he'd have had plenty of partners, but I guess I can add that to the list of things I got wrong about him.

"Is that a red flag?" His expression hardens as he looks at me. "I mean, at my age and all."

"Not necessarily a red flag," I say. "But I'm curious and would like to know more. If you're comfortable sharing."

"Sure. I don't mind." He tells me he's dated several women over the years, but between his career in the SEALs and then his pivot to stunt work, and then starting a business, it didn't leave much time for focus on anything else. I can definitely relate to that part.

"But you lived in Hollywood," I interject. "Isn't every second woman there a gorgeous actress, model, or beauty influencer?"

"Maybe. But who says that's what I'm looking for?" He cracks a grin. "Maybe long-haired brunettes with aStar Warsobsession and a tendency to declare wars on their completely innocent neighbors are more my thing."

Okay. There's nothing subtle about that. That's not just flirting, that's practically admitting he likes me.

I arch a brow, and, emboldened by his last statement, enquire, "Even if this hypotheticalStar Warsobsessed, neighbor-war-declaring brunette happens to be significantly younger than you?"

It's like I popped a balloon. My question deflates the playfulness immediately, and Hume's grin gets replaced by a somber expression.

"Yeah. No. I mean, of course it was just…" He waves his hand, his mouth forming shapes but no words coming out.

Oh no. I've blown it. He thinks I think our age gap is a problem.

"It's not a problem. For me," I blurt out.Oops. "I mean for the hypotheticalStar Warsobsessed, neighbor-war-declaring brunette."

He tilts his head to the side, his eyes studying me with quiet intensity. "Really? And are you sure you're equipped to speak on behalf of this purely hypothetical woman?"

"I am."

I straighten my legs and scooch down a little closer to him. My heart starts pounding before leaping into my throat. I don't know why I suddenly feel like I've downed three shots of tequila in quick succession, but I'm being propelled forward by an unexpected surge of confidence.

I rub my palm over Hume's forearm. He leans in closer, and I reach up, my fingertips rustling across the soft bristles of his beard. Looking him square in the eye, I say, "Just so you know, age gaps don't scare me."

His Adam's apple bobs in his throat as he looks back at me, his hand skimming down my upper arm. "Even a really big one?" he asks in a low rumble.

I plant a soft kiss on his mouth and murmur, "Even areallybig one."

8

Hume

I rap on Tenley's front door, shuffling from foot to foot. To say I'm nervous would be an iceberg-sized understatement.

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