Page 9 of A Very Grumpy Mountain Man

Now it’s almost five, and I’m standing in front of the mirror in my tiny apartment, twisting back and forth to study the dress I finally settled on. It's a deep navy blue, fitted through the bodice with a little swing in the skirt. My hair is curled lightly at theends, and I even put on some lipstick—a soft pink I never wear because it makes me feel too noticeable. Tonight, though, I want to feel seen.By him.

There’s a knock at the door, and my heart does a little somersault. I grab my purse, do one last check in the mirror, and take a deep breath before opening the door.

And there he is.

Kye Lightfield is standing in the hallway of my apartment building in a dark button-up and jeans, holding a small bouquet of wildflowers like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“You look beautiful,” he says, his voice low and a little rough.

I blink, my throat catching. “You got me flowers?”

His ears go a little pink as he hands them to me. “I wasn’t sure if that was too much.”

“It’s perfect,” I whisper, and I mean it. God, this man.

“Ready?” he asks.

I nod, and he steps aside so I can lock up, then guides me toward his SUV. Like always, he opens the door for me, his hand brushing mine as I climb in. It’s a small thing, but it sends a shiver up my spine.

Palmer’s Steakhouse is about ten minutes from my place, tucked off the main street in town. I’ve passed it a few times on walks, always wondering what it was like inside. It looks a bit fancier than most places in Wolf Valley, all warm wood, golden lights, and thick windows that glow invitingly as the sun sets.

Kye pulls into the lot and comes around to open my door again. I can’t help but smile.

“You’re a gentleman.”

He shrugs. “Only for you.”

Okay, that’s not fair. Hecan’tsay things like that and expect me to keep functioning like a regular human.

Inside, the hostess greets us with a knowing smile and leads us to a small booth tucked in the back. It’s quiet and private—cozy even, with a view of the fireplace and enough space between tables that I feel like we’re in our own little world.

“This place is great,” I say as we settle in. “It’s so fancy.”

“They have the best steaks in town,” Kye says. “And the desserts are pretty decent, too.”

The way he says it—simple, slightly awkward like he’s doing his best to impress me without sounding like he’s trying too hard—makes me want to reach across the table and grab his hand.

Instead, I sip water and ask, “Do you come here often?”

He shakes his head. “No. I came a few months ago when Camden returned to town, but I think my high school graduation was the last time before that. I haven’t had anyone I wanted to bring… until now.”

My cheeks heat, but I hold his gaze. “I’m glad you did.”

The server comes and takes our orders—Kye gets a steak, medium rare, and I go with grilled salmon and roasted vegetables. I can feel his eyes on me the whole time, even as I pretend to be totally chill and scroll through the wine menu like I’m not internally screaming.

Once the server leaves, we fall into conversation again, and I’m delighted by how easy it is to talk to him. Kye isn’t a big talker by nature, but when he does open up, everything he says is intentional. Real.

We talk about Wolf Valley and what drew us here. I tell him more about my childhood and how I always felt like the odd one out. He talks about his late grandparents, the inheritance they left him, and how he spent years figuring out what he wanted to do with it.

“You don’t miss your old life?” I ask.

He shrugs. “I never really had a life before this. Not one I wanted. I was coasting. This… starting the business with you, working on the furniture… it feels like something real.”

“You just started the business,” I say quietly. It’s not a question.

Kye hesitates, then nods. “Yeah. I didn’t even know what to call it until I met you.”

“What are you calling it?”

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