Page 26 of S'more Mountain Man

"To do what? Beg for a relationship with a man who clearly stated he wasn't interested in one? No thanks. I still have some dignity left."

Mandy sighed, the sound crackling through the phone. "That's not how I remember it. He didn't say he wasn't interested. He just said it would be complicated."

"Same difference."

"Not even close. Look, all I'm saying is that you two had a connection. Anyone with eyes could see it. And I know you, Skye. You don't fall for guys easily."

I leaned back in my chair, staring up at the glow-in-the-dark stars I'd stuck to my ceiling years ago. "Maybe that's the problem. I fell too hard, too fast. And that's on me, not him."

"Did you ever consider that maybe he's just as freaked out as you are? The dude lives alone in the woods. He probably hasn't had a meaningful relationship with anyone in years."

"Again, not my problem to fix."

"I'm not saying it is. I'm saying maybe you both got scared and chose the easy way out."

I didn't have a good response to that, so I changed the subject. "How were the rest of the camp activities? Did Tyler ever stop talking about bear attacks?"

Mandy allowed the pivot, launching into stories about the campers and their adventures. I half-listened, making appropriate noises of interest while my mind drifted back to the memory of Leif's eyes in the morning light, the way his voice had roughened when he said my name, the feeling of his hands on my skin...

"—so then the alien spaceship landed, and we all got probed."

"Mmhmm," I murmured, then startled. "Wait, what?"

Mandy laughed. "Just checking if you were still with me. Look, I have to run. But promise me you'll at least think about what I said."

"About the alien probe?"

"About not ghosting the forest. Or yourself."

After we hung up, I sat staring at my laptop screen, the half-finished lesson plan blurring before my eyes. Mandy wasn't entirely wrong. I had been avoiding dealing with my feelings by burying myself in work. It was a time-honored Dawson family tradition—when in emotional distress, recalibrate a telescope.

Speaking of which...

I glanced at the clock. It was nearly 8:30 PM, and the summer sky would be darkening into prime stargazing conditions. My apartment balcony offered a decent view, but it couldn't compare to my dad's old setup in the garage of my childhood home.

The house itself had been sold after his death, but I'd kept the detached garage, converting it into a small observatory with the inheritance money. It was a ridiculous extravagance that tied up funds I could have used for a better apartment or a car that didn't make concerning noises on cold mornings. But I couldn't bear to part with the space where I'd spent so many nights with my father, mapping the heavens and discussing life's big questions.

Decision made, I grabbed my keys and a light jacket. The garage was only a fifteen-minute drive, and I suddenly needed the comfort of that familiar space.

The neighborhood was quiet when I arrived, most houses dark except for the blue flicker of television screens behind curtains. I unlocked the side door of the garage and steppedinside, inhaling the familiar scent of metal, machine oil, and the faint mustiness of a space that was used infrequently but with great care.

I flipped on the small lamp by the door rather than the overhead lights, preferring the soft glow that wouldn't interfere with night vision. My father's main telescope—a serious Schmidt-Cassegrain that had cost him months of overtime—stood on its mount in the center of the room, its black surface gleaming in the dim light.

"Hey, Dad," I said softly, running my hand along the telescope's smooth barrel.

Talking to my father's telescope was a habit I'd developed after his death. It was silly, perhaps, but sometimes I could almost hear his responses in my head, delivered with his characteristic mix of scientific precision and dad jokes.

I moved to the garage door and pressed the button to roll it up, revealing the rectangle of night sky visible from this angle. The light pollution from Missoula dimmed the stars somewhat, but it was still a vast improvement over most urban viewing spots.

"So I met someone," I said to the empty garage as I adjusted the telescope. "He's completely wrong for me. Lives in the woods like a recluse. Actually, he is a recluse. Doesn't own a phone. Probably makes his own soap."

I paused, looking up at the stars twinkling overhead.

"But there was something there, Dad. Something real. And I ran away from it.”

I positioned myself behind the eyepiece and began scanning the sky, searching for familiar celestial landmarks.

"I wonder if you're up there somewhere," I whispered. "One of those stars, looking down on me. What would you sayif you could see me now? Probably something about following the evidence where it leads, even if it takes us somewhere unexpected."

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