Page 19 of Hitchhiker Mountain Man

My mind races, trying to process what he's suggesting. "You want me to just... get in your truck and go?"

"Yes." Simple, direct. So like him.

"To deliver lumber?"

"That's the first stop." He takes another step closer. "After that, wherever the next haul takes us. Could be Saskatchewan,could be Texas. That's the point—freedom, open road, no itinerary."

The offer is so unexpected, so completely outside anything I would have imagined, that I can only stare at him. This isn't a casual invitation for dinner, or even a weekend away. This is stepping completely into his world, leaving mine behind.

"What about my car? My things?"

"Car can stay here. Cabin's paid up, right? Bring whatever you need. Eleanor has plenty of space."

"Eleanor," I echo with a small smile. "Your truck."

"My home," he corrects. "At least for now. Could be yours too, for a while."

The practical part of my brain is listing all the reasons this is insane. I barely know this man. I have responsibilities waiting for me back in the city. This isn't the sort of thing that people like Jordyn Montgomery do.

But there's another voice, louder and more insistent, reminding me why I came to this cabin in the first place. Freedom. Authenticity. A break from the script my life has always followed.

"This is crazy," I say, but I'm smiling.

"Completely," he agrees.

"My mother would have a stroke."

"Probably."

"I'd be living out of a suitcase, sleeping in a truck cab, showering at truck stops."

"It's not glamorous," he acknowledges. "But it's real."

That word—real—resonates through me. Isn't that exactly what I've been seeking? Something genuine, unfiltered by expectations or appearances?

"What about after?" I ask. "When my vacation is over?"

He shrugs, but there's vulnerability beneath the casual gesture. "We figure it out then. Could be this is just a shortadventure, a story you tell at dinner parties back in your world. Or maybe..." He trails off, leaving the possibility unspoken.

"Maybe it's something more," I finish for him.

He nods, watching me carefully. "Only one way to find out."

I look back at the cabin—comfortable, predictable, safe. Then at Eleanor, gleaming in the morning sun, promising adventure and uncertainty in equal measure. Finally, at Slate, this man who crashed into my life and somehow, in just three days, made me question everything I thought I knew about what I wanted.

"Give me fifteen minutes to pack," I say, the decision made almost before I realize I've made it.

His face breaks into a full smile, transforming his features. I've seen glimpses of it before, but never this complete, this unguarded. It takes my breath away.

"Fifteen minutes," he agrees. "I'll warm up the engine."

I race back into the cabin, heart pounding with excitement and nerves. What does one pack for an impromptu trucking adventure? I grab essentials first—toiletries, comfortable clothes, sturdy shoes. Then, on impulse, I add my camera. If ever there was a time to capture unexpected beauty, this is it.

Slate is leaning against Eleanor's massive grille when I emerge with my suitcase and backpack. The engine rumbles, a deep mechanical purr that somehow sounds inviting now rather than intimidating.

"Ready?" he asks, taking my suitcase.

"Not remotely," I admit with a laugh. "But yes."

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