Page 6 of Hitchhiker Mountain Man

"But?"

"But it felt like putting on clothes someone else picked out. They fit, technically, but never quite right." I look down at my plate. "Everything in my life has been chosen for me—where I live, where I work, who I date. I just wanted to make one decision for myself, even if it's just where to spend my vacation."

His expression softens. "That's why you're so excited about a run-down truck stop and mediocre pie?"

I laugh. "Hey, that pie was delicious!"

"It was decent," he concedes, almost smiling.

"Anyway, yes. This is all gloriously different from my usual life, even with the storm and the unexpected house guest."

Something like understanding passes between us, and for a moment, the space between our worlds doesn't seem quite so vast.

A crack of thunder breaks the moment, and the lights flicker before steadying again.

"Should we be worried about that?" I ask.

"Cabin probably has a generator if the power goes out." He eyes the storm. "This looks like it might be settling in for the night."

"Well, there are worse places to be stranded," I say. "And worse company."

His eyes meet mine, sending heat racing through me. "That so?"

"You're not as grumpy as you pretend to be," I say boldly.

"And you're not as spoiled as I expected."

I grin. "Careful, that almost sounded like a compliment."

He shrugs, but there's warmth in his eyes that wasn't there before.

As I clean up after our meal, I'm achingly aware of him moving around, examining bookshelves, adding wood to the fire. The lights flicker again and then go out completely, leaving only the fireplace glow.

"Guess I was wrong about the generator," Slate's voice comes from near the fire.

"There should be candles somewhere," I say, carefully making my way from the kitchen. "The rental listing mentioned emergency supplies."

I misjudge the distance and bump right into his solid chest. His hands come up to steady me, gripping my upper arms. The contact sends a jolt through me.

"Careful," he murmurs, his voice deeper in the dimness. His hands are warm through my sweater—hands that work for a living, not just for show.

I should step back. I should thank him and move away. Instead, I stay perfectly still, looking up at his shadowed face in the firelight.

"Slate," I whisper.

His grip tightens slightly, and I hear his breath catch. For one electric moment, I think he might pull me closer.

Then he releases me, stepping back. "Let's find those candles."

The spell breaks, but something remains—a tension in the air between us that wasn't there before. As we search for emergency supplies, carefully maintaining distance, I can't help but wonder what would have happened if he hadn't let go.

four

Slate

Istandbythefireplace, feeding another log to the flames, trying to focus on practical matters rather than the woman moving around the candle lit cabin.

The power's been out for twenty minutes. The Princess—Jordyn—has handled it better than I expected. No complaints about missing Netflix or charging her phone. Instead, she methodically found candles, matches, and even an old battery-powered radio that's now softly playing staticky country music.

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