Page 10 of Devoted Mountain Man

“For both of us.”

I glanced at the stove. It definitely smelled like steak, but I only saw a carton of eggs and a tub of butter. This should be interesting.

“Sure,” I said. “If you don’t mind. Again, I don’t want to be any trouble.”

“We’ll eat, and then I’ll check out your cabin. Make sure everything’s safe before you go back.”

I didn’t realize I had a smile on my face until I was washing up and caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. How long had that been there? Hopefully, I wasn’t grinning like a goof when I was talking to him.

The table was already set when I emerged—a plate, napkin, fork, spoon, and steak knife at each setting. He’d situated us across from each other, which meant he’d be looking right at me the entire time. I wasn’t sure how good an idea that was since I just woke up.

“Coffee?” he asked.

I breathed a sigh of relief. I was hoping he was about to offer me that. I needed caffeine like I needed oxygen.

“Yes, please,” I said.

“I drink mine black.” He gave me an apologetic look. “I don’t have any creamer. I do have sugar and milk.”

“That’ll work.”

I could run next door and grab my creamer. I bought some at the store on the way into town. Heck, I could’ve made my coffee while I was over there, but I wasn’t sure how to. I didn’trecognize the name brand of the coffeemaker, so figuring out how to work it would’ve been a struggle.

Dayton headed to the kitchen, grabbed a mug, and began pouring from a carafe like the one my parents had when I was a kid. Even they didn’t have that kind anymore, but it made sense that he would. A lumberjack in the mountains wouldn’t buy some frou-frou one-cup coffeemaker.

He pulled out a jug of milk and a big bag of sugar. I couldn’t help but laugh inwardly at the fact that he didn’t even have a sugar dispenser. Not even a canister on the counter. In fact, looking around, it was clear that he definitely hadn’t invested in kitchen accessories. Even the paper towel roll was just sitting on the counter, ignored, without anything holding it in place.

He was still standing when I started toward the table, cup of not-sweet-enough coffee in hand. It was fine. Any caffeine would do at this point. I’d just think of it as medicine and suck it down.

But I did stop as I neared the table, spotting what he’d set on each plate. Yes, there were two steaks with a generous side of eggs. My jaw dropped.

“What?” he asked, looking from me to the plate. “You don’t normally eat steak and eggs for breakfast?”

I shook my head, eyes still wide. “I mean, I knew it was a thing, but I’ve never actually had it. Cold pizza is the closest I’ve come to dinner food for breakfast.”

“Steak and eggs are breakfast food,” he said.

But his tone was anything but serious. In fact, I saw a hint of a smile there.

I tilted my head. “Is that the first time I’ve seen you smile?”

He narrowed his eyes. “I’m not really smiling. But yeah, I guess I don’t smile enough.”

Since he obviously wasn’t going to sit until I did, I walked around the table and took my seat, setting my coffee mug next to my plate. I still didn’t speak as I pulled my napkin from beneathmy knife and fork and settled it onto my lap. There was more to this story, and I was waiting for him to tell it. By remaining silent, hopefully I had a chance of hearing it.

“My goal has been to keep to myself since leaving the military,” he said. “Maybe even before that. I was burned.”

“Burned by a friend?”

“A good friend and a fiancée.”

The word fiancée sucked the wind out of me. Please tell me it was anex-fiancée. He said he’d been burned, so I assumed that was the case.

“Former fiancée,” he said. “I guess I’ve turned into a grump over the years. I moved up here to get away from people. But that isn’t the answer either.”

I could relate to that. I’d come up here to get away from people so I could write, and here I was sitting with him. But that had very little to do with a need for companionship. I would’ve been perfectly happy over there alone if I hadn’t gotten spooked.

No, in this case, I wanted to be with him.

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