Page 10 of My Bossy Mountain Man

“I paid the extra for me,” he mutters, rummaging through the bag before pausing. A sigh slips from his lips, sounding the most forced I’ve ever heard. “They must’ve gotten the wrong idea. Two forks. Two cookies. Maybe they thought I couldn’t eat this all by myself. I suppose I could give you some.”

I snort, my lips curling into a full, helpless grin as I tap the back of my fingers against his arm. “How tragic. Thank you for reluctantly sharing this enormous order you placed just for yourself.”

He chuckles—a low, warm sound that does stupid things to my pulse—and starts unpacking the containers. The lids peel back with a whisper of steam, revealing glistening pieces of chicken covered in sauces I want to indulge in. He played it safe, getting different types.

This is a man after my heart. He doesn’t have to work hard for it. It’s his.

I take my first bite and moan. Something this delicious should be illegal.

Across from me, Dallas eats with the same quiet focus he does everything else, but there’s a looseness to his shoulders tonight. A comfort.

I try not to stare.

But, is it weird that this feels like the world’s most accidental date? No candles, no reservations, just takeout boxes in a library that smells like old paper and his stupidly addictive cologne.

And yet… the silence between us isn’t empty. It’s easy. The kind where neither of us feels the need to fill it. Just the clink of forks, the occasional hum of satisfaction, and the way his knee brushes mine under the table—once, twice—like neither of us wants to admit we noticed.

What more could a woman ask for? I never want this to end.

5

Tulip

Unfortunately, the food disappears one bite at a time, and when nothing but trash remains, we must move on to the main event of the night. Organizing that storage room. It’s a daunting task, even though I’m being positive about taking care of it.

Dallas is as eager as he can be to tackle it, I’m quick to figure out why the room is in the shape it is in the first place.

Snorting as he unfolds each poster, most of them containing useless promotional artwork that would be of no use to us, I easily help him decide that most of this stuff is junk. Despite its uselessness, it’s going to take some coaxing and convincing to get a lot of this stuff in the trash.

Digging through a box, I find a bunch of flyers for a book signing that happened… seven months ago. First off, I didn’t even know we did signings here. Second off…

“I think you’ve got a problem, Dallas. Seriously.” I hold up one of the flyers, not bothering to look at the guy printed onthem, even if he’s mildly attractive. “Like, why do you need these?”

He sniffs, rolling his shoulders. “Paper costs money, and that guy puts out a book once a year. If he wants to do another setup here, then I don’t have to worry about making more copies.”

I mean, I guess that’s a good excuse. Good enough to put the flyers back, for now.

Continuing to shift around, I come across the same shirt he’d given me. “Definitely toss these. WhileImight like this little guy, you’re going to scare kids away if you try to repurpose them.”

The corner of his mouth twitches, and for just a second, I see a hint of a smile.

“I could hand them out as a thank you for supporting the library?” Trying to give me any reason to put the box in thekeeppile, he motions over toward it.

“I don’t think so. Unless you want to scare away everyone that does come here.” Scoffing, I put the box in the trash pile. The book mascot won’t have to haunt anyone’s mind but ours.

Ready to move on, I catch him still watching me. I don’t know when it happened, but his frown is gone, replaced by a soft smile. Before my heart can even flutter, it’s like he’s catching himself in the act. One jerk later, and he’s squashing the curve.

My feet are moving me toward him before my brain can catch up with my body.

“I wish you wouldn’t do that.” Huffing the words out, my hands move to my hips. “You have a nice smile.”

Just like that, it’s like my words have startled him. He jerks again, his brows coming together in confusion. “What?”

Planting my hands on my hips, I tilt my head to look up at him. “You’ve got a perfectly good smile and you’re hoarding it all to yourself.”

The effect is instantaneous. He stiffens like I’ve poked him with a cattle prod. Between confusion and disagreement, he struggles to find his response.

Now that I’ve started, the words tumble out. I step closer—close enough to count the faint creases at the corners of his eyes that prove he does smile, just never where people can see. “You’re always doing this. Purposely keeping yourself from smiling.”

---