Page 7 of My Devoted Mountain Man

"My grandfather taught me when I was growing up. I helped him at his workshop, building furniture and other pieces that people commissioned from him."

"Sounds like you have some good memories there."

"I do. My grandfather was a great man. I miss him."

I watch him intently as he chops up vegetables and mixes them into a salad bowl. He adds yummy things like chicken, bacon, and grated cheese, and by the end of it, I'm drooling. After the soup is heated, he serves us and takes a seat beside me.

Wishing he had sat in front of me so that I could take in his rugged beauty, I shift in my seat uncomfortably.

"Do you want a more comfortable seat? We can do this in the dining room."

"Let's try that."

"Stay right there."

He takes our food away and then comes back to get me. I'm surprised how I'm not in any pain when he picks me up to transport me, but when I try to do it myself, I get pain as a result.

The dining room is majestic, and the table, which I assume he built himself, is magnificent. The attention to detail is astonishing, and as we sit across from each other, I'm thankful that this man was brought into my life.

"Is that better?"

"Much, thank you."

For a few minutes, I just pick at my food because I want to know more about this man, and I don't know how to approach him. All we used to talk about before was business. This feels more personal, more intimate.

"Fletcher, thank you so much for offering to help me with my recovery."

"I would do anything for you."

I blush profusely, but I don't stay quiet.

"You say such things. Do you mean them?"

"Of course I do, sweetheart. I know I was being a coward by not coming down to see you at the gallery, but it was an internal battle." He continues. "You're so young and smart and beautiful. I'm an old, broken man who doesn't deserve you."

I reach over the table to grab his hand. Mine is small and soft against his large and calloused one, proving how much of a hard worker he is.

"Don't talk about yourself like that, Fletcher. I won't have it."

"Is the food okay?"

"Don't change the subject. I get to decide who I want in my life, and you are certainly someone that I value and care enough to have in my life."

"Why did you open the gallery?"

I'm startled at another attempt to change the conversation, and let it go this time. We'll have plenty of time to discuss the deeper feelings we have for one another.

"I was an art major in college. I had all these big dreams, but when they were shattered, I walked away from art. It didn't take long for me to realize that I couldn't stay away. I needed the jolt of creativity that came from seeing what other artists had created."

"I haven't seen any of your work in the gallery."

"I don't sell my work."

"Why not?"

"Can we talk about something else?"

"What kind of art do you make?"

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