Page 10 of Mountain Man Summer

"Now," he said, looking up at me with that half-smile that did unreasonable things to my insides, "I keep my promise. This beauty will make a perfect dinner for two."

The implication hung between us—an evening together, just the two of us.

"I did catch it," I said, trying to sound casual. "And a deal's a deal."

"Give me an hour," he said, standing with the fish secured in the net. "Bring your appetite and maybe that beer you owe me."

"I owe you a beer?"

"Professional fishing guide services don't come free," he teased. "First lesson's a beer, second is dinner."

"And what's the third?" The words slipped out before I could stop them, tinged with a flirtation I hadn't intended.

His eyes darkened slightly, gaze dropping briefly to my lips before returning to my eyes. "Let's get through dinner first."

The implications sent a shiver up my spine. As he walked away with my fish—my first-ever catch—I found myself watching him go with decidedly unprofessional thoughts.

I gathered our empty bottles and my borrowed gear, taking a moment to admire the sunset spreading across the lake. Hope Peak was undeniably beautiful, the kind of place that made you believe in fresh starts and second chances. The kind of place where people probably didn't need to lock their doors at night or check over their shoulders walking to their cars.

Back at my cabin, I surveyed my limited wardrobe options. I hadn't packed for impressing anyone—just comfort and practicality. After a quick shower, I settled on a simple sundress in a pale green that supposedly brought out my eyes, according to my sister Emily. I let my hair down, the blonde waves falling past my shoulders, and applied enough makeup to feel put together without looking like I was trying too hard.

"It's just dinner with a neighbor," I told my reflection. "Not a date."

My phone buzzed with another text from Jamie.

How's Montana treating you? Send pics of the cabin—but nothing identifiable!

I smiled, snapping a quick photo of the interior that showed the rustic charm without any identifying features.

Not bad for a hideout, I texted back.Made a friend. Going to dinner.

Her response was immediate:

A FRIEND? Male or female? Hot or not? Details required!

I laughed out loud.

Neighbor. And yes, ridiculously hot. Making me dinner—I caught a fish!

YOU caught a fish? Who are you and what have you done with Didi Lawson? Also, BE CAREFUL. Remember why you're there.

My smile faded slightly.

I know. Just dinner. Promise I'm being careful.

I slipped my phone into my small crossbody bag along with my keys and a bottle of wine I'd picked up during my grocery run yesterday. As I walked the short path to Noah's cabin, butterflies danced in my stomach—a sensation I hadn't felt in months.

The scent of grilling fish greeted me before I reached his door. I paused for a moment, taking in the scene—warm light spilling from the windows, smoke curling from a small grill on the deck, the silhouette of Noah moving inside. It looked like a snapshot of a life I'd never considered for myself, simple and grounded in a way my Chicago existence never was.

I took a deep breath and knocked, suddenly nervous in a way that had nothing to do with stalkers or secrets. This wasa different kind of vulnerability altogether—the kind that came with letting someone new into your life, even if just for dinner.

"What are you doing, Didi?" I whispered to myself one last time.

I'd come to the mountains to escape one man's attention, not to invite another's. Yet here I was, accepting dinner with a man who noticed too much, who saw beyond the casual deflections that usually worked so well. A man whose touch made my skin tingle and whose smile made me forget—momentarily—why I was hiding in the first place.

One meal. That's all it was. A neighborly thank-you for a fishing lesson.

But as Noah opened the door, his face lighting up at the sight of me, the rush of energy through my body told a different story. Detective Noah Sterling was dangerous in ways ChicagoNightOwl could never be.

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