Page 12 of Mountain Man Summer

I nodded, understanding washing over me. Her self-sufficiency wasn't just a personality trait—it had been a necessity. "Sounds like you had to grow up fast," I said quietly.

"Well, you're about to expand your resume," I said, nodding toward the refrigerator. "Would you mind putting together a simple salad while I get this fish ready for the grill? There's lettuce and veggies in the crisper drawer."

She looked momentarily uncertain, then squared her shoulders. "I think I can handle chopping vegetables without disaster. Point me to your cutting board and knife."

I directed her to the drawer with utensils, and we soon established a natural rhythm—me preparing the fish with my special blend of herbs and spices, her carefully slicing cucumber and tomatoes for the salad. The domestic scene resonated in an unexpected way, as if we'd done this a hundred times before.

"I'm also going to need you to butter those rolls," I said, nodding toward a package of bakery rolls on the counter. "If you think you're up for such an advanced culinary challenge."

She flicked a piece of lettuce at me. "Don't push your luck, Sterling. I'm already exceeding my kitchen competency quotas here."

I laughed, enjoying the easy banter. By the time the fish hit the grill, Didi had not only assembled a decent salad but had set the table on the deck—plates and utensils arranged with the precision of someone compensating for unfamiliarity with the task.

"I bet you were the kid who color-coded their school folders," I teased, noticing how she'd aligned the silverware at perfect right angles.

"Says the man whose fishing lures are organized by color and size," she countered, gesturing toward my tackle box that sat open on the counter.

"Touché."

The sun hung low over the mountains as we settled at the table, the fish perfectly grilled, her salad providing a crisp accompaniment. The warm evening air carried the scent of pine and lake water, creating an atmosphere that no high-end restaurant could match.

The first bite pulled an appreciative moan from her that shot straight through me. "Oh my God," she said, eyes closing briefly. "I've never tasted fish this good."

"That's because it was swimming a few hours ago," I replied, savoring her reaction perhaps more than the food itself. "Can't get fresher than that."

We ate as night fell around us, the conversation flowing as easily as the wine. I learned she knitted when stressed, that she was allergic to cats but loved them anyway. Small details that painted a fuller picture of this woman who'd dropped into my life just yesterday but already felt strangely significant.

Throughout dinner, I noticed how she deftly changed the subject whenever questions about her work or reason for visiting Hope Peak arose. Her redirections toward the town or lake life were so smooth they might go unnoticed by someone less observant.

After dinner, we moved to the deck chairs with the remainder of the wine. Stars emerged above us, bright against the dark sky. The soft glow from the cabin windows illuminated her profile—the delicate curve of her nose, the fullness of her lips, the way her hair caught the light.

"You know," I said, circling back to something that had been bothering me since our fishing lesson, "you've managed to dodge every question about your work. But that voice of yours—it's distinctive. Trained. Professional."

A faint blush colored her cheeks, visible even in the dim light. "Anyone ever tell you that you're persistent, Detective Sterling?" she replied, swirling the wine in her glass.

"Part of the job description," I countered with a half-smile.

She adjusted her position, fingers tracing the rim of her glass. "Do many people stay in Hope Peak year-round? I can't imagine what it's like in winter."

I noted her continued evasion, filing it away as another piece of the puzzle. Whatever her secret, she guarded it carefully. I let her change the subject, answering her question instead of pressing mine.

"Not always," I told her, keeping details minimal. "Had different plans at one point. Sheriff Callahan suggested I consider law enforcement. Said I had good instincts."

"He was right," she said softly. "You noticed immediately that I was in trouble on the lake yesterday."

"That was just basic observation."

"No," she insisted, her body angling more fully toward me. "Most people wouldn't have recognized the signs so quickly. You pay attention in a way most don't."

Her eyes held mine, and the atmosphere between us transformed. The conversation faded as we looked at each other, the distance between our chairs suddenly feeling like both too much and not enough space.

My body inclined forward slightly, drawn toward her like a magnet. Her lips parted, her gaze dropping to my mouth. The moment stretched, electric with possibility.

My phone buzzed loudly against the wooden table, shattering the connection. I swore under my breath, checking the screen.

"My cousin Kyle," I explained, reluctantly answering. "Hey, what's up?"

"What's up? Nothing much," Kyle replied. "Just calling to see if you're planning to make an appearance at the Petersons' beach bonfire tonight."

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