Page 3 of Healing with the Mountain Man
Alani
Days of traveling via a multitude of buses have left me exhausted. Never in my life have I done something so out of my comfort zone. It’s why I pushed my body to its limit, staying away when I needed the rest.
So, passing out as soon as I made it to the cabin I’ve been yearning to see in person for an eternity? Not totally crazy.
Probably shouldn’t have lowered my guard to that point, though.
Now there’s a weight against my chest that’s making it hard to breathe. Is it the weight of anxiety pushing down at the thought of going so far, just to be rejected?
I mean, what I’ve done is outright crazy. Didn’t give any warning whatsoever.
At the softmeow, I realize the weight is more of a physical thing.
Cracking my eyes open, I’m staring into two sapphire-colored slitted eyes. Resting against my chest, a white Persian cat watches me.
I gasp softly. “Mr. Whiskers, is that you?”
The cat purrs, and I freaking melt. Oh my goodness.
I’ve seen pictures over the last year, sure, but he’s always been only on paper. Now he’s here, soft to the touch and very much real.
“You are so freaking cute. I’ve waited forever to meet you.” Murmuring the words, I’m distracted for a minute before I hear movement outside of the room I’m currently in.
A room that looks very lived in.Hisbedroom, I’m sure.
I can’t believe I’m sleeping in Dean Francis’ bed. Talk about a dream come true. Instead of having him curled next to me like in my fantasies, my only company is his cat.
“We are going to properly meet. But for now…” Moving to sit up, I look toward the door.
Just thinking about Dean has my heart pounding in my chest from nerves. I’m about to properly go face to face with a man I’ve been wanting to give my heart to for ages.
The first and only time doesn’t count. Even back then, I didn’t get the chance to speak with him more than a numb appreciation of him making it.
Dad mentioned the guy from time to time, but I was too distracted by managing my own life to figure out who he was writing to.
Thanks to their communication, I was able to get hold of Dean in the first place, thanks to the letters he kept.
Abandoning the bed, I creep out of the room. As I walk, I’m distracted by the small details of the cabin.
He’s explained it in little details now and then whenever he’s worked on his home, and I saw little snippets in pictures he’d mail me, but I’ve always wanted to see it as a whole.
Now look at me, walking the halls, searching for him. Everything still feels so unreal. Could I still be dreaming?
Mr. Whiskers makes finding Dean easy. The older male is hunched over an open window, his eyes glued to the heavy rainfall. There isn’t anything interesting going on out there unless he’s mesmerized by the sway of pine needles.
I noticed the gray clouds on my way up when I hitched a ride with someone who knew of Dean’s existence, but I never could have imagined such a storm would roll in. Is this kind of weather normal?
I don’t care to wonder for long. Instead, I am too distracted by the sight before me to think about anything happening outside.
Dean’s t-shirt clings to his muscles like a second skin, the fabric stretched taut over the hard lines of his back and shoulders. I’ve seen him before, memorized the way he moves—but being this close, watching the shift of his body in real time, sends an electric thrill through me.
His arms flex as he braces against the windowsill, the subtle ripple of strength making my breath catch.
A man who has two decades on me should not be this attractive. Leaves me to wonder if this is why I struggled to get along with any of the guys while at college. None of them were like Dean.
The college guys are all wiry limbs and smooth, boyish faces, still trying to figure out who they are. Dean looks like he’s been forged in another era—broad shoulders, and a frame that could block out the sun.
Just looking at him without being noticed is enough to send butterflies exploding in my stomach, and heat crawling up my neck. Where the boys my age feel temporary, still growing into themselves, Dean is permanent. Solid. The kind of man who looks like he’s been carved out of the mountain itself.
