Page 3 of Mountain Man's Mail Order Temptress
He picked me up at the inn, and we drove a good half hour, stopping along the way to pick up a to-go order he’d placed earlier in the day. Italian food—also my favorite. We finally stopped at a place with a giant sign reading,Hartsville Drive-In.
My eyes widened as he took the turn. “I’ve never seen one of these.”
“Check out the marquee.”
At the same time he said those words, my gaze dropped to the sign. It was a double feature, and the first was my favorite movie of all time. A movie that had been out well before I was born, but that I’d bonded with as an awkward, unpopular teenager.
“I brought a blanket for my truck bed,” he said. “I figured we’d camp out there and watch the movie. I even have some pillows for after we finish dinner.”
“Good evening,” a friendly woman with a big smile said when we drove up to the ticket window. “Aren’t you a cute couple?”
I couldn’t get enough of the people I was meeting in these small towns. Everyone was so friendly and relaxed. It was the opposite of my daily grind in my hometown of Denver.
My fiancé drove slowly through the gravel lot, past rows of pick-ups and hatchbacks and couples already snuggled up under stars that hadn’t even blinked on yet. When he found a quiet spot in the back corner, he backed in so we’d have the best view. Then he killed the engine, climbed out, and dropped the tailgate with a practiced thud. He pulled back a cover to reveal a thick quilt covering the bed of the truck, layered with overstuffed pillows and a folded throw blanket that looked homemade.
“You went all out,” I said, blinking at the scene in front of me.
“I figured our first date should be memorable,” he said, shrugging as he reached into the cab and pulled out a brown paper bag with the restaurant’s logo stamped on the side. “Twenty-five minutes from my place, but totally worth it.”
I climbed up onto the tailgate with his help. He reached into the bag he’d set on the ground next to him and pulled out a warm container. The smell alone made my stomach growl.
“I love this kind of food.” I peeled back the lid to reveal a rich layer of baked ziti under a blanket of melted mozzarella. “Thank you.”
“You mentioned it in one of your texts,” he said, settling beside me on the tailgate. “Back when we were talking about favorite comfort foods.”
I glanced at him, surprised. “You remembered that?”
He nodded. “I remember a lot of things.”
We ate with our legs dangling, the scent of garlic and oregano mixing with the warm evening breeze. Every so often, our shoulders brushed. I didn’t think he was doing it on purpose, but I wasn’t moving away either.
“This feels weird,” I said after a few bites.
His head turned toward me. “Weird bad or weird good?”
“Weird good. Like, how are you real?”
He smiled at that—just a small tug of his lips that made something flutter inside me. “I was going to ask you the same thing.”
We fell into a quiet rhythm, finishing our food, passing a container of tiramisu back and forth until we were both full and loose and relaxed.
“So,” he said as he leaned back on his elbows, “what made you sign up for something like this? The mail order bride site, I mean.”
I let out a slow breath. I knew that question would come eventually.
“Honestly?” I sighed. “I was just tired.”
“Tired?”
“Yeah. Of waiting around. Watching all my friends get married, post their engagement pictures, go off on their honeymoons. I kept thinking, when is it my turn?”
He was quiet, listening, the way a man listens when he wants to really hear, not just fill silence.
“I’ve always done everything the way I was supposed to,” I went on. “Followed the rules. Got the right job. Said the right things. Dated the right guys. But none of it ever stuck. And then I saw this site, and I thought maybe the guy I’m meant for isn’t at a cocktail bar or swiping through an app. Maybe he’s in the mountains somewhere. Rough around the edges, but kind and steady. The kind of man who knows what he wants when he sees it.”
His jaw shifted like he wanted to say something, but he didn’t. I caught the hesitation.
“I know it sounds crazy,” I added quickly. “Maybe a little naïve.”
