Page 6 of Falling for the Mountain Man
“In two years, once you two graduate, we’ll celebrate properly. That is, if you guys decide to stay at home.” I murmur the last part, knowing Kallie’s got big dreams. She’ll want to live in a heavily populated city, surrounded by people.
The complete opposite of Zaria. She’s a creature of quiet spaces and soft light. She fits here, in the worn grain of my wooden counters and the view of the pines through the window.
It’s like my cabin is her dream home, but that’s just the dangerous part of me talking, the part that’s already penciled her into the empty chair at my table for the next fifty years. It’s me wanting her in my life even after they’ve figured out what they’re going to do with their lives.
Either way, they’re going to have to leave the house they’re staying in eventually. They already know my cabin has a room for them. Her room. I’ve already pictured it a thousand times—her canvases leaning against the wall, the smell of turpentine and oil paint mixing with the pine, her quiet presence filling the hall.
Zaria chews on her lip, and she’s staring hard now, like she’s no longer thinking about what option goes best with the potatoes.
Will she want to keep tagging along with Kallie after graduation, or will she drift off somewhere she can follow her artistic heart? Some coastal town with good light, a place with no room for a lonely firefighter and his too-quiet cabin.
I haven’t considered that she might not want to keep coming back once she’s back to running things solo. The thought is a physical blow, a cold knot tightening in my gut.
Now that the thought’s in my head, I’m fighting the urge to grimace, to reach out and anchor her here with a touch. The idea of this place without the possibility of her—it just makes the walls feel like they’re closing in again.
“I feel like it’s been ages since I’ve had turkey.” Kallie groans as she throws together a cookie mix that has a questionable amount of dust collecting on the directions on the back of the box. “You used to bake it just right. I miss that so much. Promise me that kind of dinner, and you bet I’ll be here.”
Zaria finally nods, settling on country gravy. “Yeah, that sounds good. Celebrating the holidays wouldn’t feel right if I’m not here with you two.”
The words land in my chest, a warm, precious weight.With you two.My selfish heart homes in on two words in particular.With you.Even if they’re only coming for the holidays, I’ll take whatever I can get. I’ll learn to roast a perfect turkey. I’ll impress their taste buds if it means she keeps choosing to come back.
With a tray of cookies ready to go inside, Kallie slips around us to shove it inside the oven. Lingering near the oven, she shivers and groans about how cold the kitchen is. She didn’t pack accordingly at all. Should’ve picked a sweater out on her way here.
“Go grab something from my closet. I’m sure you’ll find something warmer in there.” I jerk my chin toward the door. “Or, throw another log in the fire. Probably needs to be poked around a bit.”
Her nose scrunches like I’ve asked her to do hard labor. “Do you want anything?” She’s looking at Zaria, not at me, to ask for permission. “You’ve got to be freezing, too. I can snag something while I hunt for one myself.”
I scoff, but the sound gets me nowhere. Eyes drifting toward Zaria, I catch the way her skin pinkens. It’s a subtle flush that starts at the base of her throat and creeps up, and my mind instantly, traitorously, supplies the reason.
The thought of wearing my clothes. She’s thinking about it.
All at once, I’m picturing one hellish sight in my head. The soft, worn gray cotton of my favorite flannel swallowing her frame, the collar slipping to reveal the delicate curve of her shoulder. The hem would be a cruel tease, hitting her mid-thigh, leaving miles of smooth skin to the imagination. That’s about it. She doesn’t need anything else to stay warm, not with the way this fantasy is burning me up from the inside out.
It’s a good fantasy, but it’s one I can only want. A secret I have to lock down tight.
“No, I’m alright.” The refusal is soft, and it feels like a door clicking shut.
Denying the chance to let me see what she looks like in something of mine, an opportunity that hasn’t come across our path before, I’m left swallowing down a groan that’s equal parts frustration and raw want. My knuckles go white where I’m gripping the counter’s edge.
Maybe once the winter rolls around and they come back, I’ll offer something next time. Fuck, I want to see her in my shirts, see her small hands lost in the cuffs, smell my scent on her skin after she gives it back.
As Kallie shrugs her shoulders and drifts out of the space, leaving just the two of us, the air in the kitchen shifts. It grows thicker, charged with every unspoken thing between us.
I find myself watching her work, mesmerized by the simple, efficient way she moves, the quiet concentration on her face. Realizing I’m not being of much help here, I try to find something to go with sandwiches, my movements clumsy.
“This has to be the worst holiday dinner I’ve ever thrown.” I sigh and search my fridge, seeing nothing but condiments and a lone beer. “Worse than last year.”
I’d heated pizzas and we had milkshakes after. They didn’t complain at all, not until I brought out the board games. Then Kallie was ready to drown me in her complaints because competition runs thick in our blood.
She laughs softly, easing the tight knot of worry growing in me. “I’ll admit, it’s strange, but I wouldn’t ask you to change anything.”
When I look her way, I catch the slight smile on her lips. Her eyes meet mine, and for a second, the world narrows to nothing but the space between us, as limited as it is.
“This is perfect.”
Before Kallie introduced me to Zaria, she’d warned me that the woman had a hard time trusting and leaning on people. Her foster-care experience must’ve been hard during times like these.
Now look at her, vibrant as can be, a flush on her cheeks and a softness in her eyes that she only ever shows here. It’s a trust I feel like I’ve been given, a fragile, precious thing.
