Page 17 of Moody Mountain Man
Dottie clears her throat, blue eyes twinkling. “Now, I’ve been around a long time. I’ve seen snow that squatted over this town for six weeks straight. I’ve seen the power go out in July, and the mayor propose to his wife on the back of a tractor. I’ve seen some of you menfolk finally pull your heads out of your asses long enough to notice the women meant for you.” Laughter bubbles; Sawyer stares at the ceiling. Reid glares at the floor. Elias looks at Juniper like she hung the moon.
“But today,” Dottie continues, voice warming, “we get to celebrate Annie Monroe. Our girl who feeds us when we’re hungry, caffeinates us when we’re mean, and remembers how every one of us takes our coffee—even when we don’t deserve it.” She nods toward my scorched wall, now tiled straight and bright. “She stared down a kitchen fire and an inspection sheet and October’s chaos and came out smiling. And—” She tips her chintoward Cal. “—she found herself a good man to help her through it all.” A pause, then a satisfied, “About time.”
The room erupts—whistles, cheers, someone banging a wooden spoon on a table. My throat goes hot; my eyes go hot; everything goes hot. Cal’s hand finds the small of my back, a quiet anchor.
“Make room,” Tessa says, popping up with her phone, already filming, journalist instincts and friend-heart warring adorably on her face. “I need the grand-reopening speech. Suitable for viral content. Possibly with Sawyer holding a baby or chopping wood in the background.”
“Absolutely not,” Sawyer says, which only makes the room laugh harder.
Sadie threads through the crowd, palms warm on my forearms. “You did it,” she says, eyes bright. “You look happy.” Reid stands behind her, a wall at her back, and the look he levels at Cal saysHurt her, and I’ll haul you into the woods and make you help me stack firewood for a week, and then burn you on the pyre you’ve built. Cal’s answering look saysover don’t worry. They both seem satisfied.
Dottie thumps her mug on the counter. “All right, lovebirds. Kiss your girl proper so I can tell Judge Peterson’s sister’s cousin’s neighbor I saw it with my own eyes.” I laugh so hard I wheeze. Juniper whoops. Tessa cheers. Half the town chants, “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!” like we’re at a high school pep rally.
Cal’s mouth curves. He turns me, palms framing my face, and kisses me like we’re alone in the alley on a quiet night—soft and sure, a little smile hidden in it. The room sighs. Somewhere, Dottie dabs at her eye with the corner of her apron and mutters, “My Annie,” like a benediction.
When we come up for air, Cal doesn’t step away. He looks at me like I’m something he gets to keep and then looks out at the people who made him, me, and this place home.
I clear my throat, cheeks aching from grinning. “Okay, okay. Before I start sobbing, I have one more thing.” I reach beneath the counter and pull out a little jar with a hand-lettered tag:Community Tab. “Pay what you can. Take what you need. If you’re having a tough week, if a kid forgot lunch money, if you just need a win—tell me. Dottie’s right. This town takes care of its people. Let me help.” Dottie’s soft oh bless swells the room by three sizes. She reaches for the jar like she’s going to hug it, but instead drops a wad of cash inside.
Juniper starts the clap. Sadie joins. The whole room follows. Cal squeezes the back of my neck, thumb stroking once, and I have to blink hard to keep the tears from smearing my eyeliner.
We ride the morning like a warm tide: orders and hugs and refills and “good to see you, honey” on repeat. Wren dashes in after school, snags a treat, and tells me she might run for class rep. For a girl who wasn’t sure where here place was, Wren has made Pine Hollow her home.
By late morning, we’re wiped and glowing. The line’s finally a trickle. Cal leans a hip against the counter, forearm brushing mine.
“You okay?” he asks.
“I’m—” My throat tightens. “Yeah. I’m really good.”
He nods toward the windowsill, where the basil catches a little shaft of sun. “We should build you planter boxes there. Tie into the tile. Make it solid.”
“We should,” I echo, because I like the waywesounds coming from him.
Dottie returns with the empty Thermos, brandishing it like a trophy. “Best grand re-opening I’ve ever seen,” she declares. “Also the only one, but that’s beside the point.” She sets the Thermos down and takes my hands across the counter, her voice dipping to something that hums. “I told you Pine Hollow would give you what you needed. Looks like it finally did.”
I glance at Cal. He’s not a storm cloud today. He’s steady weather, blue sky behind a ridge, a good forecast settling in my bones.
“It did,” I say.
Dottie’s smile goes bright and wet at the edges. She taps my knuckles, then winks at Cal. “You keep showing up like this, Redmond, and I might forgive you for refusing to model the flannel line for my bulletin board last winter.”
“No,” he says, deadpan.
She cackles, satisfied. “I love a man with boundaries.”
Tessa slides a business card across the counter. “When you’re ready to tell the ‘rebuilt the kitchen, and fell madly in love’ story, call me.”
Sadie hugs me again, then whispers, “I knew you’d get your happy ending.”
When the bell finally quiets, and the last box goes out, I turn into Cal, hands fisting in his shirt, forehead to his chest for a beat. He rests his chin on my hair.
“Proud of you,” he says again, and it lands the same way it did at dawn.
“Stay?” I ask, even though I know the answer now.
“Yeah.” His mouth finds my temple. “Always.”
Outside, the square keeps breathing—bluegrass on the breeze, kids laughing, Dottie’s laugh cutting through like a bright bell. Inside, my kitchen hums, my heart hums, and the basil leans into the light.
