Page 30 of Restored By the Mountain Man
"There's coffee and breakfast when you're ready," he says, and I can hear the smile in his voice. "We should probably head back to Eden Ridge soon."
"Give me fifteen minutes to get ready?"
"Take your time."
I listen to him move around the main area, probably packing up our things. When I'm sure he's occupied, I slip out of bed and gather my clothes, desperate for a shower to wash away the evidence of my fantasy.
The bathroom facilities in the main house feel like a blessing. I stand under the hot spray longer than necessary, trying to clear my head and restore some semblance of professionalism.
But even as I soap my body, I can't stop thinking about the dream. The kiss we shared last night proved there's something building between us but acting on it would be complicated at best, disastrous at worst.
He's my boss. He's still grieving his wife. I'm still figuring out how to live without Tom. Neither of us are in a position to start something serious, even if the chemistry between us is undeniable.
By the time I return to the RV, dressed in fresh clothes and with my hair pulled back in a professional ponytail, I've managed to convince myself that keeping things platonic is the mature choice.
That resolve lasts exactly thirty seconds after I see Ezra loading our bags into his truck.
He's changed into a clean button-down shirt that highlights the breadth of his shoulders and the strength of his forearms. When he looks up and catches me staring, his eyes darken in a way that makes my kitty purr.
"Ready?" he asks, his voice rougher than usual.
"Ready," I lie, because I'll never be ready for the way this man affects me.
The drive back to Eden Ridge starts in comfortable silence. I watch the farmland roll past the windows, trying to process everything that's happened in the last twenty-four hours. And the kiss that changed everything.
And the fantasy that's still playing on repeat in my mind.
"Thank you," Ezra says suddenly, breaking into my thoughts.
"For what?"
"Last night. For listening. For understanding." His hands tighten on the steering wheel. "I haven't talked about Elizabeth and Rosie like that since they died."
My heart clenches at the raw honesty in his voice. "Thank you for trusting me with their story."
"Francisco thinks they sent you to me," he says quietly. "Elizabeth and Rosie. To help me heal."
The admission hangs in the air. I'm not sure either of us is ready to face the implications of that statement.
"What do you think?" I ask carefully.
He's quiet for so long I wonder if he's going to answer. When he finally speaks, his voice is barely above a whisper.
"I think I'm tired of feeling guilty for wanting to be happy again."
My breath catches. Before I can respond, my phone buzzes with a text. I glance down to see Laurel's name on the screen.
"Laurel wants us to stop by the distillery before I head home," I tell Ezra, reading the message. "She says it's important."
Ezra's brow furrows. "That's odd. She knows we're not due back until later today."
"Should we go?"
"Of course. If Laurel says it's important, it's important."
The closer we get to Eden Ridge, the more anxious I become. Laurel's text was uncharacteristically brief with none of her usual emojis or casual tone. Something is definitely wrong.
We pull into the distillery parking lot to find Grayson's truck already there, which only adds to my growing unease. Through the windows, I see both Laurel and Grayson inside and Grayson looks furious.
