Page 41 of Restored By the Mountain Man
The mental image that creates has me squirming in my seat. "That's not exactly encouraging good behavior."
He pulls back with a grin that's pure sin. "Come on, troublemaker. Let's get this work done so I can take you somewhere special."
The distillery is quiet this early, just a few workers preparing for the day shift. Ezra's office feels different somehow. I settle into the chair across from his desk, trying to look professional despite the fact that I can still feel his hands on my body.
"The Wild Earth partnership is going to require some significant updates to our inventory management system," I say, pulling out my tablet. "We'll need to track different grain varieties, moisture content, and delivery schedules."
Ezra nods, his fingers flying over his keyboard. "I've been thinking about expanding our quality control protocols too. Francisco mentioned some innovative testing methods they use."
We fall into an easy rhythm, working side by side to input data and update systems. It feels natural, this partnership both professional and personal. I catch myself stealing glances at him as he works, admiring him.
"There," he says finally, leaning back in his chair. "That should handle the initial setup. We can refine it as we get more familiar with their processes."
"Efficient and thorough," I observe. "I like that in a man."
His eyes darken. "Keep talking and we'll be testing the structural integrity of this desk."
"Tempting," I admit, "but didn't you mention something about errands before we can get back to your bed?"
His smile shifts from predatory to tender. "I did. There's something I want to get for you."
Twenty minutes later, we're walking down Main Street hand in hand. The morning sun filters through the trees lining the sidewalk and I can't remember the last time I felt this content, this alive. Eden Ridge is waking up around us, shop owners opening their doors, the elderly man at the hardware store setting up his sidewalk display.
"Where are we going?" I ask as Ezra leads me past the bookstore and the small boutique.
"You'll see," he says mysteriously.
Then I spot the familiar awning of Sweet Pines Bakery ahead and my heart does a little skip. "Ezra Hunter, are you about to buy me pastries?"
"Maybe," he says, trying to look innocent and failing completely. "I seem to remember someone mentioning pistachio cronuts."
I stop walking and turn to face him fully. "You remembered that?"
"I remember everything you tell me," he says simply, and the sincerity in his voice makes my chest tight with emotion.
Before I can respond and tell him how much this gesture means to me, my conscience decides to make an appearance. The weight of what we did last night, the risks we took, suddenly feels heavy.
"Ezra," I begin, then stop, not sure how to broach this subject.
"What is it?" He studies my face with concern.
"About last night," I start, then feel heat flood my cheeks. "I mean, about the... the protection situation."
His expression grows serious. "Zoe."
"I'm sorry," I rush on, the words tumbling out in a panic. "I shouldn't have pushed for that. It was inconsiderate of me and reckless, and I wasn't thinking about the implications or what it might mean for you given your history and God, what if I had gotten..." I stop myself before saying the word but it hangs in the air between us anyway.
"What if you had gotten pregnant," he finishes quietly.
I nod, unable to meet his eyes. "I should have been more responsible. More thoughtful about what I was asking."
He's quiet for a long moment and when I finally look up, his expression is unreadable. "Can I ask you something?"
"Of course."
"Do you want children? I mean, in general. Is that something you see in your future?"
The question, as it usually does, fills me with guilt. It's the question I've been dreading, the one that always makes people look at me like I'm broken when I answer honestly.
