Page 41 of Bossy Mountain Daddies
Ifold the blueberries gently into the batter. I've made these muffins a thousand times, could do it blindfolded, but this morning I'm measuring twice, being extra careful. I want them to be perfect. For Skye.
Today she's coming with me to the hospital, to see a part of my life I don't share with many people. My stomach knots with a nervousness I haven't felt in years, like I'm some damn teenager instead of a grown-ass man.
Outside, birds start their morning songs as the mountains emerge from darkness. My little cabin sits at the edge of town, just far enough away to feel private but close enough that I can walk to Devil's Pass if I need to. The kitchen's the heart of the place—professional-grade appliances, wide counters, and a window that frames the mountains like a postcard.
I slide the muffin tin into the oven and set the timer. Coffee's already brewing, filling the air with its rich aroma. I grab two mugs from the cabinet—the blue one that's my favorite and the green one with little flowers for Skye.
Last night plays through my mind as I wait. Skye had come back from the movies with Vanna, laughing about how bad the movie was. Her cheeks were flushed, her hair slightly messy, andmy chest tightened at the sight of her. I'd been cleaning up the kitchen, getting ready to close up and head home.
"Did you two have fun?" I'd asked.
"It was terrible," she'd said, dropping onto a barstool. "The monster was basically a guy in a rubber suit. And Vanna nearly peed herself laughing."
"I'm heading to the hospital tomorrow morning," I'd said before I could allow myself to overthink it. "Dropping off the hats. If you wanted to come..."
I hadn't finished the sentence, suddenly unsure. But she'd nodded immediately.
"I'd like that," she'd said quietly. "What time?"
And just like that, it was set. Now I'm pulling warm muffins from the oven, my ears straining for the sound of her footsteps on the front porch.
The timer dings. The muffins are perfect—golden brown tops with blueberries peeking through like tiny jewels. I set them on a rack to cool just as there's a knock at the door.
My heart does a stupid little jump in my chest. I wipe my hands on a kitchen towel, take a deep breath, and head to the front door.
Skye stands on my porch, morning sunshine catching in her hair. She's wearing jeans and a simple blue sweater that brings out flecks of color in her hazel eyes. Her hair's pulled back in a neat ponytail.
"Hi," she says, smiling up at me. "Your directions were good. I found it without getting lost."
I step back to let her in. "Come in. Muffins just came out of the oven."
She follows me inside, looking around curiously. "Your place is beautiful, Buck. Not what I expected."
"What were you expecting?" I ask, leading her to the kitchen.
"I don't know. More..." she gestures vaguely. "Motorcycle parts on the coffee table? Modular furniture? Definitely not all these plants and books."
I laugh, feeling more relaxed. "The plants were Grandma Sadie's idea. Said a home needs living things besides the person who lives there." I pour coffee into the two mugs I'd set out. "Cream and sugar, right?”
"Yes, please," she says, moving to the window. "This view is incredible."
"Best part of the place," I agree, handing her the mug. "Muffins should be cool enough to eat if you want one."
“How about if I want three?” she jokes.
“You’re welcome to ‘em. As many as you’d like.”
She settles at the kitchen island, wrapping her hands around the mug. "Did you build this place?"
"Nah," I say, placing a warm muffin on a plate in front of her. "I bought it about ten years ago. Was a wreck then. I fixed it up little by little."
"By yourself?" she asks, taking a bite of muffin and moaning with pleasure. If she only knew what that sound does to me…
I shrug, pleased by her interest. "Mostly. Ford helped with the kitchen design—he's good with spatial stuff. Griff helped with the roof." I sit across from her with my own coffee. "We work well together, the three of us. Always have."
I watch her enjoy the muffin, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth.
"These are just as good as the ones from the other morning," she says, breaking off another piece. "Maybe better."
