Page 6 of Ignited By the Mountain Man
And for the first time in three years, I was looking forward to it.
3
KEELY
Iwas gaping again. I'd already chastised myself for doing that earlier at the bonfire, but I couldn't help it.
Silas's workshop was small but impressive. I stood near the doorway, next to him, staring at an unfinished coffee table.
"What's great about it is it has wheels," he said, "so it can move around." He walked over to it and lifted the top. "Ready-made dinner table for people who eat their meals in front of the TV."
"I might fit into that demographic," I said. "But I'm single. I'm sure someday when I have a family, we'll gather around the table together for dinner. That's how I've always pictured it, anyway."
What was I going on about? Talking about marriage and kids was one way to scare off a hot guy.
Why did I care about any of that? This wasn't a date. I was here to do a job and move on to the next location.
But if that was true, why did I feel so nervous suddenly? And why was I noticing the way his hands moved over the wood grain, gentle but confident, like he was reading something written in the texture?
"You want something to drink?" he asked, apparently not fazed by my random family planning commentary. "I keep a mini-fridge stocked out here for long work nights."
"Sure. Whatever you have is fine."
He walked to the corner, where a small refrigerator hummed quietly, and pulled out two bottles of water. "Sorry, nothing exciting. I save the beer for when I'm done with power tools."
"Smart policy." I accepted the water gratefully, suddenly realizing how thirsty I was. The bonfire smoke and nervous chatter had left my throat dry.
"So," I said, taking refuge in my professional persona, "how long have you been doing this? The furniture making?"
"Started about a year after I moved here." He leaned against his workbench, completely at ease in his space. "I needed something to do with my hands. The transition from military life to civilian life was…” He paused, seeming to search for the right words. "Rougher than I expected."
"In what way?"
"Everything was different. The pace, the structure, the sense of purpose. In the Navy, you wake up knowing exactly what your day looks like, what your mission is. Out here, suddenly you have all this freedom, and it's terrifying."
I lowered my camera, realizing this wasn't going to be the kind of conversation where I took notes or photos. This was personal.
"So you started building things?"
"Started building this place, actually. The cabin was barely livable when I bought it. But working with my hands, creating something from nothing… it helped. Gave me that sense of purpose back."
I looked around the workshop with new appreciation. "You did all this yourself?"
"Most of it. The guys helped with the heavy lifting, but yeah. Every shelf, every workbench, every piece of organization you see here—that's mine."
There was pride in his voice, but also something vulnerable. Like he was sharing more than he'd intended.
"It's incredible," I said softly.
"What about you?" He took a long drink of water, his eyes never leaving mine. "You travel all over for work. That has to be exciting."
"It is. Or it was." I found myself being more honest than I'd planned. "Lately, it feels more like running than exploring."
"Running from what?"
The question hung in the air between us. It was such a simple question, but the answer was complicated. How could I explain that I'd turned my life into a series of temporary stops because permanent anything terrified me?
"Expectations, I guess. Everyone wants to know when I'm going to settle down, get a real job." I made air quotes around the last part. "As if what I'm doing now isn't real."
