Page 5 of Ignited By the Mountain Man
"I'm definitely not most people." She took another bite, making a soft sound of appreciation that did things to my insides. "This is going in the article for sure. 'Local mountain man elevates simple marshmallow to art form.'"
"Mountain man?"
"You object to the terminology?"
I considered that. "Depends on the context, I guess. Makes me sound like I live in a cave and hunt my dinner with a sharp stick."
"Do you?"
"Hunt with a sharp stick? No. Live in a cave…” I grinned. "Define cave."
She laughed, and the sound hit me square in the chest. "Okay, now I'm intrigued. What's your actual living situation? For the article.”
That last part was added quickly. But there was something in her eyes that suggested the question was more personal than professional.
"I've got a cabin about ten minutes from here. Built most of it myself, with some help from the guys." I gestured toward where Marc and the others were still hanging out by the beer cooler. "It's not fancy, but it's mine."
"You built it yourself? Like, actually built it?"
"Foundation, framing, roofing, the works. Took me the better part of two years, working weekends and evenings." I found myself wanting to tell her more, to see that interested look stay on her face. "There's a workshop attached where I do custom furniture, some contracting work."
"That's incredible." She was looking at me like I'd just told her I'd built a rocket ship. "I can barely hang a picture frame straight."
"Different skill sets. You can talk to strangers all day and get them to open up. That's not exactly common either."
"True." She finished the marshmallow and handed me back the stick. "I don't suppose you'd be willing to show me this cabin sometime? It sounds like exactly the kind of authentic mountain lifestyle detail my readers would eat up."
The question caught me off guard. I'd been working up to asking if she wanted to see the place tomorrow, maybe over coffee or lunch. Something planned and civilized.
"When were you thinking?" I asked carefully.
She glanced around at the bonfire, which was still going strong but had definitely hit its peak energy. People were starting to pack up, teenagers were getting called home by parents, and the volunteers were beginning the subtle process of winding things down.
"Well…” She bit her lower lip, and I had to force myself to focus on her words instead of that gesture. "I don't suppose you'd be up for giving me a tour tonight? I know it's late, but I'm kind of a night owl, and honestly, I'm too wired from all this to go back to my room at the inn and stare at the ceiling."
Tonight. She wanted to come to my place tonight.
Every rational part of my brain was pointing out all the reasons that was a bad idea. We'd just met. She was here for work. I didn't know anything about her beyond the fact that she could destroy a kindling pile and learn to build a fire and make my pulse race just by smiling.
"My workshop has better lighting than this," I heard myself saying. "Easier to get good photos for your article."
"Perfect." She was already reaching for her camera bag. "I promise I won't take up too much of your time. I just want to capture the real story, you know? The person behind the community pillar."
Community pillar. Right. This was for her article.
So why did it feel like so much more than that?
"Let me just tell the guys I'm heading out," I said. "You can follow me in your car."
"Actually, I walked over from the inn. It wasn't that far, and I wanted to experience the whole small-town festival atmosphere."
Of course, she had. Which meant she'd need a ride back to town after we were done, which meant more time together, which meant…
I was in so much trouble.
"No problem," I said, like my heart wasn't suddenly racing at the thought of having her in my truck, in my space, seeing the life I'd built here. "Ready when you are."
As we walked toward my truck, leaving the dying bonfire and the last stragglers behind, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was about to cross a line I couldn't uncross.
