Page 24 of Snug with the Mountain Man
I cup her jaw gently, brushing my thumb along her cheek. “But I want to be the man who shows up for you. Who sticks. Who holds your hand and kisses your shoulders and tells you he loves you every damn day.”
“You already are,” she says, voice breaking on the last word. “You’ve been showing up since the beginning.”
She presses her cheek to my chest, arms curling around my waist. We stand like that for a long moment, the only sound the gentle pop of the fire and the simmer of soup on the stove.
Then she tilts her head back and gives me a watery smile. “I still dance in the kitchen sometimes when you’re not home.”
I chuckle low in my throat. “Now you’re just trying to kill me.”
She smacks my arm and turns toward the little Bluetooth speaker on the counter. A soft country song flows through the cabin, something slow and warm, with a voice like honey and a lazy beat.
She holds out her hand. “Dance with me?”
I hesitate. I don’t dance. Not really. But for her, I’ll try.
I take her hand, pull her close, and let the music guide us. Her head rests against my chest. Our feet shuffle in slow circles across the worn wooden floor. The firelight flickers. The whole world feels far away.
“I fell in love with you that night,” I murmur against her hair.
She pulls back, eyes wide. “The night you saw me dancing?”
I nod. “Didn’t want to. Tried to fight it. But I did.”
She swallows hard, then wraps her arms around my neck. “I think I fell when you came back when I called. I was inside, freaking out, and you showed up. Like some grumpy mountain man fairy godmother.”
I snort. “Not the nickname I was going for.”
She laughs and rests her forehead against mine. “You make me feel safe. Wanted. Like maybe I don’t have to have everything figured out all the time.”
I tilt her chin up and kiss her slowly and deeply, pouring everything I can’t say into the press of my mouth against hers. She tastes like home.
When I pull back, she smiles. “So… what now?”
I glance toward the stove. “Dinner before you burn it.”
She groans. “Crap. The soup.”
She darts back to the pot, stirring frantically, muttering under her breath about how I distract her too easily.
I lean in the doorway and just watch.
Watch this woman who came back to town with no plan and carved out a place in my life like she’d always meant to be here. Watch her hips sway as she moves around the kitchen. Watch the way her whole face lights up when she plates something that smells amazing and sets it on the table like it’s nothing.
Later, after dinner, we sit curled on the couch, her legs over mine, a blanket wrapped around us. We don’t say much. We don’t have to.
Because the truth is simple, she’s mine and I’m hers.
Epilogue One
Maisie
One Year Later
The sun is just starting to dip behind the mountains when I flip the sign on the flower shop door toClosedand lock up for the night.
Pine Hollow is golden this time of day. The light slips low through the trees, scattering warmth across the sidewalk as I step outside. Bonnie’s already gone, off to dinner with herboyfriend, who’s planning something exciting if the way he was sweating through his collar earlier is any indication.
I take a deep breath. The air smells of wood smoke and pine.
