Page 10 of Sugar for the Mountain Man
Rather than bringing her pastries for me to try, I want to convince her to use my oven. To keep her here as long as possible, I’ll let her use whatever she wants to her heart’s content.
Hitting send, the message doesn’t send immediately. I scowl at the lack of service I have up here. This mountain is serious hell at times. I don’t plan on letting anything get in my way. Not even Mother Nature herself. Leaving my couch, I stroll the length of my home, trying to find some kind of sweet spot. Anything to get enough bars for my invitation to go through.
The last thing I need is for Maribel to misunderstand my silence as my way of ghosting her. Little does she know, the real words I want to tell her are too strong to say through a text.
I even step outside the cabin, across the wooden porch. Finally, the message goes through, and my face softens. Waiting for her response is going to be hellish, just as the previous few have been. But when the time comes, I’m going to be ready.
5
Maribel
I may have gone a little overboard with the number of ingredients I’ve stuffed inside my car. There’s no way I’d dare ask Sasha to let me borrow anything from the shop. Instead, I’ve plundered my kitchen and brought everything I thought I could possibly need.
Something like this feels like I’ve got one shot. It’s not something I want to mess up.
With the address given to me, I make my way up the mountain. Thankfully, having explored these trails and paths a thousand times over from growing up in this small town, finding his home isn’t hard. However, I’m still more than shocked when my car comes to a slow stop in front of his home.
Having passed more than a handful of cabins coming up here, none are as big as this one. This doesn’t feel right.
My idea of a cabin involves weathered logs, a sagging porch, and the faint, earthy smell of decay. This… this is a fortressof wood and glass built into the shoulder of the mountain. It’s massive, sprawling out with multiple rooflines and angles that look like they were designed by an architect who loved the wilderness but refused to sacrifice a single modern comfort.
The wood—some rich, reddish cedar—is pristine, not a single gray streak of weather on it. It smells like sawdust and varnish, the scent so new it still feels temporary. This place can’t be more than a year or two old.
My gaze travels up, and up, to walls that are more window than timber. The glass is a dark, smoky obsidian, reflecting the towering pines and the cloudy skies above.
Wesley appears to be a man who values his privacy from the looks of it, and he must have a wallet large enough to afford a place like this.
The more I find out about Wesley on my end, the more curious I grow about him.
All of this space for one guy doesn’t seem right. The sheer excess of it feels less like an escape and more like a statement.
Is he lonely? Would he be willing to change his ways and accept someone like me into his life?
Unclasping my seatbelt, I shake away my awestruck stare and abandon my car. I don’t want to leave him waiting for too long.
I’m barely grasping two plastic bags of ingredients before I hear the sound of a door opening. Leaning back, I look toward the deck wrapping the cabin to see Wesley alive in the flesh.
Instantly, my lips tingle as I remember how it felt to have his mouth on mine. My poor stomach does somersaults, and I struggle to get out my greeting.
He’s back to wearing his usual button-up shirt, this one with the first few buttons already unbuttoned, revealing inches of his tanned skin beneath. If he were much closer, I might be able to see a hint of what kind of impressive body he’s hiding.
What he’s wearing isn’t the only thing that has my attention. It’s the expression on his face. For what feels like the first time, he’s not frowning. Rather, he looks relieved to see me.
Is he as twisted up about seeing me as I have been about him? Nerves have made my fingers tremble, and not even my coworkers’ throwing words of encouragement toward me has been enough to make me feel any more confident. I mean, while I’ve had my own couple of lackluster relationships in the past, none have ever made me feel this much on edge.
Wesley eases his way down the wooden steps before he swoops in smelling freshly of a mix of leather and lemon. Instead of asking me if I need help, he’s brushing his fingers against mine to steal the bags straight from my hands. His brows immediately lift at the weight behind them.
“I brought more than I needed, don’t worry. I’ll take home whatever is left over,” I explain in a rush before he thinks to tell me that I don’t need to worry about impressing him. I can already hear the words in his voice.
The truth is, Idoneed to impress him. Having made something he didn’t hate, I got a kiss out of it. What will I get if I create something he loves?
I shiver just thinking about it.
He takes it wrong, ushering me toward his home where it’s warmer. Just clinging near him is enough to make my skin warm.
Hardly giving me any time to dissect the inside of his home, I don’t have to look too far to see how vast it is. Furnished well enough, there’s still too much space.
Speaking of space, I fall in love with his kitchen the moment I step inside. Sure, he doesn’t have a setup likeBake Me Happy,but he’s got a conventional oven that is far nicer than mine. The island planted in the middle is perfect for preparation. The rest of the marble counter space?
