Page 24 of Harvest Brew With the Mountain Man
“Exactly. Then I’ll have to hear her vent about that shit for an hour. Love the woman, but I don’t have time today.” He flicks hishand over his shoulder as he leaves and calls out, “Answer my texts, fucker. I have a brother on surveillance.”
“I don’t want an MC bodyguard, Drew.”
“Tough shit. Life isn’t fair. Call Grayson, West.”
“Already texted him.” Door closes.
The cabin goes deathly silent as the rev of my brother’s heavy motorcycle drives off West’s property. West’s hand on my cheek startles me out of my head that’s spiraling.
“How’re you feeling?” he asks.
Sighing, I melt into his body, needing a hug. “That went better than I thought it would. Nearly shit myself when he caught me bullshitting.”
His fingers play with the ends of my hair. “We take this slow. We figure it out for ourselves first, then we tell him.”
“Agreed,” I nod against his chest. “We haven’t had time. This just happened. We’re allowed a moment to see what happens. Means keeping your hands off me, Hunter,” I pat his back, hoping to steer us back to calmer waters.
“No can do, Little Pixie. That one’s Nora’s, and she uses it like a curse word.”
I chuckle into his chest, which I breathe in deeply, centering my tumbling insides. I lean back, keeping our bodies close. That dimple on his left cheek peeks out as he smiles down at me.
“How are you at picking out pumpkins?” I weirdly ask.
West’s confusion is palpable, giving me a laugh.
“Come on, Mountain Man. Let’s go check out the festival prep.”
CHAPTER SIX
WEST
Ever since I could remember, Eden Ridge has come alive every new season’s Festival. One of the biggest, our Fall Festival. The opening and events are at the end of the month.
The deep colors of Autumn coat every tree except for some of Oregon’s evergreens. Main Street could be the fall version of a Kincaid Christmas painting. Autumnal garlands wrap around every vintage black lamppost, and rows of maple leaf string lights hang between buildings down the street. At the end of Main, leading to the mountain roads that take you to the residential homes, is where countless tents are erected for all the vendors volunteering to give our town and tourists a memorable season.
“God, I love our home,” Camille breathes out as we walk down Main, heading to the bar.
“Just gotta check in with Beckett before we head to Jenkins’ booth.”
Her face lights up at the prospect of picking out pumpkins.
“Don’t look at me like that. You didn’t know this cause you were off making trouble with my brother, but I was a champion pumpkin carver,” she bumps her hip to mine.
“I did know, Nyx. Who do you think left you all those rejected pumpkins on your porch?”
I turn my face and find she’s not there. Stopping, I look over my shoulder. Camille gapes at me, not moving.
“You? Seriously?”
Suddenly nervous, I face her, shrugging. “I knew you’d make something awesome from them. They wouldn’t go to waste.”
The look in her eyes is intense as she walks determined right up to me, leaving a sliver of space between us.
“If I could, I would kiss the crap out of you right now,” she whispers.
I force my body to remain still. The urge to say, fuck who sees, is strong. “Can’t say shit like that, Little Pixie, when I can’t do something about it.”
Her eyes darken, the honey in her hazel eyes practically glowing with heat.
