Page 10 of Getaway with the Mountain Man
"Morning, beautiful." The endearment slips out naturally, and I'm rewarded with a flush of color across her cheekbones.
"What time is it?" she asks, not making any move to leave the circle of my arms.
I glance at the bedside clock. "Just after eight."
We make love again, slow and tender in the morning light, taking our time to explore each other without the desperate urgency of the night before. Afterward, we share the lodge's surprisingly spacious shower, hands roaming freely under the hot spray.
Breakfast at the lodge's restaurant is a test of my acting abilities. Lottie sits across from me, looking perfectly put-together in jeans and a soft sweater, while I try to ignore the knowing looks from Vernon and his staff. Small towns are terrible at keeping secrets, and the fact that my truck was parked outside the lodge all night hasn't gone unnoticed.
"Stop looking so smug," Lottie murmurs, though her eyes dance with amusement.
"I'm not smug," I protest. "I'm satisfied."
Her cheeks flush pink. "Behave yourself. People are watching."
"Let them watch," I say, reaching across the table to take her hand. "I'm not ashamed of being with you."
Something flickers across her expression—surprise, pleasure, and something that might be uncertainty. "Jakob..."
"I know what you're going to say," I interrupt gently. "You're leaving in four days. This is complicated. We live in different worlds."
"All of those things are true," she says softly.
"They are," I agree. "But they're not the only truth."
Before she can respond, Vernon approaches our table with his usual cheerful demeanor and terrible timing.
"Lottie! How are you enjoying our little town? Getting the full Silver Ridge experience, I see." His knowing wink makes me want to throttle him.
"It's been wonderful," Lottie says, slipping easily into polite guest mode. "Everyone's been so welcoming."
"That's our specialty," Vernon beams. "Small-town hospitality. Jakob here's one of our finest—third generation Silver Ridge, works with the logging crews. Real salt of the earth type."
Vernon means well, but I see the way Lottie's expression shifts, the reminder that she's the sophisticated visitor and I'm essentially local color. Her polite smile becomes more fixed, more distant.
The rest of breakfast passes in strained conversation about weather and hiking trails and other safe topics. By the time we leave the lodge, the easy intimacy of the morning has been replaced by careful politeness that makes my chest ache.
"Want to see more of the area?" I ask as we step outside. "There are some beautiful spots most tourists never find."
She hesitates, and I see her internal struggle playing out across her face. "I should probably explore the town some more. You know, get the full tourist experience." The word "tourist" sits heavy between us, loaded with new meaning after Vernon's comments.
"Right," I say, trying to keep the disappointment from my voice. "Of course."
We part ways on Main Street, and I watch her walk toward the shops with careful distance between us that wasn't there an hour ago. Everything logical tells me to let her go, to accept that she's right about our fundamental incompatibility.
But logic has nothing to do with the way my chest aches as she disappears into a boutique, or the certainty that I'm letting something precious slip through my fingers.
I spend the afternoon helping Mattias with some equipment maintenance, trying to lose myself in the familiar work. But my mind keeps circling back to Lottie—the way she'd melted in my arms last night, the uncertainty in her eyes this morning, the careful way she'd pulled back after Vernon's reminder of our differences.
"You look like hell," Mattias observes, glancing up from the hydraulic system he's working on. "Rough night?"
"Something like that," I mutter, not in the mood for his teasing.
"Or a rough morning?" He sets down his wrench, studying me with that annoying perceptive look. "Let me guess—reality set in when the sun came up?"
I don't answer, which is answer enough.
"Jakob," he says, his tone turning serious. "If you care about her—really care—you need to fight for her. Not let some well-meaning comments from Vernon drive a wedge between you."
