Page 69 of Possessed By the Mountain Man
She smirks, wicked and sweet. “Obsessed, aren’t you?”
I grab her, fingers spreading possessively over her stomach, feeling our kid roll beneath my palm. My heart lives under my hand every time I touch her like this.
“Try me,” I murmur against her neck.
She sighs dramatically. “If you keep touching me in public like this, people are going to think we actually like each other.”
“We do.”
“Yeah, but it’s bad for the brand.”
The brand.
Christ, I still can’t believe this is my life.
Three years ago, we got married under bat-shaped confetti and scandal. Two days later, Aspen decided Devil’s Peak didn’t have nearly enough spooky joy in it—and Haunted Hearts Weddings & Retreats was born. We remodeled a few of the cabins on the river and added some family-friendly areas like a playground, camp store, and multiple fire pits.
Now we’re booked outa year in advance.
Halloween weddings.
Goth vow renewals.
Black lace elopements.
Pagan handfasting ceremonies under the full moon.
And yeah—I build coffin-shaped benches in my workshop professionally now. People pay me for it.
This is who I am now.
Husband. Father. Builder of romantic Halloween-themed infrastructure.
Never saw it coming.
Wouldn’t trade a second of it.
Aspen steps back to admire her setup. The courtyard is covered in flickering lanterns, floating ghost lights, and vintage gothic mirrors she scoured from antique barns. A sign reads:’Til Death Isn’t Long Enough.
She made that one for us.
“You hungry?” she asks, slipping her hand in mine as we start walking.
“Always.”
“I meant for food.”
“That too.”
She bumps my shoulder with hers. “I love you, mountain man.”
“Yeah,” I grunt. “I know.”
She laughs. “You’re supposed to say it back.”
“I show it instead.”
She blinks, eyes soft. “Yeah. You really do.”
