Page 16 of Noel with the Mountain Man
"I'm starting to believe that again."
We eat dinner at the small kitchen table, plates piled high with food that's simple but delicious. Kyler tells me stories about Maren—funny ones, sweet ones, the kind that celebrate a life instead of mourning it. I listen and laugh and feel honored that he's sharing this with me.
After dinner, we curl up on the couch with the last of the cocoa mix. The fire crackles softly, the only sound besides the faint whistle of wind outside.
Kyler stretches an arm along the back of the couch and draws me closer until I’m tucked against his side. “You know,” he says, “this is the first Christmas in two years that doesn’t feel like something to survive.”
I tilt my head to look at him. “What does it feel like instead?”
He meets my eyes. “Like a beginning.”
Something tight in my chest loosens. “Mine too.”
We sit like that for a long time, watching the fire burn down to embers. Every so often, he presses a kiss to my temple, and Ithink about how strange and perfect it is that two people could get snowed in, fall apart, and find something whole again.
Later, when we finally head upstairs, the room glows gold from the last of the firelight. He brushes his thumb along my jaw.
“I don’t want to let you go tomorrow,” he murmurs.
“Then don’t.” I prop myself up on one elbow, heart hammering. “Come back with me—to Nashville. Stay for a few days. Meet my world.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. And then I’ll come to Lexington. See your workshop. Meet your world.” I smile. “We’ll figure it out. Together.”
“Together,” he repeats, like he’s testing the word. Then he grins. “I like the sound of that.”
He pulls me down for a kiss that deepens quickly, until it’s all warmth and breath and promise.
And as we lose ourselves in each other again, I think about how I came here looking for peace.
Instead, I found somethingmore. I found a man who makes me feels safe, and perfectly at home.
Chapter 6
Kyler
Morningcomestoofast.
I wake up to Noel packing her duffel bag, and something in my chest clenches painfully. She's humming, but there's a tension in her shoulders that wasn't there yesterday.
"You don't have to rush," I say.
She jumps, then laughs. "I thought you were asleep."
"Hard to sleep when you're trying to sneak out on me."
"I'm not sneaking." But she won't quite meet my eyes. "Just getting ready. Like we talked about."
Right. The plan. She drives back to Nashville today. I follow in a couple days. We try the long-distance thing and see what happens.
It's a good plan. A reasonable plan.
I hate it.
I get up and cross to her, stilling her hands on the zipper of her bag. "Talk to me."
"I'm fine."
