Page 10 of Mountain Man in my Stockings
Chapter Three
Eve
My laptop screen glared back at me, cursor blinking on an empty draft. I'd been sitting at the cabin's kitchen island for three hours, attempting to schedule social media posts for my clients. Not a single caption written, no content planned, nothing accomplished.
Instead of working, I'd caught myself scrolling through Instagram, checking my clients' metrics, and staring out the window at the snow-covered pines. My notifications had gone silent since I'd muted most apps upon arriving. The silence felt both strange and welcome.
"Focus, Eve," I muttered, rubbing my eyes.
I hadn't lost my ability to craft the perfect post—I'd lost interest. After years of staging every moment for maximum engagement, the idea of returning to that world felt exhausting. Yet it was my livelihood, one I'd built from nothing.
The wall clock jolted me from my thoughts. Eleven fifteen. Deacon would be here in forty-five minutes.
"Shit," I hissed, abandoning my laptop and racing for the shower.
Under the hot spray, I found myself unexpectedly eager for noon to arrive. Our interactions over the past two nights kept replaying in my mind—from that surprising mistletoe kiss to last night's easy conversation about the upcoming holiday bash. Thewarmth in his expression when I'd shared my mortifying carol disaster story. How he'd laughed with me, not at me. Then his casual invitation to show me around today, which I'd accepted without hesitation.
Hair wrapped in a towel, I stood before the bathroom mirror, makeup bag untouched on the counter. My usual routine would take thirty minutes minimum—primer, foundation, contour, highlight, brows, shadow, liner, lashes, lips. The works.
My hand hovered over my foundation, then paused. Who was I trying to impress? Not my followers—I hadn't posted since Hayden had called off our wedding. Not the locals with their practical winter wardrobes.
I thought of how at ease Deacon seemed in his own skin. The confidence that came from knowing exactly who he was and not apologizing for it. Maybe I could try that, just for today.
"Screw it," I decided, pushing the foundation aside.
I kept it minimal—tinted moisturizer, a touch of blush, a swipe of mascara. My natural lashes seemed pathetically short after months of extensions, but they were mine. I let my hair air-dry into its natural waves instead of fighting them into submission with my straightener.
The woman in the mirror looked younger. Softer. More like the Eve I'd been before follower counts and engagement metrics took over. A stranger with familiar eyes.
For clothes, I bypassed the Instagram-worthy outfits I'd packed by habit. Instead, I pulled out my softest jeans and an oversized cream sweater I loved but rarely wore in public—too casual for my brand. Warm socks and boots completed the look.
When tires crunched on snow outside, my stomach tightened. I grabbed my coat and scarf, suddenly jittery as a teenager before a first date.
His truck was exactly what I'd expected—rugged, slightly muddy, with a dent in the passenger door that hinted at anuntold story. Deacon sat behind the wheel, and when he spotted me on the porch, his smile brightened his entire face.
"Morning," he called, climbing out to meet me. Today he wore dark jeans and a blue flannel that intensified the color of his eyes, a charcoal beanie covering his dark hair.
"Morning," I replied, suddenly shy.
His gaze moved over me, taking in the casual outfit and makeup-light face. His expression softened with appreciation before he gestured toward the truck.
"Ready for your tour?"
"As ready as I'll ever be."
He opened the passenger door for me. As I slid in, the scent of cedar and fresh coffee filled the cab.
"Nice place," he commented, backing down the driveway and nodding toward the cabin. "Though I couldn't help but notice you're missing something critical."
"What's that?"
"A tree." His smile deepened at the corners. "That's practically illegal at Christmas around here."
I stiffened slightly. "I'm not exactly feeling festive this year."
"Fair enough." He navigated the icy switchbacks with the confidence of someone who'd driven these roads a thousand times. "Though I should warn you—you won't escape the holiday spirit today. It's like a seasonal ambush everywhere you look."
