Page 17 of Mountain Man in my Stockings
"Shut up and check on the short ribs."
"Already did. They're perfect. Unlike your poker face." He disappeared into the kitchen, laughing.
My phone buzzed. A text from Eve:Running a bit late. Traffic on the mountain road. Be there by 7.
I typed back:No rush. Your stool will be waiting.
Her response came immediately:My stool? Pretty presumptuous, mountain man.
I grinned.You sat in the same spot both times you came in. It's basically engraved with your name.
Fair point. See you soon.
The afternoon crawled. I prepped garnishes, helped Sam with inventory, changed a keg. By the time the dinner crowd started filtering in, I was practically vibrating with anticipation.
When Eve walked through the door at seven-fifteen, nothing else mattered.
She'd dressed down again—black leggings that hugged every curve, an oversized fuzzy green sweater that made her eyes look even brighter, hair in soft waves around her face. Minimal makeup, no false lashes—thank god. Just Eve.
Our eyes met across the room, and she broke into a wide smile.
"Hey," she said, claiming her seat.
"Hey yourself." I grabbed a glass, already reaching for the Pine Peak Amber tap. "Productive day at the cabin?"
"Actually got some work done—brainstormed promotional ideas for your Christmas Eve bash. Then rewarded myself with a terrible movie marathon and an entire bag of peppermint bark from the market." She gestured at herself. "Living the dream."
"Sounds perfect to me."
"How about you? Busy?"
"Steady. Lots of skiers fueling up before hitting the slopes." I leaned against the counter. "Your tree still standing, or did it stage a rebellion?"
She laughed. "Still standing. Though I woke up to find half the popcorn garland on the floor. I think I didn't tie it tight enough."
"Amateur mistake."
"Says the man who ate most of our supplies."
"Quality control is important."
Mischief in her eyes. "Is that what we're calling it?"
Before I could respond, her stomach growled audibly. She covered her face, laughing.
"Okay, so peppermint bark wasn't a complete meal. Shocking. What's good tonight?"
"Sam's special—braised short ribs with garlic mashed potatoes. I had it during my break. I think you’d definitely enjoy it."
"Deal,” she nodded. “This town really does serve up great food."
"When you’ve survived on gas station hot dogs during stakeouts, you learn to appreciate good cooking." I put in her order. "Besides, Sam's a genius. He could work anywhere, but he stays here. Says the pace suits him."
"Everyone here seems to have a story like that."
"Most people who choose to stick around say Promise Ridge just feels right to them," I said with a shrug.
She held my gaze. "And what about you? Figured out you want to stick around here?"
