Page 32 of Unwrapped By the Grumpy Mountain Man
He's in the kitchen, slicing vegetables. The sight of this big, gruff man preparing food so carefully makes something in my chest twist pleasantly.
"Need help?" I offer, coming to stand beside him.
He glances at me, then back to his task. "I've got it. You've had a big day."
"We both have," I remind him. "Let me help."
After a moment's consideration, he slides the cutting board toward me. "You can finish these while I start the chicken."
We work in companionable silence for a few minutes, the only sounds the rhythmic chopping and the sizzle of the pan as Hudson adds the chicken.
"This feels strangely normal," I comment, surprised by how easy it is to move around him in the kitchen, as if we've done this a hundred times before.
His lips twitch. "You expected it to be weird?"
"Marrying a man I've known for less than a week? Yeah, a little weird." I bump his hip with mine playfully, then freeze, suddenly unsure if such casual contact is welcome.
But Hudson just nudges me back, his expression softening. "Fair point, Goldie."
The nickname warms me from the inside out. I hand him the chopped vegetables, and our fingers brush. That same electric current passes between us, and I know he feels it too from the way his eyes darken slightly.
We manage to get through dinner preparation and the meal itself without further incident, though I'm hyperaware of his every movement, his every glance. The conversation flows easier than expected, covering safe topics like my writing assignments, his work schedule, plans for the house.
It's afterward, as we're cleaning up, that reality sets in again.
"So," I say, drying a plate, "what's your bedtime routine like? I don't want to disrupt your schedule."
Hudson pauses in scrubbing a pan. "Usually watch some TV, maybe read. Nothing fancy."
"I'm a reader too," I tell him, pleased by this small commonality.
"I noticed the books you brought," he says. "Some good ones in there."
I smile, oddly touched that he paid attention. "What are you reading currently?"
He hesitates, as if embarrassed. "Just some carpentry stuff. Techniques for custom furniture."
"That's impressive," I say genuinely. "I'd love to see your work sometime."
"Maybe," he allows, but I can tell he's pleased by my interest.
By the time we finish cleaning up, it's after nine. The awkwardness returns as we stand at the bottom of the stairs, both aware of what comes next.
"I usually shower at night," I tell him. "If that's okay?"
"Go ahead," he nods. "I'll lock up down here."
The hot shower helps ease my nerves, but only temporarily. When I emerge, wrapped in a fluffy towel, I realize I've left my pajamas in the bedroom. Taking a deep breath, I open the bathroom door.
Hudson is sitting on the edge of the bed, his back to me, head bowed slightly. He's already changed into sleep pants and a tight t-shirt that showcases his muscular back and shoulders. The sight makes my mouth go dry.
"Just need to grab my pajamas," I say, my voice higher than normal.
He turns slightly, then quickly faces away again when he sees me in just a towel. "Take your time."
I grab what I need and scurry back to the bathroom, my heart pounding. This is ridiculous. We're adults. Married adults, technically. And yet we're acting like shy teenagers.
When I come out again, properly dressed in cotton shorts and a tank top, Hudson has moved to the far side of the bed, a book in his hands. He glances up, his eyes darkening as they take in my bare legs.
