Page 49 of Mountain Hero

Although the scared little voice in my head is desperately pleading for me to say yes, actually I’ve changed my mind and I do want to stay home, I’ve never quit before and I’m not starting now.

“I’m good.” Ignoring his look of skepticism, I add brightly, “I’m excited to go to work with you. Meet the customers. See what you do every day.”

Enzo’s lips press into a thin line and his brow creases, sending a slash of guilt through me. I want this over, and I really think this could work, but I hate making Enzo upset because of it.

A moment later, he leans down to give me a hard and quick kiss. Then he loops his arm around my waist and says, “Okay. Let’s do this, then.”

The instant his arm comes around me, the butterflies settle. The knot masquerading as my stomach loosens. The pressure on my chest releases. “Okay,” I reply, leaning into his side. “Let’s do this.”

By the time lunchtime rolls around, I’m feeling infinitely better and a little foolish for getting so freaked out to begin with.

First was seeing the extent of the precautions Enzo took to make sure the store is completely safe. Not just the security system with cameras and alarms covering every square inch of the building, but he also had the office turned into a safe room, complete with a reinforced steel door, bulletproof windows, a satellite phone, and a small supply of weapons stored in a biometrically locked box.

As Enzo showed it to me, he had me use my fingerprint to unlock it, opening the box to display an array of knives, pepper spray, a taser, and two handguns. “Remember what we talked about,” he said. “The guns are loaded but have the safety on. I don’t think you’ll ever have to use one, but…”

But I can if I need to. Even though it made me nervous initially, I wanted to learn how to shoot, so Enzo’s been giving me regular lessons. And since he used to be a sniper, who better to teach me? I’m not great by any means, but I can hit a target twenty feet away more often than not, which Enzo says is really impressive considering my lack of experience.

I really don’t want to have to shoot anyone. But if Thomas somehow gets in here, I will.

Aside from the security, we also have Ronan here for backup. He’s keeping an eye on the exterior of the store—checking out each car that drives into the parking lot and sending the license plate info to Alec for identification and patrolling the surrounding woods, searching for anything suspicious.

Enzo has been like a devoted guard dog, always watchful and rarely leaving my side. When Mrs. Adamson came in looking for a hiking backpack for her grandson, Enzo looked pained, leaving me behind the counter to help her.

Talking to Mrs. Adamson reminded me of the small-town life I’d been hoping to experience. She’s retired, kind of nosy, but incredibly kind. Mrs. Adamson—Erna, she insisted, none of that formal crap—immediately tried to take me under her wing. “You need anything, dear, you just let me know. I’m on social media, my grandkids insisted, so you can send me a message.”

I have a feeling she knows about Thomas and what he did—she just had this knowing look—but instead, she just patted me on the arm and said before leaving, “I mean it. Anything you need. Or if you want to talk. I’m here.”

So that was pretty nice.

After that, we had a pretty steady run of customers, many of them looking for hiking gear. “Fall is a great time for hiking,” Enzo explained. “Less buggy, great scenery while the foliage is changing, perfect temperature. And some people are gearing up for winter hikes. That’s a big thing around here, too.”

I’m excited to go hiking with Enzo once this thing with Thomas is over, but I’m not so sure about stomping through drifts of snow and being on top of a mountain in freezing temperatures. But who knows. Maybe I’ll end up trying it.

There’s a lull around twelve-thirty, so we unpack some sandwiches and pull up two stools so we can eat at the counter. As I nibble on my ham and Swiss, I open my laptop to show Enzo some more of the designs I’ve made for the store. I’m pretty excited about them, especially after being here and hearing about the customers’ interests.

“So I was thinking about adding some trail guides,” I say, pointing to a mockup of a map on the screen. “Nothing super detailed because I know that’s all available online. But something you could sell here, like a print people could frame after they complete it. Like the Long Trail or Mount Mansfield or Dewey Peak.”

Enzo puts his sandwich down—pastrami and provolone with pickles and mustard, which sounds gross to me, but he swears it’s delicious—and smiles at me. “That’s a great idea, hun. People love mementos of their hikes. And this design looks incredible.”

Warmth blossoms inside me. I’ve gotten plenty of compliments on my work before, but coming from Enzo, it means more. “I could start working on them if you like. Just the closer mountains to start, but if they’re popular, we can expand the collection. Maybe we can have two sizes. Thirty for an eight by ten, and fifty for an eleven by eighteen.”

His brows pull into a V. “You don’t think that’s too much?”

“Definitely not,” I reply. “I worked with a marina that did something similar, except their maps were of the different lakes they gave tours of. And they actually sold them for more. But just starting out, I’m thinking it’s better to start at a lower price.”

Enzo stares at me for a few seconds, an introspective expression on his face. Then he smiles again. “Every time I think I can’t be more amazed by you, you prove me wrong.”

Aww.

My heart is ice cream melting in ninety-degree weather.

Then I catch the flash of desire in his eyes, and my body responds—my skin hyper-sensitized, longing for his touch, lungs squeezing, and this aching emptiness at my core, desperate to be filled.

I’ve been attracted to Enzo since the first time I saw him. But now that I know him, trust him, have opened my heart to him, the attraction has grown into something much bigger.

When I watch him mow the lawn or chop wood—I never got the appeal of a man chopping wood until now—I’m not just appreciative of how he looks; I want to go outside and run my hands all over his broad shoulders and muscly chest and those perfectly ridged abs…

“You probably shouldn’t look at me that way right now.” Enzo’s voice is low and rough. He puts his hand on my thigh, still inches too low from where I’m now throbbing, but close enough to make me ache for his touch. “Not that I don’t like it. Love it, really. But someone could come in any time.”

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