Page 6 of Valentine's Day With The Mountain Man

"Alright, your turn to shine," she says, nudging me toward the balloon darts with a smile that warms me more than the afternoon sun.

It's a close call, but victory is mine this time. The pop of balloons marks my triumph, and Mia's cheer is genuine, her high-five sending another spark racing along my skin.

"Seems we're evenly matched," she observes, a shared understanding passing between us.

"Seems so," I agree, feeling a camaraderie that goes beyond the games, beyond today.

As we weave through the other contests, laughter bubbling up at every turn, it’s clear that winning or losing is inconsequential. Our friendly rivalry has morphed into mutual encouragement, into a partnership that feels as natural as it is unexpected.

In the heart of Wildwood Ridge, amidst the backdrop of winter, I am discovering that sometimes the most profound connections are birthed from the simplest of interactions. And as I steal glances at Mia, her face alight with the purest of smiles, I know that this twist of fate, this accidental double-booked room, may just be the beginning of something extraordinary.

"Try this," Mia says after visiting one of the booths. She breaks off a piece of sugar-dusted funnel cake and hands it to me. "It's like a cloud made of sugar." As her fingers brush mine, I feel it again, that electric jolt of something and nothing all at once.

I take the piece, and the fluffy dough melts on my tongue, sweet and warm. "That's amazing," I admit, watching her face light up with pleasure at my approval.

We lean against the wooden railing of a food stand, the warmth of hot cider in our hands warding off the chill of the February air. Mia's eyes reflect the twinkle of the festival lights as she turns toward me, an impish smile playing on her lips.

"Let me tell you about my most memorable Valentine's Day," she starts, sipping her cider. "I was ten, and my dad surprised me with a horse-drawn carriage ride." Her voice is tinged with nostalgia, her green eyes distant as if she's traveling back through time. "We rode through our town, sipping hot cocoa and munching on heart-shaped cookies. I felt like a princess, and that day, he was my prince charming."

There's a serenity in her recollection, a pure joy that radiates from her. It's easy to picture a younger Mia, wide-eyed and full of wonder, her laughter echoing down quaint town streets.

"Your dad sounds like a great guy," I say, genuinely moved by the sweetness of her memory.

"He is," she replies, her gaze meeting mine. "What about you? Any Valentine's Day that stands out?"

"Last year," I start, chuckling at the absurdity of what I'm about to share. "I had this whole fancy dinner planned at a high-end restaurant. But halfway through, my girlfriend, ex-girlfriend now, got food poisoning." I shake my head, remembering the night that was supposed to be romantic but ended in disaster.

Mia laughs, her hand coming up to cover her mouth. "Oh no, that's terrible! But also kind of funny, in a twisted way."

"Definitely not the evening I had envisioned," I confess. "Spent the night holding her hair back instead of holding her hand. But hey, at least I proved I'm a gentleman," I tell her with a wink.

"Indeed you did," she teases, her laughter tapering off into a soft smile.

As we continue to chat, sharing tales laced with both humor and heartache, I can't help but notice how effortlessly our stories weave together—a tapestry of past experiences that somehow seem less daunting when shared. There's a comfort in our exchange, the familiarity of two souls recognizing the beauty in life's chaos.

"There's something special about finding the right person to make new memories with," Mia muses. "Someone who understands your quirks, your dreams."

"Someone who makes you laugh, even when things don't go as planned," I add, our voices harmonizing in hope and longing.

"Exactly," she agrees, her eyes meeting mine once more.

In the heart of this small mountain town, amidst the celebration of love, with Mia by my side, I find myself hoping—perhaps fatefully—that we might just be talking about each other. And as our conversation drifts from laughter to deeper confessions, there's a sense that we're already intertwining new threads into our shared story, ones that speak of passions waiting to be explored.

"Who knows," I say, my voice barely above a whisper, "maybe this Valentine's Day will be the one we both remember for years to come."

"Maybe," she whispers back.

6

MIA

The Valentine's Day festival has been a dreamy affair, with couples holding hands and enjoying the festivities under the warm sun. But suddenly, dark clouds begin to gather on the horizon, casting an ominous shadow over the town square. The once tranquil sky turns tumultuous as it broods with shades of deep purple and gray.

I glance at Liam, his eyes reflecting the same surprise that must be painted all over my face.

"Looks like we're about to get drenched," he says with a calm that belies the chaos around us. "Let's make a run for it back to the inn."

We dart through the crowd, our hands clasping and unclasping as we dodge umbrellas and couples less fortunate than us. Laughter bubbles up from my throat, mingling with the collective gasps and shrieks as the skies open up and release a torrential downpour of rain.

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