Page 94 of Ten Mountain Men

I nod, decisively. “Yes, two weeks. It’s like a vacation, and honestly, I haven’t had one in a long time,” I admit, feeling the truth of my words as I speak them.

The last one, I think, was to Disneyland when I was in college, but let’s be honest, Björnssonworld has way better rides.

Luke nods slowly. “Okay, two weeks. But don’t lead them on. You’re saying friendship and sex, but don’t give them any reason to think it’s any more than that. Please.” Then he clears his throat, as if he’s realized how polite he sounded and it tastes bad. “And don’t get any ideas, Goldilocks,” he adds, gruff as ever. “You’re not going to sweet-talk me into any kissy-kissy or one of your lumbersexual makeovers.

I laugh. “Well, that’s probably a good thing, since, as a fan of Billy Ray Cyrus, your idea of a makeover just might include a mullet, and I would have to morally object.”

“Okay, so, we all earn our keep around here,” he says. “Even if you’re only staying for two weeks, you’ll be expected to do the same, and sexual favors do not count.”

I nod. “Of course. Put me on the chore chart.”

He shoots me a quizzical look but shakes his head. “We don’t have a lot of time for cleaning, so would you mind helping out with that?”

I swear his request is very close to being a more pleasant surprise than Brooks’s first thrust into me this morning. But I can’t help thinking,That’s one small step for (mountain) man, one giant leap for Goldiekind. Or maybe it’s the other way around. And hopefully Neil Armstrong won’t haunt me for cannibalizing his famous quote, but…I mean…sweet Lord, this is excellent! Ankle be damned, lack of space be damned—a happy dance is forthcoming if he’s serious.

“Of course I wouldn’t mind cleaning! Go chop some wood, or whatever you were planning to do. I will Marie Kondo the hell out of this place.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, slow down,” he says, but is that the barest hint of a smile I see playing hide-and-seek with me from within that grizzly beard? “I’m not talking life-changing magic here.”

My mouth drops open. “You’re familiar with the KonMari method?”

“We have a copy of the Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up around here…somewhere. Maybe a couple. I dunno. But you’re only here for two weeks, so let’s…start with the basics. The dishes. I just made up a new batch of washing-up liquid.”

I glance at the sink and the counter and basically every surface in the kitchen. Yes, the dishes alone might just take two weeks.

“Okay. I’ve got the dishes. You go chop that wood!” I stop myself from tacking ashoo!onto the end of my sentence.

The others could be on their way back already. As soon as I get Luke out the door, I’ll have to make very quick work of getting all the cameras down. The thought of the brothers walking in and finding me mid-retrieval sends a jolt of panic through my chest. How would I explain that?Oh, these?Just some knick-knacks you all must’ve had on these shelves for years because I’ve certainly never seen them before!My heart hammers as I picture their confusion shifting into hurt—and then anger. No…the hurt would be way worse than anger.

“Go, go, go!” I say, reaching up and giving his shoulder what I hope is a playful li’l shove. “I’ve got this.”

But he shakes his head. “Nah. Many hands make light work. And besides, you want me to give the companionship thing a try, right? So we might as well start with tackling some pots and pans together.”

Before I can protest, he hits play on the boom box and the time for talking is over.

Chapter 30

Goldie

I’m elbow-deep in soapy water—soapy water that smells like raspberries and cream, because apparently that scrumptious bubble bath is washing-up liquid theymake themselvesand use for everything.

I’m scrubbing at a particularly stubborn casserole dish, still trying to calm my nervous heart and tamp down the foreboding nausea that’s joined it. Both are impossible feats, knowing the cameras are filming us, even now.

Luke and I settle into an easy rhythm, scraping and scouring and rinsing, while the music from the boom box plays in the background—the volume at reasonable levels now. “Achy Breaky Heart” ended, segueing into “Faith” by George Michael, then “Islands in the Stream” by Kenny Loggins and Dolly Parton.

It’s about then that I realize this is a proper eighties or nineties mixtape we’re listening to. I wonder who made it, and who they made it for. What was the occasion? I press my lips together so I don’t ask, since this is obviously a relic from the past, and I need to respect that they don’t talk about that. Unless they bring it up, of course.

There are a lot of dishes. And I mean,a lotof dishes. Some of them are so caked in grime I wonder if they’ve ever been properly washed. We work quietly and efficiently, passing dishes back and forth like we’ve been doing this for years.

At some point, I catch myself singing along, softly, the lyrics to “Take My Breath Away” slipping out between breaths as I scrub. I stop, realizing that Luke is singing too. His deep, gravelly voice hums the chorus under his breath, and for a moment, it feels strangely intimate.

I risk a glance at him, and he’s glancing at me. That’s when I notice it—really notice it in a way I haven’t before. In a way I feel as well as see. There’s something ruggedly, magnetically attractive about him, even though he’s still holding on to that wild, untamed look, his beard and hair a mess of silver and salt. Yet those strands almost glitter in the sunlight streaming through the windows, like tinsel on a Christmas tree.

Luke may just be the most handsome of them all, I think, and I have the zaniest urge to reach up, up, up and trace the fine lines around his mouth with my fingertips.

He must sense me watching him because he turns, catching me mid-stare. I freeze, the sponge slipping from my fingers into the water. In his steel-gray eyes, I notice flecks of blue I hadn’t seen before. His brows furrow like he’s about to ask me something—

But then, the door bursts open, and the cabin is flooded with noise, laughter, and chaos.

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