Page 11 of How to Love a Mountain Man

My heart stutters at the casual affection in those three words. He’s been saying it for weeks now, throwing it out there like it costs him nothing, like it doesn’t send shockwaves through my entire body every time. I’ve never said it back. I can’t even imagine forming those words without them getting stuck in my throat.

But I’m not sure if that’s because casual affection doesn’t come naturally to me, or because with Julian, it wouldn’t be casual at all.

Later that night, I stand at my kitchen window, stirring a pot of discount mac and cheese. Through the trees and gathering darkness, I can make out several cars parked outside Julian’s house. As I watch, a sedan pulls up, its shape barely visible through the branches, and two women emerge. Even at this distance, through the leaves and shadows, I can tell they’re gorgeous—tall, stylish, exactly the kind of women who would be comfortable at a dinner party. The kind of women who wouldn’t get tongue-tied around Julian’s easy charm.

A knot forms in my stomach as I imagine them inside his house. It’s easy to imagine Julian greeting them with that warm smile of his, pulling them into easy conversation, maybe letting his handlinger on their shoulders as he serves them his perfectly roasted chicken…

I drag my attention back to my sad excuse for dinner, but the mac and cheese suddenly looks even less appetizing than before. Julian’s words echo in my head:If you change your mind, just come over. There’s always a place for you in my home.

But I can’t just show up. I’m not dressed for a dinner party. I’m wearing my usual clothes—practical, comfortable, entirely wrong for a social gathering.

I abandon my mac and cheese and walk to my bedroom, pulling open my closet door. I’ll prove to myself I have nothing appropriate to wear, and then I can stop thinking about it.

But there, pushed to the back of my closet, is a dress I forgot I owned. I bought it months ago for a library fundraiser that I ended up not attending It’s nothing fancy, just a simple wrap dress in deep green, but it’s pretty—and the kind of thing you could wear to a casual dinner party.

So I put the dress on. I brush my hair out, letting it fall loose around my shoulders. I even put on a little mascara. And then I walk over to Julian’s, each step feeling like it’s pulling me in two directions—back toward my quiet cabin and forward toward his warmly lit house.

When Julian answers the door, his entire face lights up. His smile is the brightest I’ve ever seen it.

“You came,” he says giddily. “Holy shit, you actually came.”

“If you’re going to make a big deal about it…” I glance back toward my cabin, but he catches my hand.

He leads me to the kitchen, his hand still holding mine. “Everyone, this is Shae,” he announces to the group gathered around his kitchen island. The way he says it, like they’ve already heard about me, makes my chest fill with warmth. He’s talked about me to them.

The next few hours unfold in a series of small challenges. Each time someone directs a question my way, my heart rate spikes. When the conversation moves too quickly, I lose the thread, and my cheeks heat as I try to catch up. But Julian’s friends are genuinely nice, making space for me in their conversations as if we always gather together like this.

Julian himself is the perfect host, exactly as I imagined he would be. He keeps conversations flowing, makes sure everyone’s glass stays full, and has an effortless way of making everyone feel included. My earlier jealousy proves completely unnecessary—he’s attentive to everyone equally, and there’s no hint of flirtation with anyone.

And, damn, that man can roast a chicken.

After dinner, everyone moves to Julian’s great room for charades. I tuck myself into the corner of his couch, finding myself surprisingly relaxed as I watch everyone take turns. I even join in on the laughter when Dan spends a full minute pretending to be a kangaroo while his wife calls out increasingly ridiculous guesses.

Then it’s Julian’s turn. He unfolds his paper, reads it with a smile, and then pockets it.

He starts by touching his heart, which gets a chorus of “Love!” and “Heartbeat!” When those guesses are wrong, he mimes reading a book. More guesses: “Story!” “Novel!”

Julian turns his attention to me, extending his hand in an invitation to join him. What the hell is he doing? I shake my head, refusing to take his hand, but he gives me a pleading look—one that is impossible to resist.

Damn it. I let him pull me to my feet.

“I can’t believe you’re making me do this,” I murmur under my breath as he draws me into a dance position. Then, suddenly, he’s guiding me around the room with surprising skill, and I find myself following his lead without stumbling. The others call out guesses—“Ballroom dancing?” “Competition?” “Dance lesson?”—while I try to ignore how warm Julian’s hand feels on my waist, how naturally we move together.

Julian shakes his head at their guesses, his eyes full of amusement. He spins me once more around the room, then guides me to a stop in the center, right in front of everyone. Before I can process what’s happening, he releases my waist and lowers down to one knee.

My heart stutters, then bursts into overdrive, as he takes my hand in his. I swallow dryly as Julian mimes opening a small box, looking up at me with an expression that makes my knees seriously weak.

“Romance!” someone guesses.

“Oh, thank fuck,” Julian says as he rises to his feet. “I was running out of ideas.”

Everyone laughs, but I’m still standing there in the middle of the room, feeling the aftershocks of that moment on his knee. I know it didn’t mean a thing, but my body doesn’t seem to know that. My heart is pounding like crazy.

It’s easier to breathe once we switch to another game, but every time Julian glances my way, my pulse kicks up again. And before long, the evening is over, and I find myself alone with Julian, helping him load the dishwasher.

“So,” he says, glancing at me as he rinses a wine glass. “Be honest. How painful was tonight?”

“It wasn’t bad. Actually, it was…nice.” I hand him another glass. “I like your friends.”

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