Page 17 of Kissing the Wrong Mountain Man

No I don't.

Yes you do.

No I don't.

Yes you do.

I spend pretty much the rest of the episode mentally arguing with myself about my feelings for Schapelle, ultimately not reaching a resolution. The sad truth is I like her, even though I know I shouldn't. She's had such a long streak of bad luck with men, she deserves to be with a decent, emotionallyun-damagedguy. I have to accept that and move on.

"So, what did you think?" she asks as the credits start to roll.

"It was…very '90s."

She bites her bottom lip. "You hated it?"

"No, I didn't hate it." It wasn't something I'd watch myself, but sharing a couch with Schapelle and stealing glances her way whenever I could definitely helped.

"So you'd watch another one?"

A hopeful glimmer shines in her eyes. I don't have it in me to crush it. "Sure. Why not?"

Three nights later, we're up to the ninth episode. Schapelle checks in from time to time, asking me what I think. I have to admit, I'm starting to get into the show. It's still a little young and too cutesy for me, but it's not terrible. Unless any one of my brothers ask, in which case, it absolutely is, and I'm only watching it for her.

"Are you sure this is okay?" she asks, lifting her feet slightly.

I grab them with both hands and place them down on the pillow over my lap. "Of course it is."

She felt too self-conscious to lay how she normally does on the couch with me on it, but since her feet are swelling and causing her pain, I grabbed a pillow, placed it on my legs, and insisted she rest her feet on me.

And if my hands happen to fall to her feet and my thumb happens to apply gentle, circular pressure to her soles, or my knuckles roll over the bottom of her foot, then who am I to stop it?

And yes, I hear how pathetic that sounds, but I'm currently losing my battle with logic and still stupidly harboring a wish that something more could happen between us.

She turns her attention to her laptop screen, and I start rubbing her feet, thinking about how much I love having her here.

My eyes shift to the banquette table in the dining nook that's become her makeshift office during the day as she works on her next book. It's covered in so many notebooks, papers, highlighters, Post-it notes, mugs, and snacks that we have dinner at the breakfast counter.

I keep an eye on her as I work on the pergola during the day, and man, is she focused or what? When she gets into her zone, there could be an earthquake, and she wouldn't even know. She doesn't even notice when I fill up her water bottle, or her mug with decaf, or keep her snack plate full. Good thing, too, because I don't want to disturb her.

It's crazy to think we're almost halfway through our marriage arrangement. How is that possible? Where has the time gone?

We're still only just getting to know each other, and in a little more than two weeks, it'll all be over. She'll be gone, and I'll be alone again, which doesn't feel as good as it once used to, when all I craved was to live by myself.

Ever since Schapelle windmilled into my life at the engagement party, it's got me thinking that as much as I needed a time-out to process what happened on the second tour, I've taken too long. Life isn't meant to be sat out on the sidelines, it's a game that's meant to be played.

When the episode ends, Schapelle gets up off the couch and says, "I'll be back," before disappearing down the hallway.

When she returns a moment later, she's holding my guitar and has a nervous look on her face, which she tries to erase with a wobbly smile. "I'm calling in my thing."

"Your thing?"

"Yeah. Remember when you said I could bank a thing for forcing you to watch me sprawl out on the couch?"

"You're not forcing me to do anything, but yes, I remember."

"Good." She holds the guitar out in front of me and takes a breath. "Play something? Please."

"O—" My voice cracks as I take the guitar from her. "Okay."

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