Page 21 of Kissing the Wrong Mountain Man

"No." She cups the side of my face with her soft hands. "It was perfect. Just what I needed. Thank you."

That's my cue.

I make a zippy-lip gesture and arch an eyebrow.

She laughs. "You're not going to sayyou're welcomeare you?"

I unzip my lips. "Never."

"Fine. Looks like I'll have to kiss you again."

"Was hoping you'd say that."

Her lips touch mine, sending a surge of heat though my body. Time grinds to a halt, like it always does when we kiss, and I close my eyes, committing every single second of this experience to memory, like I always do when we kiss—her soft lips, the sweet taste of her tongue, the warmth of her body so close to mine. I wish this moment would last forev?—

"Ohmygosh! I've got it," she cries, pulling back abruptly.

I blink a few times. "Got what?"

"My heroine's name—Paula."

"Paula?"

"After the singer of the theme song. Paula Cole."

I had no idea who sang the song, but I'm thrilled that Schapelle made a breakthrough. "That's awesome."

"You're the best!" She gives me a quick peck then slides back over to her notes and starts scribbling away furiously.

I watch her for a while, marveling at her dedication to her craft. I scoop up my notepad and retreat to the living room to work on the section I messed up. I've had this sappy song stuck in my head for days since we watch the show so much. And not just the melody, but the lyrics, too. They're about not waiting until the end of your life to start truly living. That really hits close to home, because isn't that exactly what I've been doing?

Another line resonates, too—Will it be yes or will it be sorry?

Maybe I'm interpreting it incorrectly, but to me, that's about taking a risk and laying it all on the line. That it's better to know for sure than be haunted bywhat-ifs.

That's what Schapelle does. It's how she lives her life, so that at the end of it all, she won't look back and have any regrets.

Maybe it's about time I took a page out of her book and did the same.

11

Schapelle

I've got an extra spring in my step as Brock and I go on our daily hike a little later than usual. That's my fault. I slept in this morning after staying up until three, milking the burst of inspiration I got last night.

Brock playing that song on his guitar last night broke through my writer's fog. I had my heroine's name, and I could finallyseeher clearly in my mind.

"I've been doing some thinking," Brock says as the incline steepens. "I was considering becoming a firefighter, but I'm actually more interested in joining the local search and rescue after I wrap up the pergola."

"I can see you being good at that," I reply.

"Thanks. I'd like to do something useful."

"Helping others is a great way to do that."

I saw something else last night, too. When Brock played me that song, I saw a man who's been deeply affected by something, slowly stirring back to life and stepping out of his comfort zone.

Not only could I see it was a big deal for him, buthello, it was totally swoony, too. Brock Palladino isn't just a garden-variety romantic, he's Mr. Romance himself.

---