Page 11 of Forever with the Mountain Man

“Salut, mon bébé.”

I’m a twenty-seven-year-old, big-city freelance journalist and content marketer in love with a Basque shepherd who lives above sixty-five hundred feet in a rugged cabin that’s about as close to off-grid as I’ve ever considered visiting.What does this say about me? Or better yet,why can’t they make men like him in San Francisco?

“Well, you look flustered. Are you okay?” My bestie, Callie’s voice catches me so off guard I jump in my seat, putting my hand over my heart.

“Sorry. I was just…concentrating.”

I stand, and we lean into each other, hugging.

“Do you need a few more minutes?” she asks, eyeing me curiously.

I shake my head. “Did you put in your drink order?”

She nods. “They should have it at the bar in a few minutes. This place is packed today,” she observes, sitting opposite me at our small table, piled high with my laptop, planner, and notes. I stack everything, clearing room for her.

“I know. Weird for a Monday. Fortunately, I arrived early to stake out my spot.”

“Girl, it feels like forever. So, how have you been?”

I shrug, overwhelmed by where to start.

“Your column’s been amazing, by the way. Oh my God!” Callie laughs, her head bouncing. “That story about the guy in the nightclub was classic. Did he really send you a dick pic as soon as he got your number? Shrinkage and all?”

“From the bathroom. And, yes,” I nod, laughing. “It was…underwhelming.”Nothing like the Basque shepherd.My cheeks burn. I’ve worked on a weekly column for the San Francisco Chronicles’ lifestyle section for months now, published in eight installments. Think a revamped West Coast version ofSex and the City. Play my cards right, and it’ll become a permanent, syndicated column.

I only have one article left to submit to my editors, which makes my chest burn with guilt. It’s supposed to be about my last social experiment, a witty foray into the Mountain Mates Dating Site, and a walk on the wild side with a Basque shepherd who I wasn’t supposed to fall in love with.

I rub my hand absent-mindedly over my heart, replaying this morning’s phone conversation with my editor. I tried to nix the article altogether, wrapping it up with something else. But he wants a deep dive into dating a rural Basque American, and he also wants me to meet said shepherd in person “but keep things professional.” Do mutual masturbation sessions over FaceTime count as professional?

I sigh loudly, and Callie eyes me, her perceptive face already reading far more into my expression than I mean to let on. I’ve always been an open book to her.

She raises a magenta-tipped, immaculately manicured finger. “Hold that thought. They just called my drink order.”

A few minutes later, the curvy, gorgeous black woman with a perfectly coiffed halo of thick black curls dressed in a black silk shirt, black tight-fitting jeans, and leopard-spotted ankle booties, saunters back to the table, catching every male pair of eyes in the room as she passes. I’ve known her since first grade, and she’s everything I’m not—cool, sophisticated, dazzling, and fashion-forward.

She acts like she doesn’t notice any attention from the opposite sex, fluttering her eyelids to enhance her glittery, hotpink eyeshadow and thick, long lashes. Claiming her seat once more, she sets her large cup and saucer on the table. I stare at the frothy top of her drink, decorated artfully with a leaf by the skilled barista behind the bar. “Alright, level with me. What’s wrong?”

Where to start?I press my finger against my temple, taking a deep breath. “I had the worst phone call with my editor today. The kind that could cost me my job before I even officially earn it.”

Her graceful eyebrows arch, and her cinnamon-colored eyes round. “But your column has been so amazing and well-received. What’s the problem?”

I sit back in my chair, looking at the ceiling. “So you know, each week I’ve profiled a dating disaster to highlight the perils of romance in the twenty-first century?—”

“To hilarious effect,” she interrupts.

“Thank you. There’s been a nightclub scene, a singles hiking group, a single mingle cooking class, the wine tasting.” I shake my head. “I know I’m missing a few of them. But the culmination of the series is a walk on the wild side with the Mountain Mates Dating Site.”

Callie frowns, knitting her brows. “What’s that?”

“A dating site for women who are into mountain men.”

“Mountain men?” she grimaces. “You mean, like Jeremiah Johnson?”

I cock my head to the side, thinking about how Robert Redford became a liver-eating cannibal in the movie. That aside, she’s more or less spot on. I nod. “Between you and me, this part of the article was supposed to lay waste to middle America. Cast flyover country in the worst possible light,The Hills Have Eyesstyle, while providing readers with plenty of laughs and helping them gain perspective on dating in the city. You know, something along the lines of, even though the San Franciscodating scene can be annoying and dissatisfying at times, at least you’re not dealing with inbred hicks in the backcountry.”

Callie nods slowly, her brows furrowing some more.

“The one caveat, of course, was not falling in love…”

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