Page 6 of The Minx and the Mountain Man

“Breakfast for lunch,” he mutters.

I grin. “Be still my heart.”

He gives me a flat look before reaching for a frying pan. “You want food or not?”

“Oh, I definitely want food. And entertainment. I have a feeling watching you attempt scrambled eggs is going to be the highlight of my evening.”

Reid lets out a slow breath and cracks an egg with way more force than necessary.

I bite back a laugh and hop onto the counter, swinging my legs as I watch him cook. This man has no idea what he just got himself into.

Chapter Four

Reid

This was a mistake. I knew it the second she stepped off that bus with her big suitcase and even bigger smile, looking like she belonged anywhere but in the middle of my quiet, isolated world.

And now, as she moves around my kitchen like she owns the place, humming some chipper tune under her breath, that feeling settles even deeper into my bones.

The cabin already feels different.

Livelier.

Louder.

Hell, it even smells different. Something warm and sweet, like cinnamon and sugar, mixed in with the usual scent.

I shift in my chair, arms crossed over my chest as I watch her dig through my cabinets like she’s on some kind of treasure hunt. “What exactly are you looking for?”

She doesn’t even turn around. Just waves a hand over her shoulder like she’s shooing a fly. “Flour. You do have flour, right?”

I grunt.

She takes that as a yes and keeps going. A minute later, she lets out a triumphant littleaha!and pulls a bag from the shelf, holding it up like she just won the lottery. “Found it!”

I shake my head. “What are you making?”

She beams at me over her shoulder. “Biscuits.”

I frown. “For dinner?”

“Yes, for dinner, you grumpy caveman. And don’t look at me like that. You fed me scrambled eggs, so I think it’s only fair I return the favor with something edible.”

I scowl. “The eggs were fine.”

“They were passable.” She dumps the flour into a bowl with an exaggerated plop and shoots me a grin. “But don’t worry, I’ve got this. Southern cooking is my love language.”

I lean back in my chair, watching as she bustles around the kitchen, cracking eggs and measuring ingredients with practiced ease. She hums as she works, that same tune from earlier, like she’s perfectly at home in a kitchen she’s never stepped foot in before today.

It’s unsettling.

I’m used to being alone. Used to silence, to the steady, predictable rhythm of my own space. But Sadie blows into my world like a summer storm—bright and warm and completely impossible to ignore.

I tell myself I just have to adjust. Soon I won’t notice the way her hair catches the firelight, or the way she wrinkles her nose when she concentrates, or the way she talks to herself when she cooks like she’s hosting a damn cooking show.

This is a business deal. A means to an end. That’s the deal. She’s here so I can check a box, keep my word, and move on with my life.

I don’t need to like the way she laughs or the way she makes my kitchen smell like home or the way—

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