Page 12 of Connecting with the Mountain Man

I hate that.

I want him to smile. I want him to tease me like he usually does.

But instead, he just watches me—too closely, like he’s searching for something in my face.

“You’re right,” he says quietly. “Takes a special woman.”

The way he says it makes something flip inside me.

Ihatehow much I want to be that woman.

I give his arm one last squeeze and step back, suddenly needing to put space between us before my knees give out.

“I’ll let you finish up,” I murmur, slipping toward the front of the shop. He nods, not meeting my gaze

But I swear… Ifeelhis eyes on me the entire way.

I slip through the kitchen doors, the warmth of the bakery front hitting me like a wall—sweet and familiar, but it doesn’t sink in. I’m too damn hollow. I tighten my apron strings, fingers tugging hard, like somehow cinching it tighter might hold me together.

But it won’t.

Not when Silas is still back there, crouched under my sink, fixing things like it’s no big deal. Like he didn’t just casually tell me he had a match.

Had.

Past tense.

It didn’t work out. I should be relieved. But I’m not. Becauseshestill existed. There was a woman out there Silas was hoping for. Someone he thought about. Someone hewanted.And it wasn’t me. It’s never me.

I lean against the counter, bracing both hands on the edge as I exhale slowly through my nose.

Get it together, Eden. But the ache in my chest won’t budge. Why did that hit so hard?

I knew this. I’vealwaysknown this. Silas Matthews doesn’t see me that way. I’m Luke’s little sister. The baker who rents a building from him. The girl he likes to tease about burnt scones and leaky pipes.

Nothing more.

But standing back there, so damn close I could smell the soap on his skin—God, it wrecked me.

Because I wanted to crawl into his lap, grip that stupid flannel, and ask why.

Why not me?

“Eden?”

I jerk upright, blinking at Mary where she’s eyeing me from behind the pastry case, brow lifted in concern.

“You good?”

I nod too fast. “Yep. Fine. Totally fine.”

Mary’s gaze drops to my hands—white-knuckled around the edge of the counter—before sliding back to my face.

“Uh-huh.”

I release the counter immediately, shoving my hands into the pockets of my apron. This is stupid. So unbelievably stupid. It shouldn’t feel like this. I shouldn’t care this much. It’sjustSilas. Gruff, broody Silas who barely says two words unless he’s griping about something.

But it hurts anyway.

---