Page 2 of Rugged Mountain Man

Now that I stopped to think about it, maybe I had. Was I talking to a guy who thought I was crazy at best and annoying as hell at worst?

“So, you’re a baker, huh?” he asked. “Do you make a good apple pie?”

I couldn’t help but remember the competition from earlier today, when we’d been given pie crust, various fruits, and a bunch of items we had to fight over. I’d made a boysenberry pie. Not my specialty, which was one of the reasons I half expected to lose, but I guess I was better at it than I expected.

“The best you’ll ever have,” I said. “Lattice crust and all.”

“With ice cream?”

“The best homemade vanilla bean you can find.”

“You make your own ice cream?” He looked over at me. “As in, using an ice cream maker?”

I held back my response to that, although he wasn’t looking at me anymore. He’d turned to face front again, lifting his mug of beer to take a big swig.

“I make it on the stove and freeze it,” I said. “It’s pretty easy, really. Just some cream, milk, sugar, and vanilla extract.”

About halfway through that, he probably tuned me out. Or maybe he was listening, but he sure wasn’t making any expression at all in response. And that unnerved me a little. I was used to watching for body language. Most of the people I knew probably would say the same.

“This town could use someone like you,” he said. “Can’t get a good apple pie anywhere within city limits.”

“There’s no bakery around here?” I asked.

“Nope,” he said.

That had been mentioned at some point, but hearing it from this guy perked up my ears. Could I see myself living in this beautiful town, running a bakery with zero competition?

Hell to the yes, I could.

“What about pastries and doughnuts?” I asked. “A tourist town like this wouldn’t have something like that.”

He made a sound at that. It was something between a scoff and a laugh. Maybe more scoff than laugh, actually.

“This is a ski town right now,” he said. “That’ll probably change, but not many restaurants can survive in a town that’s slammed a few months a year and a ghost town the rest of the time.”

He had a point. And with that point, my hopes sank. So much for my competition-less bakery.

“But I guess you can tell there’s a lot going on around here, so maybe…”

His voice drifted off, but he’d said plenty to get my mind spinning. Hmm. This definitely could be an option, especially if I won the fifty thousand tomorrow.

“I could show you the town, but you’re probably busy with your competition.”

Suddenly, nothing in the world sounded better than being shown around a beautiful mountain town by the hottest guy I’d ever seen. Nothing. But he was right. A responsible person wouldn’t dare blow off dinner to run off with some random stranger.

“There’s a dinner,” I said. “I’m kind of dreading it, if I’m honest with you.”

“Why’s that?”

“It sucks being a finalist when you know other people are stuck here, watching you celebrate. They traveled all this way and worked so hard. I don’t know, maybe I’m just having imposter syndrome.”

“Are you an imposter?” he asked.

“I might be,” I said. I looked over at him then, and added, “How would I know for sure?”

“I’d say if you make the best apple pie I’ve ever had, you’re no imposter. You’re a damn good baker. One that deserves to win awards.”

He looked at me, and as our eyes met, something shifted in me. This wasn’t just some hot guy who was making my heart beat a little faster. This was a guy I’d been trying to visualize for years. The perfect man. The guy who would convince me it was worth giving up my virginity.

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