Page 2 of Guardian of Misty Mountain

My truck is in sight, a gleaming beacon of safety in the sea of anxiety threatening to drown me. Right before I reach my vehicle, something catches my eye. The late afternoon sun reflects off of the long auburn hair of a woman walking across the street. I can’t seem to look away, my gaze inextricably drawn to her.

As if sensing my stare, she peers over her shoulder, searching for something or someone. I’m hit with golden eyes and soft freckles that cause an ache in my chest for some reason. My body turns on its own, without my permission, so I can get a better view of the beautiful, heart-stopping mystery woman.

She must be new in town. Surely, I would have noticed her during my last trip. Then again, it’s not like I make a point to chit-chat or visit the local establishments unless I have to drop something off.

I start shuffling across the street, following her without knowing why or what I’m going to say when I catch up to her. I can’t take my eyes off of her silky hair, shimmering in the waning light of the day. She slips into Evergreen Books & Trinkets, the old door closing behind her and stealing her away from my view.

The fight-or-flight instinct that has been gnawing at me all afternoon is telling me to turn the fuck around and get back into my truck. No good can come from chasing a gorgeous woman into a bookstore. And yet…

My hand wraps around the door handle, gripping the thing so tightly my arm is shaking. Am I really about to do this? I can't remember the last time I went somewhere in public voluntarily. It's almost like an out-of-body experience, watching myself open the door and step inside the cozy bookstore.

As soon as the bell above the door rings, my skin prickles with awareness, putting me on high alert. I can feel the eyes on me, everyone staring at my scar and wondering why I movedback to town in the first place if I was just going to hide up on my mountain and never talk to them.

I clench my fists at my sides and bite the inside of my cheek, the flash of pain bringing me back into my body. What am I doing here? I’m not an impulsive man, even less so after my time in the military. What am I hoping to accomplish? It’s not like I’m going to magically know how to talk to someone, especially a beautiful golden-eyed goddess.

I duck behind the nearest bookshelf to try and blend in, but I don’t think it’s helping. Whispers break out among the patrons here, and although I can’t hear what they’re saying, my imagination has no trouble coming up with worst-case scenarios.

“Hi, can I help you find anything?”

I leap backward, nearly knocking over the damn bookshelf. After steadying the piece of furniture, I clear my throat and turn to the woman next to me.

It’s her.

“I… Um, what I mean is… I, uh, like books,” I stutter out like a complete idiot.

Bright, curious eyes are trained on mine, and to my surprise, I don't see a single ounce of judgment in them. She's looking at me with something close to understanding or at the very least, empathy.

"Me, too," she says easily, not skipping a beat. "Is there a specific genre you're looking for? Or maybe a particular author? You know, we actually have a few local authors featured here. We just got a shipment of Travis Holt's new fiction book on military espionage."

“Ah, well, I don’t know if I have the stomach for military fiction. Not after living it.” Her brow furrows and she tilts her head slightly, studying me with an intensity I’m not used to. I clear my throat and rub the back of my neck. Can I get any moreawkward? “Anyway, I didn’t mean to say… I wasn’t trying to, um…”

I have no idea how to end this humiliating interaction. I should never have come in here. What the hell was I thinking? I got so caught up in the moment that I let myself forget why I live a life of solitude.

“How about mystery novels? Ruth Ware has a great collection of standalone novels in our mystery and thriller section.”

That name rings a bell. “The Woman in Cabin Tenis one of her books, right?”

She gives me a brilliant smile, her golden eyes sparkling as she nods. “Yes! I loved that one. I remember reading in my closet when my parents were asleep, thinking that I could relate to being trapped.” Her eyes grow wide and she looks away from me. Cold washes over me, as if her eyes were the sun and now I’m stranded in the darkness. “Anyway. Ruth Ware. Great author.” The woman gives me a small smile, trying to recover from whatever just happened.

Why did she feel trapped? Why was she reading in the closet? Did her parents not approve of her book choice or were they just controlling? I have so many questions but I’ll never ask them. It’s not my business. Plus, I’d be opening myself up to her asking me similar questions. I don’t have any satisfying answers.

“I’m Adrian,” I blurt out.

“Adrian,” she repeats, her eyes meeting mine once more. “I’m–”

“Amelia! Amelia, dear, can you jump on the register while I finish dusting these shelves?”

The woman gives me an apologetic smile, then waves before heading up to the front counter. I’m thankful for the excuse to slip out of the bookstore undetected. God, what an embarrassing introduction.

I finally make it back to my truck, where I hop in and rev the engine. I don’t make it even halfway up the mountain before my thoughts turn to Amelia. It doesn’t matter now. I won’t be back for another three months, and by then, she might be gone.

The ache in my chest sharpens to a point and I gasp for air. Why does the thought of never seeing her again physically pain me?

2

AMELIA

Icheck the directions on my phone for the tenth time since starting my trek up the mountain, making sure this secluded, winding path is where I’m supposed to be. The road is barely wide enough for my tin can of a car and littered with tree roots and loose rocks.

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