Page 3 of Guardian of Misty Mountain

This might not have been the best idea I’ve ever had. It seemed like a fun excuse to go explore the mountain my new town is named after. However, I’m losing confidence with every switchback road leading me higher and higher toward my destination.

I glance over at the plate of cookies in the passenger side seat, along with a few mystery books I picked out for Adrian. I couldn't stop thinking about him after he ran out of Evergreen Books & Trinkets yesterday. He seemed almost anxious and panicked, and I wanted to ease his discomfort before I was called away.

Ms. Lila, the owner, sensed that my curiosity was piqued. At the end of my shift, I was browsing through a few Ruth Ware books from our collection. Ms. Lila walked by and mentioned off-handedly that Adrian owns a custom furniture shop and his business card is up on our community board.

I tried playing it cool for about five minutes before beelining to the corkboard featuring business cards, garage sales, and other local events. Sure enough, a business card advertising Wild Roots Woodworking by Adrian, along with his phone and address was front and center. Or maybe it’s just that my eye was drawn to his name.

Ms. Lila gave me a knowing smile but didn’t comment further. She seems to have a deep connection and understanding of everyone in town, almost like she knows them better than they know themselves.

I woke up this morning with a plan to deliver books and cookies to the mysterious mountain man, but now that I’m nearing his property, I’m not so sure this is a good idea. Maybe he doesn’t even like cookies. Judging from the barely-contained muscled bulging from his shirt, I can’t imagine he eats much sugar.

Furthermore, he might not even like the books I picked out. Sure, he mentioned one Ruth Ware book in our conversation, but he could’ve been humoring me. I’m still figuring out how to read people and have conversations.

Growing up with parents who barely let me leave the house didn’t exactly help my social skills. Moving to Misty Mountain has been a crash course in interpersonal skills. I’m lucky so many locals are caring and protective. They’ve adopted me as one of their own and accepted me as I am.

That’s what I want to share with Adrian; a feeling of acceptance. We only exchanged a handful of words, but his dark blue eyes spoke volumes as they locked onto mine. He looked like a trapped animal, terrified, disoriented, and ready to lash out at any moment. Beneath that, I saw something else. A small, flickering flame of warmth and hope.

It’s also possible I’m just lonely and latching onto someone whose soul is as broken as mine.

Either way, I just pulled into the long dirt driveway leading up to Wild Roots Woodworking. I’m here now, so I might as well make my delivery. Then I can scurry back down the mountain and hide under my covers out of embarrassment, if necessary.

Gathering up the cookies and three books, I make my way up to the cabin, marveling at the wrap-around porch with a porch swing and several rocking chairs. It's the perfect spot to curl up and watch the sunset with a cup of tea and a good book.

I take a deep breath and knock on the door three times. No response. Waiting a few moments, I knock again. Nothing. Well, dammit. I should have called or looked up the business hours or something.

As I head back to my car, I hear a rhythmic tap-tap-tapping followed by a shrill buzzing noise. Following the sound, I see another structure several hundred feet behind the gorgeous log cabin.Duh, it's a workshop. He doesn't make furniture in his living room, of course, he's in a separate space.

I hesitate, not sure if I should disturb him or turn around and forget about this entire hair-brained idea. Before I have the chance to fully make my decision, I start walking toward the workshop. My mind is still a mess, but apparently, the rest of my body has chosen to see Adrian today.

The door is slightly ajar, making it easy for me to slip inside. What I see has my heart racing and my mouth hanging open. Adrian is shirtless, his back turned to me as he chisels something into the slab of wood in front of him. The corded muscles on his back gleam with sweat as they tense and flex with each movement.

He's so… beautiful. He's also harsh, rugged, and rough, but beneath that, he's fragile. The contours of his muscles, the grace with which he moves, and the confidence in each strike of the chisel all amount to an entirely different man than I met yesterday. This man isn't trapped or fumbling over his words.No, this version of Adrian is very much in control. Why is that so… hot?

I take a step forward, needing to be closer. My foot catches on a block of wood I didn't see, making me stumble slightly and lose grip on the plate I'm holding. I scramble to keep my balance while trying to save the cookies, but I end up dropping everything. At least I didn't fall on my ass.

The cookie plate shatters on the hard floor, sending crumbs and shards of ceramic across the workshop space. Adrian spins around, holding out a sharp object and bracing himself for an attack. I gasp and take a few steps back, my voice caught in my throat. I open and close my mouth but no sound comes out.

Adrian tilts his head and then blinks a few times as if trying to decide if I'm real or a hallucination.

“Sorry,” I squeak out.

He immediately drops his makeshift weapon, holding his hands out to show me he’s not a threat. The simple gesture soothes me ever so much. Here I am, barging into his personal space and startling the poor man, yet he’s the one convincing me he means no harm.

“Amelia?” he asks, his deep voice rattling through my bones.

Oh, god. His chest. If I thought his back was sexy, it’s nothing compared to the rippling muscles of his torso and hard pecs. And those biceps… I bet one hug from Adrian would wipe away every sad thought I’ve ever had.

Stop it, that’s such a weird thing to think,I scold myself.

"Yeah," I finally reply. "I don't know what I was thinking. Clearly, you're busy so I'll just clean up my mess and–"

“What are you doing here?” he grits out, angling his body slightly and turning his head to the side.

“Oh. Right. I had a silly idea to bring you some stuff, but I see now that was a mistake. I’m sorry I bothered you,” I rush to say. “I’ll just be going now. Sorry.” I look around for a broom toclean up the cookie mess, then decide maybe it’s best I just leave altogether.

“Wait,” he calls out, a desperate edge to his tone. “You brought me cookies?” Adrian stalks forward, still keeping his face slightly turned away from mine.

“That was the goal, but you know what they say about the best laid plans…”

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