Page 7 of Redemption in Misty Mountain

“It smells incredible in here,” she says, glancing around. “But since when do you cook?”

I flash her a grin. “I’m a changed man.”

Her gaze sweeps over the kitchen as she takes in the details. The flickering candlelight, the low hum of music playing from my phone, and the stove alive with bubbling pans.

I pull out a chair for her at the kitchen countertop, and that gets me what I’ve been waiting for… a smile.

It’s soft with just a hint of amusement, but it’s there. And it’s real. Damn if it doesn’t hit me like a fist to the chest. I clear my throat and plate the pasta like I know what I’m doing.

One hour and a half bottle of wine later, we’re talking like old times. The kind of easy, effortless conversation that makes it feel like no time has passed at all. Rosalie giggles when I admit to all the hours I’ve spent glued to the cooking channel, andshakes her head in disbelief when I tell her it’s become my secret passion.

In the candlelight, she’s even more breathtaking than I remember. She’s the same Rosalie with a massive heart and the kind of charm that makes you want to take care of her. Only now she’s stronger and more sure of herself. It’s sexy as hell.

“Okay, tell me again… What’s the podcast called?”

“It’s Boots and Bitching!” Her eyes light up. “It’s this anonymous, robot voice in Sagebrush Creek. She… or maybe he, I guess, literally knows everything about everyone in the town. It mainly focuses on the brothers of Kingridge Ranch, but that’s because they’re practically royalty out there. Maisie says?—”

“Ugh.” I groan, cutting her off with mock disappointment. “Are you still on the cowboy thing? Remember the way you swooned over an old man when I took you to Garth Brooks?”

Her jaw drops in exaggerated offense. “Excuse me? He’s Garth. Brooks. Swooning is required.”

I shake my head like it’s a damn tragedy. “Ranchers have nothing on this.” I flex my bicep, giving it a solid pat for effect.

And just like that, I get my reward—full-bodied laughter, the kind that lights up her whole face and makes her eyes crinkle at the corners.

Damn. I missed this.

“Since we are getting to know each other again, let me ask… What exactly were you doing when I glanced in your window earlier?” She erupts into a fit of giggles and I bury my face in my hands.

“Ah, shit… Leave it to you to call me out,” I laugh.

This girl is too much.

From there I let her talk about her plans for a new life in Texas with her sister. A hollow ache thrums in my chest. Memories flood back to me in waves, but they’re all anchored in regret.

This could have been my life. Cooking dinner for the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known and falling asleep tangled up with her.

Rosalie pauses and takes a sip from her glass. “Can I ask a serious question? Why couldn’t you have done this while we were married?” She chews on the corner of her bottom lip.

“Well, that’s simple. It’s because I was an idiot. I thought we needed a full-on ranch to have the quiet life you wanted. I thought I was getting us there, but instead, I lost you. The loss of a lifetime.”

She turns to face me. Her eyes are glassy and I don’t know if it’s from the wine or the conversation. But I reach out and put my hand over hers. She doesn’t pull away.

“I’m sorry, Rosalie.”

I hesitate just long enough for my pulse to hammer against my ribs. Then I close the space between us. And when our mouths meet, it’s earth-shattering.

It’s a slow burn that ignites the second our lips touch and crawl across me. Heat, memory, longing—it all crashes over me at once. Her breath hitches, and I tighten my grip, pulling her closer, like maybe if I hold on tight enough, neither of us will break this time.

Our tongues tangle, the kiss deepening, turning desperate. A low sound escapes me as I bury my hands in the back of her hair, twisting my fingers into the silky strands.

I plant a kiss on the spot behind her ear because I haven’t forgotten the way it makes her come unglued. For a moment, it works. She melts against me, her body molding to mine, her breath warm and ragged.

Then—just like that—she pulls away. The warmth of her vanishes, leaving behind nothing but cold air and the taste of her still lingering on my lips.

“I can’t,” she whispers, her voice raw. “I’m not ready to break my own heart again when I leave for the ranch. I already know how this ends.”

She looks at me then, her dark eyes shimmering with something that cuts straight through me. Regret. Sadness. The kind of certainty that makes my chest tighten.

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