Page 6 of Stranded with the Mountain Man

"She passed away, right?" I ask, though I already know.Small towns have no secrets.

Deena nods, grief flashing across her face."Three months ago. I inherited the house, but it's... not in great shape."

"So I gathered from the ceiling comment." I head toward my bedroom, calling over my shoulder, "Get yourself cleaned up before you catch pneumonia.We can talk after."

In my dresser, I find a flannel shirt and sweatpants with a drawstring she can tighten.Both will swallow her whole, but they're clean and dry.I grab an extra blanket from the closet too.

When I return to the living room, she's still standing exactly where I left her, as if afraid to move further into my space without permission.

"Here." I thrust the clothes at her."They'll be big, but they'll have to do."

"Thank you." She takes them carefully, our fingers brushing in the exchange.Even that fleeting contact sends an unwelcome jolt through my system."I really appreciate this, Rosco.I know it's not... ideal."

That's one way of putting it.Finding your ex-girlfriend on your doorstep during a thunderstorm twelve years after she ditched you for city life isn't what most people would call ideal.

"Bathroom's the first door on the left," I repeat, ignoring her attempt at connection."There's hot water if you want to shower.I'll make coffee."

She hesitates, looking like she wants to say more, but thinks better of it.Good. I'm not interested in a stroll down memory lane or whatever bullshit she thinks we need to discuss.

Once she disappears down the hallway, I exhale slowly, unclenching fists I didn't realize I'd made.Bear whines softly, sensing my agitation.

"It's fine," I tell him, though it's anything but."She'll be gone as soon as the storm passes."

I busy myself in the kitchen, measuring grounds into the coffee maker with more force than necessary.The machine hums to life, and I grab two mugs from the cabinet.

The bathroom door opens, and I hear her soft footsteps approach.I turn, coffee pot in hand, and nearly drop it.

She's swimming in my clothes, the flannel shirt hanging almost to her knees despite being rolled at the cuffs, the sweatpants bunched and tied at her waist.Her curls are damp but beginning to spring back to life, framing her face in a way that's painfully familiar.Without her glasses, which she must have left to dry, her eyes seem larger, more vulnerable.

She looks like she did on those mornings after she'd stayed over, wearing my clothes, sleepy-eyed and soft in a way no one else got to see.

I clear my throat. "Coffee?"

"Please." She sits at the kitchen table, tucking her legs beneath her."I think I have ice in my veins."

I pour the coffee and slide her mug across the table, keeping a careful distance."Sugar's in the canister. No milk.I don't get deliveries up here."

"Black is fine." She wraps her hands around the mug, inhaling the steam."This place is amazing, by the way.Did you tear down your parents' old house to build this?"

"I just renovated it," I correct, leaning against the counter rather than sitting with her."The original cabin was my grandfather's.I expanded it when I moved back."

"When was that?"

"Three years ago."

Her eyebrows lift slightly. "So you've been here in Serenity Hollow all this time, and I never knew."

"Why would you?" I take a sip of coffee, using the mug to hide whatever might show on my face."Not like we kept in touch."

She winces slightly. "I guess I deserved that."

"Wasn't trying to be mean. Just stating facts." I shrug, aiming for indifference."So what brings the city botanist back to our humble mountain?Millie's house can't be worth much in the state you described."

"Sabbatical," she says. "Six months to renovate and decide whether to sell or keep it.My department head practically forced me to take the time off.Said I was burning out."

"And were you? Burning out?"

A flicker of surprise crosses her face, like she didn't expect me to be interested."Maybe. I've been living in the lab more than my apartment lately.Some rare orchid specimens from Ecuador needed constant monitoring, and then there was the grant proposal for my native pollinator study, and--" She stops herself."Sorry. You don't care about all that."

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