Page 16 of Trapped with the Mountain Man

"You built all this yourself?" she asks, wonder in her voice.

"Most of it. Had help with the roof. The family that runs the hardware store is more than a little handy." I watch her move through my space, suddenly seeing it through her eyes—the simple comfort of it, the functionality, the care I've put into every detail.

"It's beautiful," she says softly, turning to me. "Like something out of a dream."

The late afternoon sun slants through the windows, painting her in golden light. I move toward her slowly, giving her time to retreat if she wants, but she steps forward to meet me halfway. When our lips finally meet, it feels like coming home after a long journey.

There's a new gentleness to our kiss, different from the desperate passion of the cave. We have time now. No rescue helicopter approaching to rip her away, and no storm threatening to wash us down the mountain side.

"I've thought about this every hour of every day," she whispers. "Being here with you."

My hands frame her face. "Are you sure about this, Tessa? About all you're giving up?"

Her eyes meet mine, clear and certain. "I'm not giving up anything that matters. I'm choosing what I want."

I kiss her, holding her to me like I never want to let her go again. I want to build a perfect life for her up here in the wilderness where both of us can truly be ourselves without the pressures of society.

"What happens now?" she asks softly.

I consider the immensity of the question. "Whatever we want," I finally answer. "Day by day."

She rises on one elbow to look at me. "I don't need promises or labels, Corbin. I just need to know there's room for me here—in your life, in your world."

My throat tightens with unexpected emotion. "There's more than room," I tell her honestly. "There's been a Tessa-shaped hole here all along. I just didn't know it until you showed up."

Her radiant smile is worth every uncomfortable moment in town, every fear I've faced, every wall I've had to break down within myself.

"Then I'm home," she says simply, settling back against my chest.

Outside, the mountain continues its ancient rhythms. But inside, something entirely new has begun. And for the first time in years, I welcome the change.

Epilogue

Tessa

Oneyearlater,nestledin our cabin, Corbin's gentle kiss on my shoulder stirring me awake. Light filters through pine branches, painting our home in soft gold. I turn to face my husband, still marveling at the word. His beard is fuller now, and his features are somehow both familiar and wonderfully new each morning. He has more grey hair, and I strongly suspect that’s because of me and my wild ideas, like a greenhouse for the winter garden.

"Coffee's brewing," he murmurs, voice still rough with sleep. "Thought we might hike to the ridge today."

I love how he's learned to share his plans, this once-solitary man who now makes space for "us" in every consideration. My fingers find the simple silver band on his left hand, matching mine. Our wedding was perfect in its simplicity—just us, a handful of locals, and my parents, who arrived skeptical but left with grudging approval of both Corbin and our mountain life.

"Work deadline first," I say, running a hand through my tangled hair. "Then I'm all yours."

He nods, understanding without resentment. "I'll check the solar panels after the storm."

A year of living together have created a comfortable rhythm. I do my remote marketing work at the desk we built beneath the east window, where morning light streams across my laptop. The satellite internet we installed was Corbin's concession to my career needs.

"Your city is important too," he'd said when I worried about corrupting his sanctuary. "We're building something new, not erasing what came before."

This wisdom is precisely why I married him after knowing him only 2 months—a decision that shocked everyone except us. When you find your place, your person, your truth, time becomes irrelevant.

The cabin has evolved with our relationship—my books mingling with his on shelves, my paintings beside his maps, and our garden expanding to include herbs and flowers I brought from the valley nursery.

My phone buzzes with a text from my editor about my latest Green Living article:Love the rainwater collection piece! Photos are stunning. Can we get more on the emotional transition from city to mountain life?

I smile, typing a quick response. My nature blog, "Wild Transitions," has gained a modest but dedicated following. What began as processing my own radical life change has become something that speaks to other people yearning for authenticity and connection with the natural world.

Through the window, I watch Corbin moving around the solar array, his movements efficient and graceful. Even after all this time, the sight of him still catches in my chest—this once-solitary man who became my husband, my partner in this wilderness life.

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