Page 15 of Snowed in with the Mountain Man

She smiles. "Don't sound so surprised. City girls can be tough too."

"Never doubted it."

She reaches into her bag and pulls out a bottle of amber liquid. "I think we've earned this, don't you?"

JP Wisers. Not what I expected from her. I figured wine, maybe some fancy craft cocktail ingredients.

"Didn't take you for a whiskey drinker," I say as she unscrews the cap.

"There's a lot you don't know about me, mountain man." She takes a swig directly from the bottle, doesn't even wince, then passes it to me.

The whiskey burns pleasantly down my throat, warming me from the inside. I hand the bottle back, our fingers brushing in the exchange. Even that brief contact sends electricity through me.

"So," she says, settling back against the couch. "Tell me something I don't know about you."

"Like what?"

She shrugs. "Anything. Favorite color. Deepest fear. Why you choose to live alone in the mountains like some sexy hermit."

I snort at the description. "Sexy hermit?"

"If the flannel fits..." She grins, taking another pull from the bottle.

I find myself wanting to tell her things. Things I don't share with people. Maybe it's the whiskey, or the firelight, or the way she's looking at me like whatever I say matters.

"Blue," I say finally. "Deep blue, like the sky just before full dark."

"See? Was that so hard?" She nudges my knee with her foot. "What else?"

I take the bottle, buying time with another swallow. "I read. A lot. Mostly classics, some history. Philosophy in winter."

Her eyes widen. "You're secretly a nerd!"

"Don't sound so surprised," I echo her earlier words, which earns me a laugh.

"What's your favorite book?"

"Depends on the season."

"What's your winter book, then?"

I hesitate. "Walden. Thoreau."

She nods, thoughtful. "Makes sense. Man alone in nature, finding meaning in simplicity."

"You've read it?"

"English lit minor." She smiles. "What's your summer book?"

"The Old Man and the Sea."

"Also tracks. Man versus nature, elemental struggle, stoicism in the face of hardship." She studies me. "You're very on-brand, Aiden Calloway."

I can't help but smile at that. She sees more than I give her credit for.

"Your turn," I say, passing the bottle back. "What don't I know about you?"

She thinks for a moment. "I hate my job. Hated it,” she amends. “Digital marketing for companies selling things nobody needs. It paid well, but every day felt like selling little pieces of my soul."

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