Page 16 of Snowed in with the Mountain Man

"What would you rather do?"

"Write," she says without hesitation. "Stories, articles about places like this. Real things for real people." She takes another drink. "My ex thought it was a stupid dream."

Something hot flares in my chest at the mention of her ex. "He sounds like an idiot."

She laughs, but there's an edge to it. "Kyle was very practical. Very logical. Very boring, looking back."

"How long were you together?"

"Three years. He dumped me the week after I got laid off. Said he 'wasn't ready for this level of instability.'" She makes air quotes, rolling her eyes. "Translation: he wanted the successful girlfriend, not the one facing setbacks."

"His loss," I say quietly.

Our eyes meet across the small space between us, and something shifts in the air. The bottle passes back and forth a few more times. The whiskey loosens my tongue, lowers walls I've kept firmly in place for years.

"I was engaged once," I hear myself say. "Eight years ago."

Phoebe straightens, clearly surprised. "What happened?"

"She got a job offer in Toronto. Big opportunity." I stare into the fire. "I couldn't leave the mountains. Especially not then, with Dad just gone and the store needing someone to run it. She couldn't stay. So."

"I'm sorry," she says softly.

I shrug. "It was the right decision for both of us. She's some big-shot executive now. Married with kids."

"Do you regret it? Not going with her?"

I consider the question honestly. "No. Would have been miserable in a city. Would have resented her eventually. Better this way."

"But you never found anyone else?"

The question should feel invasive, but somehow doesn't. "Hard to meet people up here. Harder to let them in once you do."

"Is that why you tried to sleep on the floor that first night? Why you said sharing the sleeping bag wasn't a good idea?"

"Partly," I admit. "Getting involved with someone temporarily is asking for trouble."

She tilts her head. "Am I temporary, Aiden?"

The question hangs between us, loaded with implications. The smart answer is yes. She's a city girl who inherited a cabin. She'll fix it up, maybe use it occasionally, and eventually sell it. She doesn't belong here. Not really.

But the truth is more complicated.

"I don't know," I say finally.

She studies me for a long moment, then sets the bottle aside and moves toward me. Graceful despite the whiskey, she settles into my lap, her thighs straddling mine.

"Neither do I," she whispers, her face inches from mine. "But I know I want you. Again. Now."

Her mouth finds mine, tasting of whiskey and desire. My hands move to her hips automatically, pulling her closer. The kiss deepens, turns hungry. Her fingers thread through my hair, tugging slightly in a way that sends heat straight to my groin.

"I've been thinking about this morning," I murmur against her neck. "On the porch. What you did."

She pulls back slightly, a mischievous smile playing at her lips. "Did you like it?"

"Like is too small a word." I run my thumbs along the strip of exposed skin where my shirt has ridden up on her. "Never had anything like that before."

"Really?" Her eyes widen slightly.

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