Page 53 of Rescued By the Mountain Guide

“The day after the rescue…” His voice scrapes raw, words dragged from somewhere deep. “I hiked to Emma’s favorite summit.” He looks up, eyes shadowed with memory and something fiercer—something new. “First time since she died. I told her about you.”

A string quartet surges in the distance, each note winding through the cold Manhattan air like a thread pulling me toward him. The music crescendos—sharp, aching—as if the whole world knows what he’s about to say.

“I can’t keep living between what was and what might be.” His hands flex at his sides. Not shaking. But close. Those hands that pulled me out of the storm and held me through the night. Calloused. Steady. Honest.

“I guide summer expeditions on Angel’s Peak. But winters…” His voice dips, low and rough, eyes never leaving mine. “I could base winters wherever your work takes you. Manhattan, if needed.”

A pause. Not hesitation—just breath. Just the beat before everything changes.

“I should’ve asked you to stay.” His voice is hoarse with the weight of regret. “You certainly gave me enough opportunity to ask. I realize that now. I’ve thought about it every damn day since I let you walk out of my life.”

His eyes lock on mine, unflinching. “I want to be with you. I need to be part of your life.”

Each word hits like a heartbeat—steady, deliberate, devastating.

“Whatever it takes. Whatever it costs.” He takes a slow step closer, like he’s afraid he’s already lost me. “I’m in.”

The words hang between us, weighted with everything he’s never said. His jaw tightens, and for the first time, his eyes flicker—not with resolve, but with fear. The kind that lives deep in the bones. The kind that only comes when you care too much.

“But only if…” His voice breaks slightly, barely audible over the pulse roaring in my ears. “Only if you still want me. If I haven’t already wrecked this beyond repair.”

His shoulders go still. Braced for the blow.

Not because he doesn’t mean every word.

But because he’s terrified it might be too late to say them.

It couldn’t be more perfectly Jackson Hart.

No grand gesture. No fanfare.

Just a man, standing in the middle of a city he doesn’t belong to, offering his heart like it’s the only thing he has left—and the only thing that matters.

A laugh escapes me—sharp, stunned, soaked in disbelief, and something dangerously close to joy.

Jackson’s brow furrows. His jaw tightens. That flicker of uncertainty flashes in his eyes, like he’s bracing for rejection. Again.

I take a breath, pulse skittering. “I shouldn’t have walked away.”

His gaze snaps to mine.

“I gave you every chance to ask me to stay, but I should’ve stayed anyway. I told myself I was giving you space, letting you go with dignity.” My throat thickens. “But the truth is, I left my heart in Angel’s Peak. And the minute I got back here, I started figuring out how to get it back.”

His expression shifts—hope warring with disbelief.

“Yesterday, I submitted a proposal to Vivian—my editor at the magazine,” I add, stepping closer. “Remote work. Based in Angel’s Peak. Travel for major assignments. Quarterly office visits.”

His breath stutters. “You?—”

“It’s already approved. I start next month.” The words settle between us, anchoring something that had been weightless and uncertain for too long. “I tried convincing myself I belonged here. That Angel’s Peak was just another story. But?—”

“The mountain gets in your blood,” he says.

“No.” I shake my head, locking eyes with him. “Youdid.”

He exhales like I just punched the air back into his lungs.

Then he moves.

---