Page 29 of S'more Mountain Man

"Morning, Sunshine," I said, my voice still rough with sleep.

She turned, a spatula in hand, and the smile that lit her face did something to my chest I wasn't prepared for. "Hey there, Mountain Man. Hope you like pancakes. It's pretty much the only thing I can cook without setting off the smoke alarm."

"Pancakes are good." I moved to her, unable to resist wrapping my arms around her from behind, pressing a kiss to the side of her neck. "Coffee smells good too."

"Mmm." She leaned back against me. "There's a mug for you on the table. I wasn't sure how you took it, so I left it black."

"Black is perfect."

We moved around each other in a dance of newfound intimacy—the awareness of two people who knew each other's bodies but were still learning each other's daily rhythms. She flipped the flapjacks while I doctored my coffee, both of us stealing glances when we thought the other wasn't looking.

Sitting across from each other at her small kitchen table, bright morning rays catching in her tousled hair, I was struck by how right this felt. How easy. The domesticity of it all should have terrified me—had terrified me for years. Instead, I found myself wondering what it would be like to wake up to this more often.

"So," she said, pouring more syrup on her stack of pancakes. "You came all this way. What's your plan now? Heading straight back to the wilderness?"

I set down my coffee. "Actually, I've been thinking about making some changes."

Her eyebrows rose, but she didn't comment, giving me space to continue.

"I've been considering guiding again. Part-time. Maybe setting up a storefront in town for the knives." The ideas had been forming over the past two weeks but saying them out loud made them suddenly real. "I could come into Missoula. Sometimes."

"Sometimes," she repeated, a small smile playing at her lips.

"I'm not saying I'm moving to the city," I clarified. "The cabin is still home. But maybe... maybe I don't need to be there all the time."

She nodded, understanding what I wasn't quite saying. "And what brought on this change of heart?"

"You." The simple truth. "You make me see things differently. The night sky. The world. Myself." I paused, searching for the right words. "I've been surviving, but that’s not the same as living. Maybe it's time to start doing that again. Feeling. Caring."

Her hand found mine across the table, our fingers intertwining. "That's a lot of change all at once."

"It is."

"Are you sure?"

I considered the question, really considered it. Was I ready to rejoin the world, even partially? To open myself up to the complications and messiness of human connection again?

Looking at Skye—her bright eyes, her gentle smile, the way she'd stormed into my carefully ordered existence and turned everything upside down—I knew the answer.

"Yes," I said. "I'm sure."

She squeezed my hand. "I'm not sure where this is going, Leif. Between us, I mean. It's fast and intense and—"

"And?"

"And I'm not done with you yet," she finished. "Whatever this is we have, I want to see where it leads."

Relief flooded through me. "As do I."

"So what now? Weekend visits? You teaching me how to not die in the woods? Me teaching you about lesson plans and the wonders of delivery pizza?"

I laughed, the sound coming easier now. "All of the above. We figure it out as we go."

"Very scientific approach," she teased.

"I thought you'd approve."

She rose from her chair, coming around the table to settle in my lap, her arms looping around my neck. "I do approve. Very much."

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