Page 27 of S'more Mountain Man

I located Saturn, its rings clearly visible through the powerful telescope. The sight of it, so familiar yet always awe-inspiring, settled something in my chest.

"Maybe I got lost for a reason," I murmured, the thought forming as I spoke it. "Maybe the flat tire and the wrong turn and all of it was the universe's way of putting us in the same place at the same time."

I knew, scientifically, that was nonsense. The universe didn't orchestrate flat tires to create meet-cutes. But sometimes scientific explanations, while accurate, didn't capture the full picture of human experience.

I stayed for another hour, mapping stars and planets, letting the familiar routine soothe my restless mind. By the time I packed up and headed home, it was nearly midnight, and a peaceful exhaustion had settled over me.

My apartment was dark and quiet when I returned. I kicked off my shoes at the door and dropped my keys in the bowl on the entry table, not bothering to turn on the lights as I made my way to the kitchen for a glass of water.

The sudden ring of the doorbell shattered the silence, making me jump so violently that I sloshed water down the front of my shirt.

"Omigod!" I yelped, heart pounding. Who would be ringing my doorbell at midnight?

A neighbor with an emergency? The building manager about a pipe leak? A very lost pizza delivery person?

I approached the door cautiously, peering through the peephole.

And found myself staring at Leif Brannick.

For a moment, I thought I was hallucinating. Maybe I'd fallen asleep at the telescope and was dreaming this whole thing. But when I opened the door, he was still there—solid and real and looking distinctly uncomfortable in a button-up shirt that strained slightly across his broad shoulders. In his hands was my duffel bag, the one I'd apparently left at the camp.

"Leif," I managed, my voice emerging as little more than a whisper. "What are you—how did you—"

"You forgot this," he said, holding out the duffel.

I blinked, trying to kick my brain back into gear. "You drove three hours to return my duffel bag?"

A muscle in his jaw twitched. "Yes."

"That's not why you came." The words slipped out before I could stop them.

His eyes met mine, those pale green depths revealing more than his stoic expression. "No. It's not."

My heart hammered against my ribs. "Why, then?"

He hesitated, then took a step forward, close enough that I could smell the pine and cedar scent that clung to him, even in the city.

"Because I can't stop thinking about you."

Chapter Eight

“I’m not asking for forever. But maybe the chance.”

Leif

The words hung between us for a heartbeat—"I can't stop thinking about you"—and then she was in my arms, her lips on mine, urgent and demanding. I dropped the duffel bag, forgotten, as my hands found her waist, pulling her against me.

"Then don't," she whispered against my mouth, and something inside me broke loose, like a dam giving way after years of holding back.

I lifted her, her legs wrapping tightly around my waist as I carried her into the apartment, kicking the door closed behind us. The place was quintessentially Skye—books stacked on every surface, astronomy posters on the walls, a half-assembled telescope on the dining table. Bright. Chaotic. Alive.

"Bedroom?" I managed between kisses.

She pointed down a short hallway, and I carried her there, both of us unwilling to break contact long enough to walk separately. Her bedroom was lit only by the glow of fairy lightsshaped like stars, casting a soft blue glow over rumpled sheets and more books.

I set her on the edge of the bed, finally pulling back to look at her. Her hair was wild, her eyes bright, her lips already swollen from our kisses. She was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen.

"You came all this way," she said, her fingers working on the buttons of my shirt. "Just to tell me you were thinking about me?"

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