Page 23 of My Fearless Mountain Man

I’ve been stuck, accepting that I’m not meant for love or relationships, that maybe some people don’t get their happy endings. I’ve hurt people before—friends, lovers—and every time, I pull away, thinking it’s easier for everyone if I stay out of the picture. But Nora... she’s different. She keeps giving me chances, keeps believing I can fix it, and I’ve ignored her.

Then, one sentence from her cuts through the fog of my thoughts:After tomorrow, you won’t have to worry about seeing me again.

“She’s leaving!” I yell into the silence of my empty home.

She’s not threatening me—Nora doesn’t do threats. She’s a woman of promises, the kind who hands over letters year afteryear, searching for a place to call her own, for her happiness with purpose. And now, she’s walking away.

It’s what I thought I wanted. Getting her out of my life so she can move on. But it feels wrong.

Without thinking, I grab my keys and head to her cabin. I spot her duffle bag on the porch, her car parked close to the house. She steps out with her hair in a high ponytail, shuts the door behind her, and freezes when she sees me getting out of my truck.

I have no plan, no idea what I’m doing here, but I can’t stop myself. She’s wearing that same sundress I first saw her in, her eyes puffy, her discomfort clear—and something inside me snaps.

The walls I’ve built around myself crumble, and I take a step toward her.

“Nora,” I breathe.

She grabs her duffle bag and places it in the trunk, then picks up a smaller bag and carries it to the front seat of her car. She doesn’t look at me, just holds up a letter.

“No more letters,” I say, my tone sharper than I intend. “I’ve read them all. From the first to the last. I only saw what you wrote about the tree after... after I left that morning.”

“Then one more won’t hurt,” she replies quietly.

“I’ll burn it before I read it,” I say, my voice steady, but the pain beneath it is obvious.

She meets my eyes for a moment, her lashes casting a shadow over her gaze. She glances at the cabin, then back at me, fingers playing with the keys. She doesn’t want to leave. And God, I don’t want her to go. But I don’t know when it shifted.I can’t pinpoint the moment when I started wanting her here more than I wanted to hold onto the life I had before her.

Maybe walking away that morning was my last attempt to cling to something familiar, something I had before her—a life I haven’t had for over six years.

“Why?” she asks again, her voice quiet.

“Because I spent six years imagining how your voice would sound when it wasn’t cut off by coughing,” I say, swallowing the lump in my throat. “I waited every summer for another letter, never knowing if you’d keep writing. The moment you walked in here a few weeks ago, I knew it was you. I couldn’t have forgotten you, Nora. I tried, but I couldn’t.”

“Why?” she asks again, and there’s something raw in her voice.

I want to demand she stop asking, but I can’t. I take a slow breath. “Because of how you looked at me. Because of those letters, where you made being honest, raw, real, seem so easy. I could tell what excited you by the way you wrote. I could tell what took more time. I memorized your handwriting because I read those letters over and over.”

She plays with her keys again, turning back toward the house, and I follow.

“I’m probably too late,” I say, my voice faltering as I catch up with her. “I know that. I’m not where I should be for you. Hell, yesterday proved that. But every moment we’ve shared, every small conversation, every time I ran into you... it meant something to me. Kissing you almost destroyed me because I was so terrified of ruining you. And somewhere in all this, I started loving you, even when I didn’t think I was capable of it.”

She pauses, picking up the coded lockbox for the keys. Her hand trembles, and I feel my heart break.

“Pretty words,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper.

“They’re not just words. If they were easy, I would’ve said them yesterday. I would’ve said them when we were lying in bed, and you told me how much you love how real it is here—the darkness at night, the real sunshine and birds, nothing manufactured like in the city.” I rush out the words, needing her to hear them, to understand.

She finishes locking the keys away, and my chest tightens, the finality of it cutting through me.

“Nora, please... look at me.”

Slowly, she turns her eyes to mine. I see the hurt, the distrust, the flicker of hope still lingering there. She rubs her arm, and my chest aches as I step closer.

“I didn’t extend my stay, and I meant what I said yesterday,” she says softly, her voice shaking slightly.

“I know,” I breathe, gently cupping her cheek. “I’m not expecting you to stay, even though I want you to. But I’m scarred, broken, and terrified. I’m terrified that if I let myself care about you, if I let a relationship happen, I’ll ruin it by second-guessing everything. But still...” I pull her closer, my voice thick. “I’d rather deal with all of that than open a letter knowing it’s the last one.”

She swallows, her hand settling on mine, warm and fragile. “I don’t know what to say.”

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