Page 11 of The Mountain Man's Curvy Bride

"It's fine, Wes," I say cheerfully, waving away his concerns as I tug open the closet door wider. "This closet needs attention, and I'm just the person for the job."

"It's full of old junk," he mutters, stepping closer as if to physically block my progress. "Nothing interesting in there."

I pause, turning to smile at him sweetly. "Then you won't mind if I get rid of some things, right?"

He sighs heavily, running a hand through his hair in exasperation. "Just—be careful, okay? There's no telling what's hiding in there."

"Yes, sir," I tease gently, turning back to my task. Despite his protests, Wes remains nearby, watching me closely as I dive into the clutter.

Deep down, I know part of my determined busyness stems from the lingering sting of last night. Offering myself to Wes, only to have him gently reject me, left me feeling foolish. My cheeks warm even now, thinking about how I must have looked, hopeful and vulnerable. Yet, I'm determined not to let embarrassment get the best of me. If Wes isn't ready, that's okay. I'll focus on being useful, making this cabin into a true home.

The silence stretches comfortably between us, broken only by my occasional exclamations of surprise as I uncover old books, dusty knick-knacks, and piles of forgotten clothing. Every so often, I glance over my shoulder to find Wes's gaze fixed steadily on me. His eyes follow my every move, making my skin tingle pleasantly. Though he might not see me as more than a convenient partner in our unusual arrangement, I can't help but feel adored under his watchful attention.

After several hours of dusting, sorting, and rearranging, I step back triumphantly, hands on my hips as I admire my work. "There! All done."

Wes moves closer, peering over my shoulder into the now neat and organized closet. "I barely recognize it," he admits grudgingly. "You've got a knack for this."

"Thank you," I reply warmly, genuinely pleased by his praise. "Now, time for fudge."

"Again?" he asks, raising an eyebrow, though a hint of a smile tugs at his lips.

"Yes, again," I say firmly, brushing past him toward the kitchen. "The town seems to love it, and it's keeping me busy."

He trails after me, leaning against the counter as I gather ingredients, his gaze softening slightly. "You know, Daisy, you don't have to prove anything to anyone here."

I pause, looking up into his dark, sincere eyes. "Maybe not, but it feels good to contribute. To feel like I belong."

"You do belong," he says quietly, his voice earnest. "More than you realize."

My heart skips a beat at his words, hope blossoming anew inside me. Even if he doesn't see me as I wish he would, at least he's starting to accept me into his life. That alone is worth more than anything.

"Thanks, Wes," I whisper softly, feeling a warm flush spread across my cheeks.

We fall into comfortable silence as I work, melting chocolate and stirring ingredients together. Every now and then, I glance up to catch Wes watching me intently, his expression unreadable yet gentle. Each time, my pulse quickens, and I find myself wishing desperately that one day soon, he'll truly see me—not just as a companion or convenient partner, but as someone he could genuinely love.

As the fudge sets and the sweet aroma fills the cabin, I turn to find Wes still leaning against the counter, a small, genuine smile on his lips.

"Smells amazing," he murmurs appreciatively.

"Wait until you taste it," I reply playfully, offering him a small piece I've saved.

He steps closer, taking it from my fingers and popping it into his mouth. His eyes close briefly, savoring the taste before opening again, warm and appreciative. "Perfect, as always."

My heart flutters wildly, and for just a moment, standing there in the cozy kitchen with Wes, everything feels right.

Maybe someday soon, he'll feel it too.

9

Wes

It's been a long, productive day. Daisy's fudge is cooling on the counter, neatly packaged and ready for delivery into town tomorrow. We share a quiet dinner, the silence between us companionable yet charged with a subtle tension that’s been simmering ever since last night's near-intimate moment. Daisy hasn't mentioned it, but I've seen the shy glances, the slight hesitation in her movements, and it fills me with guilt. I know I hurt her feelings, even unintentionally.

After dinner, Daisy tidies up quickly, her movements graceful and efficient. I watch her quietly from my spot by the fireplace, my gaze drawn irresistibly to the gentle sway of her hips, the soft curves of her body. She moves through my cabin—our cabin—with such confidence now, making it feel more like a real home every day.

She finally settles onto the sofa beside me, pulling her legs up beneath her as the firelight dances softly across her face. Her blonde hair tumbles loosely around her shoulders, catching thegolden glow. Everything about her draws me closer, and a deep, all-consuming need begins to simmer inside me.

I clear my throat, feeling suddenly awkward. “Today was good,” I say softly, not meeting her eyes.

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