Page 1 of Admiring the Mountain Man
1
Kelsie
The first time Hayes Foster stepped inside the Hollow Oak, the floorboards trembled under the weight of his cane, each thump firmer than the last, a steady rhythm as deliberate as the man himself.
He still comes every Monday, without fail, trailing the scent of pine and solitude, turning our slowest day into something exciting whenever he recalls a story from his past. It’s not often that he talks about himself, but when he does, I make sure I’m one of the few who listen.
I tell myself I dread the veterans’ rowdy gatherings each week, but that’s a lie. What I dread is the way my pulse stutters when he walks in. It’s like I don’t have control over my feelings.
Hayes is a mystery wrapped in flannel and guarded silence. A recluse with a limp, earned by an injury I’ve yet to hear about, descending from his mountain only for these gatherings. He’sthe man who has been stuck in my head from the moment he joined this growing group one sudden day, a few months ago.
A girl needs a warning for men like him.
I remember it as if it were yesterday.
Early spring. Raindrops clung to the Hollow Oak’s windows, turning the world outside into a watercolor blur. The door groaned open, and there he was, drenched and haloed in the dim glow of the bar lights.
Water slid down his facial hair and clung to his lashes. My tongue turned to lead in my mouth as I wondered if my mind was playing tricks on me.
I’d never seen a man like him—all coiled strength and quiet danger, the kind that makes your stomach drop and your skin prickle all at once. He should’ve been terrifying. And he was.
At the same time, he was so handsome.
So good-looking that I forgot to breathe. Forgot to look away. My knees threatened to give out, and my jaw? It’s a miracle it didn’t hit the floor.
At that point, I knew Mondays would never be the same.
Then he closed the distance between us, claimed the seat that he always does, and let me get an even better look at him up close for one last lethal attack.
His eyes are the kind of green that doesn’t belong in a bar—dark, storm-lashed, like they’ve memorized the shape of every wound the world can give.
Oh boy, then there is that beard. Thick, salt-and-pepper, the kind a woman could lose her fingers in. The kind I’ve thought about touching in my dreams. Stroking his cheeks before stealing as many kisses as I want.
The whole package, really.
And sometimes… that package looks back. Sure, it’s because he needs another drink, but I can pretend otherwise.
Now, while I run around the kitchen and ensure everything is ready for the rush, my heart is betraying me, fluttering with eagerness.
I nearly collide with Eden as she rounds the corner, her arms loaded with a tub of sliced citrus. She jerks back at the last second, sending a lime skittering across the floor.
“Woah, there.” She grins, steadying the wobbling tower of fruit in her arms. My face must be scarlet, because she laughs—that bright, unapologetic sound—and shifts the tub to one hip so she can squeeze my shoulder. “Breathe, babe. It’s just another Monday.”
But it’s not. Not when the love of my life is about to take his favorite stool at the bar. Hayes has been arriving right on time over the last few weeks, hardly giving me any time to prepare.
Any minute now, they’ll start flooding inside. What started as a small group of old men coming together to reminisce about their past has now evolved into a larger group ready to let loose in the best ways. Over a drink and a meal. Over laughter and stories that involve matters that have left them damaged.
Giving her a nod and a reassuring smile, I check with Tony to make sure all the fryers and flat top are ready to go.
Emmett has the prep station taken care of, shooing me away before I can even ask him if he needs any help.
The bartenders are all set, and everything is in order.
Then the doors push open, and Dalson steps in, the man who started this thing. He gives us a wave and a smile before he takes a seat at one of the tables. Like clockwork, more people begin to flood inside.
My job is to make sure everything runs smoothly in this place. If Gavin worked Mondays, he’d start asking me why I suddenly have an interest in bartending. The last thing I want is an interrogation to start taking place with the owner of this bar.
The other women don’t mind me too much as long as I don’t get in the way. Luckily for them, there’s only one corner I love to linger in each time I dip in and out of the kitchen.
