Page 17 of Wrecked on the Mountain
My mom's voice cuts through my internal spiral, and I look up to find her wielding a wooden spoon like a weapon. The kitchen island is covered with muffins, which means Mom's been stress-baking since dawn.
"Sorry, what?" I grunt, taking another bite of what is the best cinnamon muffin in existence.
"I said," she continues, giving me that look that still makes me feel like I'm twelve. "…you should invite your lovely newneighbor over for Sunday dinner. She sounds like she could use some proper mothering."
My youngest sister Zoe snorts from where she's scrolling through her phone at the kitchen table at my parents house. "Subtle, Mom. Real subtle."
"What's subtle about it?" Mom demands, hands on her hips. "The poor girl is all alone in that cabin, probably eating takeout from Timber Tavern and drinking less than ideal instant coffee. It's practically criminal."
"She's not alone," I say, then immediately regret it when all three women in my family turn to stare at me. "I mean, she's... she's fine. She's handling herself fine."
Chloe, my middle sister and the owner of the town's bakery, looks up from where she's been stealing muffin tops. "Oh, she'shandling herself fine, is she? Is that why you've been avoiding your own cabin for three days?"
"I haven't been avoiding anything," I lie. "I've been working."
I take a gulp of the hot chocolate Mom insisted on making despite the fact that I'm a grown-ass man. I didn't argue because, well… I like hot cocoa. Come at me.
"You've been sleeping in the rescue station break room," Zoe points out without looking up from her phone. "Martha told Linda, Linda told Betty, Betty told Mom. The gossip chain in this town is faster than your radio system."
I sigh and shake my head.
The truth is, Ihavebeen avoiding my cabin.
Ever since orientation, I can't look out my kitchen window without remembering the way Brooke looked at me on her first day. The way her breath caught when I called her sweetheart.
The woman is dangerous for my well-trained sexual restraint.
I've been jacking off to the memory of her bent over that chopping block so much I'm starting to worry about chafing.
"Maybe," Mom continues, "I should just walk over there with a casserole. And some of those cranberry bars—"
"Mom, no." I set down my mug on the table with a hard clunk. "She's my employee. She doesn't need you adopting her."
"Employee," Chloe repeats with air quotes. "Right. Is that why your ears turn red every time someone mentions her name?"
I reach up instinctively to check my ears, then catch myself and scowl. "My ears don't turn red."
"They'reliterallyred right now," Zoe says, finally looking up from her phone to grin at me. "Like, tomato red. It's actually impressive."
This is why I moved out the second I turned eighteen.
Three sisters and a mother picking apart every reaction, every glance, every unconscious gesture until a man can't even have a private thought in his own head.
I don't know how Dad does it. Maybe that's why he's never around when they're picking me apart. Smart man.
"Screw you guys," I say, standing up and grabbing my jacket. "I'm going to work. Where I can have conversations that don't involve analyzing my ear color."
"Just be careful, sweetheart," Mom says with unexpected gentleness. "I know you don't let people in easy. But sometimes the best things happen when we stop fighting what we want."
I grunt and wave her off.
Of course, Mom knows about Rebecca. About how that disaster ended with me swearing off city women and their inevitable departure dates.
But Brooke isn't Rebecca.
Stop it. Brooke is exactly like Rebecca. Temporary. Here for a few months before she goes back to her real life.
I steal another muffin on the way out the door. "I'll see you Sunday, Mom."
