Page 12 of Stone Cold Mountain Man
I close my eyes and listen. Every rustle of the blanket, every shift of her breathing, every sigh. I wonder if she’s falling asleep. I wonder if she’s lying awake like me, thinking about the space between us that feels thinner than it should.
Time drags. The wind howls. And then—
A faint, staccato sound. Teeth chattering.
I frown and push up quietly, careful not to startle her. She’s curled into herself on the bed, the blanket pulled tight around her shoulders, but the cold has snuck in anyway.
I move silently toward the closet, to grab another blanket. But as I pass the bed, her voice stops me.
“Where are you going?”
I glance down. Even in the dark, I can make out the pale outline of her face, her eyes open and watching me.
“Getting you another blanket,” I whisper.
Her hand slips out from under the covers, searching. Fingers brush against mine, soft and warm despite her shivering. She curls them around mine, holding tight.
“You don’t have to,” she murmurs. “You can—you can keep me warm.”
The words hit like a jolt, a live wire under my skin. For a second, I can’t breathe. The air between us feels heavy, charged, like the mountain itself is holding its breath.
I squeeze her hand, fighting every instinct that says this is dangerous, that if I give in now, there’s no going back.
But she’s right there, asking. And God help me, I don’t want to say no.
So, I don’t.
10
Taylor
I don’t know where the nerve came from.
Maybe it was the cover of darkness wrapping the room in shadows.
Maybe it was the way Wade looked at me tonight, steady and unflinching, like I was worth listening to.
Or maybe it was because, for the first time in my life, I didn’t feel like I had to tuck pieces of myself away to fit beside someone else.
I’ve spent years learning to be quieter, softer, less. But with Wade, I never once felt like I was taking up too much space. Even when I was rambling over dinner, he didn’t look impatient or bored. He just listened, solid and calm, like he had all the time in the world for me.
That’s what gives me courage now — the certainty that he sees me and isn’t trying to shrink me down.
He doesn’t hesitate. There’s no lecture about propriety, no awkward excuses. He simply slides under the covers, the mattress dipping with his weight. The warmth of him seeps through the cool air instantly.
I shift, lifting just enough so his arm can slip around me. The movement is easy, natural, like we’ve done this a hundred times instead of once. He draws me close, firm, and sure. I settle against him with a sigh I didn’t know I was holding.
He’s solid heat and quiet strength, his chest broad beneath my cheek, the steady thud of his heartbeat grounding me in a way I didn’t expect. I fit against him like two puzzle pieces finally snapping together — no forcing, no adjusting, just right.
Wade lowers his head and presses a gentle kiss to the crown of my hair. It’s soft, almost reverent, and my breath catches.
I tilt my head back, searching his face in the dim light. The faint glow from the window outlines his profile—strong jaw, straight nose, eyes dark and unreadable but fixed on me.
For a heartbeat, we just breathe the same air, inches apart. The storm rattles faintly at the shutters, but inside, everything holds still.
Something pulls at us—quiet but certain, like gravity. My fingers curl against his shirt, holding on, and I see his gaze drop to my mouth before coming back to my eyes.
My heart stutters.
