Page 1 of Moody Mountain Man
Chapter one
Annie
The bakery smells like cinnamon, sugar, and coffee. It’s the busiest weekend of Pine Hollow’s fall festival season, and I’m barely keeping up. Cinnamon rolls fly off the shelves, toddlers smear frosting on the glass case, and I’m three orders behind when the outlet near the mixer sparks.
Then pops.
Then flares.
“Extinguisher,” I call. Rosa throws it my way, and I blast the little fire before it has a chance to grow teeth. Smoke rolls low and angry. The smell is awful—burnt wiring and melted plastic over butter and vanilla.
Chief Myers shows up within minutes. “You’re lucky. But that panel’s cooked. You need a licensed contractor to replace this before you can reopen.”
I nod, smile like it doesn’t sting. The café’s heart just stopped beating, and I don’t have time for downtime.
I ignore her and grab my phone. I scroll past every contractor in the county. No answer. No availability. Then my thumbhovers over the one name I promised not to call again: Cal Redmond.
I hit the number and dial.
“Yeah?” His voice is gravel and steel.
“It’s Annie.” I pause. “I had a fire. It’s just a small one, but I can’t reopen until someone replaces the wiring. Fast.”
Silence.
Then: “You okay?”
The question sucker punches me. “Yeah. Just shaken.”
“I’ll be there in twenty.”
He hangs up.
He shows up in eighteen minutes. He’s always on time or early.
Tall, broad, in a Henley and a toolbelt, his eyes scanning for damage before they land on me. That same unreadable expression I used to get back when he’d show up for cinnamon rolls before a shift and pretend not to care how often we "accidentally" touched hands at the register.
“You’re all right,” he says, relief quickly passing through his eyes.
“Hello to you too.”
He ducks into the kitchen, crouches by the outlet, and works in silence. That’s Cal. Focused. Quiet. Always a little too close for comfort and a little too far away to hold onto.
“You did it right,” he mutters. “But this whole run’s shot. I need to pull the wall, rewire it to the panel.”
“Can you do it today?”
He nods once. “If I start now.”
“Coffee?”
He grunts.
I set a mug near him and hover as he tests lines, isolates circuits, and shuts off the kitchen power. It’s like watching a man build a wall and tear one down at the same time.
“I’ll bring ovens back first,” he says. “Let them warm while I work.”
“Thanks.”
