Page 32 of Bossy Mountain Daddies
Her eyes widen when I pull out the blanket and spread it on a flat rock near the water. "You really did pack a picnic."
"Told you I would," I say, unpacking sandwiches wrapped in wax paper, a container of fresh strawberries, some chips, two beers. "Nothing fancy, but?—"
"It's perfect," she interrupts, settling onto the blanket.
We eat as the waterfall provides a constant backdrop of gentle noise. The beer is cold, the sandwiches simple but good—roast beef with horseradish that Buck prepared for us without asking questions, though his knowing smile said plenty.
"So," I say eventually, "what was your life like? Before you ended up stranded in Flounder Ridge?"
She takes a sip of beer, considering. "Busy. Structured. I worked long hours at the publishing house, trying to climb the ladder. Lived with Daniel in this high-rise apartment that never really felt like home." She pauses. "I thought I was working toward something, you know?"
The sadness in her voice twists something in my chest. "And now?"
"Now I don't know," she admits. "Part of me feels like I should be panicking—no job, no permanent place to live, no plan. But honestly?" She looks up at me, her eyes clear. "I feel more alive in this past week than I have in years."
I hold her gaze, trying to ignore the warmth spreading through me. "Sometimes the best things in life come from the unexpected detours."
She smiles. "I'm starting to think you're right."
I’m surprised we’re the only people here today. It’s never really crowded but there’s usually at least a few people around. I guess it is a Monday, though…
The sun is high overhead and I’m feeling hot. I stand, stretching my back. "Want to cool off?" I nod toward the pool beneath the waterfall.
Her eyebrows lift. "I didn't bring a swimsuit."
"Me neither. Don't need 'em," I say, pulling my t-shirt over my head. Her eyes find me, lingering on my chest. "Boxers work just fine."
I kick off my boots, then unbuckle my jeans, watching her face. She's trying not to stare, but not doing a very good job. I step out of my jeans, standing in just my black boxers.
"Coming?" I ask, then walk to the edge of the pool and dive in.
The water is bracingly cold, a shock to the system that feels amazing after sitting in the sun. I surface, pushing wet hair from my face. I see Skye standing at the edge, hesitating.
"Too cold?" I call to her.
She shakes her head, then pulls her shirt off in one fluid motion. She's wearing a simple black bra, nothing fancy, but my heart thuds at the sight of her bare skin.
She shimmies out of her jeans, revealing matching black underwear, then stands there for a moment.
"Stop staring," she says, but she's smiling.
"Can't help it," I admit. "You're gorgeous, Skye."
She blushes, then jumps in, gasping when she surfaces. "Holy shit, that's cold!"
I laugh, swimming toward her. "You get used to it."
"Liar," she says, teeth chattering slightly.
I reach for her, pulling her closer, our legs brushing beneath the water. "Body heat helps," I murmur.
Her arms wrap around my neck, our bodies aligning. The cold recedes, replaced by a different kind of awareness.
"Better?" I ask, my voice rough.
She nods, her eyes on my mouth. "Much."
I lean in slowly, giving her time to pull away if she wants to. She doesn't. Instead, she closes the distance, her lips meeting mine.
