Page 12 of Romancing the Mountain Man
Luke's quick turnaround at his reaction to me made me feel good. It made me feel like maybe I haven’t lost touch with “rekindling romance” and that I just needed to regroup outside the city. It’s been fun watching him come out of his shell, open up more to me, and have some fun. We even cooked dinner together, and when I began cutting vegetables kind of the same way I was stacking wood, he was eager to correct me.
So, I listened for a moment, then grabbed a carrot and began slowly peeling it, long strokes while staring him dead in his eye. Then I placed it down and chopped the tip off.
“Happy now?” I asked sweetly.
“You’re a menace in the kitchen,” he muttered, taking the knife from me.
“Good. Keeps you on your toes, mountain man.”
But what really surprised me was yesterday afternoon. I told him I was getting some inspiration and really needed to get my words down. He said he would leave me with the quiet, which turned out to be exactly what I needed.
Almost.
I couldn’t quite place it, except to say I wasn’t used to the quiet. In the city, there is always some kind of background noise, and I always assumed I needed it to write.
So, when I sat with way too much silence, I found myself searching the windows for him. I spotted him restacking the wood outside the cabin, and I was relieved when he looked my way. I waved, and he nodded, standing with his hand on his hip a little too long. I was disappointed when he turned around and left, walking back towards his cabin without a word. I sat back down, taking a deep breath and telling myself just to keep writing.
A few minutes later, I heard his steps on my porch. When I went to the door, he was sitting in the oversized rocking chair, a knife in one hand, a smooth piece of wood in the other. He carved and rocked away, neither one of us speaking.
I left the door halfway open and moved to the bistro table with my laptop to write. And the words poured out. Every so often, I glanced out the door, seeing him in his flannel, his hands moving quickly and with focus.
And it felt good. It felt right. And that scared me more than the storm did.
Chapter 11
Luke
“I’m not used to being quiet like this,” she says, pen in hand with a small notebook. “It’s like everything in my head gets louder.”
I nod, understanding what she means. “That’s why I came out here. I needed the quiet to figure stuff out.”
She looks up from what she was writing. “And what did you find?”
I shrug. “A lot of silence and some much-needed peace. Guess I needed it to sort through the ghosts.”
“I think I’m running from my own ghosts, too,” she whispers.
“Your smart mouth should scare them off.”
She scoffs. “You’d think.”
We’re sitting together on the couch, looking out the windows into the forest. The sun is beginning to set, and what’s left of the leaves on the trees leaves the day bright. Any other person sitting this close to me, in the quiet that I need, would have me running. But her quiet is comfortable.
She leans forward, putting her notebook and pen on the table, her leg brushing mine, then sits back on the couch abit closer this time. When she rests her head on my shoulder, my body stills. I stay frozen for a moment, which is stupid considering I was inside her last night. But this feels different, more intimate.
She breaks the silence with, “You’re thinking too loud.”
“You talk too much.”
She rubs her cheek against my shoulder. “You like it.”
I do. “Guess I don’t wanna say too much and scare you away.”
She laughs. “I’m not going anywhere. Kind of trapped here in this cabin.” She sits up straight, her eyes wide. “Was this your plan all along? Trap me in this place and have your way with me?”
“Pretty convenient, huh?”
She belly laughs again, and it makes me feel ten feet tall. I give in to my need and throw my arm around her, pulling her in close.
