Page 15 of Romancing the Mountain Man
But I know we have to.
He nips at the space between my shoulder and neck, and I break. My body quivers and arches into his, taking everythinghe’s giving. And once he hits his release, we fall into a soft, silent rock in the chair as reality crashes in.
He didn’t ask me to stay. Not even in the middle of an orgasm, where thoughts become words.
I give him one more kiss on the corner of his mouth and climb off him. I dress quickly and head back inside, making one last trip around this cabin to make sure I have everything, and walk to the door. I look around the corner of the cabin and see the empty rocker rocking in the breeze.
He’s gone.
Chapter 13
Quinn - Three Weeks Later
The coffee shop is loud, which usually helps give me the focus I need, but for whatever reason, since coming back home, I’ve needed silence to write.
That’s a lie.
It’s not for whatever reason. I know the exact reason.
I stare at the cursor blinking at me like it’s mocking me, and jump when I hear Mariella’s voice.
“You haven’t written a single word,” Mariella says, as she slides the chair out across from me. It makes a terrible screech across the floor. She drops her purse with a loud thud, and then she’s stirring her iced latte with more aggression than necessary.
“Why are you so loud?”
She pauses her spoon, and her lips twitch. “Need quiet now, do ya?”
I narrow my eyes on her. “Anyway, I wrote a few words last night. I’ve been busy.”
“With what? Waiting for your phone to ring?”
I sigh and close the laptop. “It’s complicated.”
Mariella raises a perfectly shaped brow. “No, Quinn. Breakups are complicated. College midterms are complicated. You falling for a hot mountain man, fucking him out of–”
“Mari!”
“—his emotional unavailability and then running away because you got scared? That’s just dumb.” She sits back and crosses her arms. “I told you not to fall in love with the mountain man, and you went ahead and did it anyway.”
“Thanks for the pep talk.”
“I’m serious.” She leans in now. “You left the city to get your head on straight, and then you come back swearing you're fine, but all you’ve done is mope around, ignore writing your own love story, and replay nights in a cabin like it’s a damn Hallmark movie on a loop.”
“It wasn’tjustnights.”
“Exactly!” She points her spoon at me like a weapon. “That’s why this isn’t nothing. You told me about the way he touched you, like he was memorizing you. About how he made you breakfast and listened to you ramble about plot arcs like it was foreplay. You named your next best seller after him. You don’t get that and walk away, leaving it behind.”
I scoff. “Best seller? I only have the title.” I sigh and slump in my chair. “It wasn’t supposed tobeanything. I was just supposed to regroup. Heal.”
“And you did. But now you’re hiding behind that. You need real life for this book to happen. Stop playing it safe and risk something. Let yourselffeelsomething. Be the main character in your own damn story for once.”
I spin my coffee cup on the table. “What if I go back and he’s moved on? What if it was all one-sided? What if he does this with every single woman who goes to those cabins?”
Mariella softens, just a little. “Then at least you’ll know. And you can write the story anyway and kill him off.” Wesnicker together. “But you don’t write stories withmaybehappy endings, Quinn. You write them withfinal choices.So, choose him, choose the book, choose to live a little. Either way, you need to write the story of how you romanced the damn mountain man.”
I laugh, despite myself. “God, you make it sound so easy.”
“It’s not easy. But it’s worth it.” She reaches over and nudges my laptop back toward me. “Now, write the first chapter, then jump in your car, and drive up that mountain.”
