Page 7 of Mountain Man's Autumn Angel
Her cheeks flushed pink, but her smile widened. “Lead the way, Lumberjack47.”
I laughed, taking her hand and heading for the door. “I think you can call me Luca now.”
“I don’t know.” She squeezed my fingers. “I kind of like having my own personal lumberjack.”
As we stepped out into the cool autumn night, smiles on our faces, my mind was already working overtime. I had to get her alone again. I had to finish what we’d just started. But first, I’d remove this condom as soon as we got back to my cabin. Luckily, I had plenty more where that one came from.
4
MELANIE
“The timing is perfect,” Luca said as he stood at the large wood-top island in the center of his farmhouse-style kitchen. That decor made sense since the entire house was literally on a farm. “I just plucked a basketful earlier today. My parents planted the trees when I was a kid.”
I tilted my head as I watched him slice apples and arrange them in a bowl. I’d offered to help, but he insisted on waiting on me, so here I sat on a tall stool pulled up to the island, trying not to swoon right off my perch.
I looked around. “Do you live here alone?”
With a big family-owned property like this, it wouldn’t surprise me if he had siblings living under this roof. I hadn’t seen any other vehicles in the driveway, but that didn’t mean he was the only person residing here.
“Yep,” he said. “I’m the oldest of five kids, but I’m the only one who wanted to stick around after my parents died. So now I’m basically stuck here all alone.”
“Do your siblings ever visit?”
He paused mid-slice. “My youngest sister comes back around Thanksgiving for a couple of weeks to help with the Christmas tree lot.”
The Christmas tree lot—I'd almost forgotten he ran one. He'd never mentioned it in our online conversations, but all week, locals had been talking about how this field would be covered in pine trees of various sizes in just a few weeks.
“Do you grow the trees here?” I asked.
He shook his head. “We import them. People come from around the region to get their trees every year. Even towns like yours, where there are plenty of trees. I guess they like the quality.”
“So you have them imported? Do you handle that yourself?”
“A childhood buddy of mine from Charlotte takes care of that,” Luca said. “He helps me run things now. Handles all the marketing, the website, and lining up suppliers. I manage the logistics.”
“Sounds like a well-oiled machine,” I said, watching as he arranged the apple slices in a small bowl and drizzled honey over them.
“It is now. Took us a few years to figure it out.” He opened the refrigerator and pulled out a can of whipped cream. “But enough about Christmas trees. We’ve got more important things to focus on tonight.”
The way he said it, combined with the intensity in his eyes, made heat pool in my stomach. “Like dessert?”
“Like dessert,” he confirmed, shaking the can. “These apples are good, but they’re even better with?—”
The whipped cream made a sad, empty hissing sound.
Luca frowned, shaking it again. Same result.
“Well, that’s disappointing,” he muttered, then looked up at me with a grin. “Looks like we’ll have to improvise.”
He moved to the fridge and pulled out another can. “Emergency backup. I learned to always keep extras after my sister used up a whole can making hot chocolate last Christmas.”
“Smart planning,” I said, sliding off the stool and moving around the island to stand closer to him.
He shook the new can, and the sound was much more promising. “I’m full of good ideas.”
“Are you going to test it?” I asked, stepping close enough that I could smell his cologne mixed with the lingering scent of sawdust and autumn air.
“Good idea.” He tilted his head slightly, studying me. “Quality control is very important.”
