Page 4 of Getaway with the Mountain Man
We walk in comfortable silence for a few minutes, the path winding through increasingly beautiful forest. I find myself stealing glances at Jakob, fascinated by the way he moves through this environment with unconscious grace. Every step is sure, every gesture economical and purposeful.
"What about you?" I ask eventually. "Born and raised in Silver Ridge?"
"Third generation," he confirms. "Work heavy equipment for the logging operations. My brother and I both do—different crews, but we keep the family tradition going."
There's quiet pride in his voice that speaks of genuine satisfaction with his life choices. No corporate climbing, no constant striving for more—just solid work and deep roots.
We emerge from the forest onto a ridge that offers a spectacular view of Silver Ridge below. The town looks like a toy village from this height, surrounded by endless forest and crowned by mountains that seem to touch the sky.
"Wow," I breathe, pulling out my phone automatically to capture the scene.
"Signal's better up here too," Jakob observes, watching me frame the shot.
He's right. My phone shows two bars, enough to send a quick photo to Chloe with the caption "Maybe you were right about the scenery." Her response comes immediately: "Send more pics of the hot locals!"
I slip the phone back into my pocket, heat rising in my cheeks. If Chloe could see Jakob, she'd be insufferably smug about her matchmaking instincts.
"The lodge is just down that trail," Jakob says, pointing to a path that descends toward town. "Twenty minutes, maybe less."
"Thank you," I say, meaning it sincerely. "I would have been wandering in circles all day."
"Probably," he agrees with that almost-smile. "The forest can be confusing if you don't know the landmarks."
There's an awkward pause as we both realize this is goodbye. Part of me wants to linger, to extend this unexpected encounter, but I can't think of a reasonable excuse.
"Maybe I'll see you around town," I say finally, immediately regretting how tentative it sounds.
"Maybe," he agrees, but something in his expression suggests he's thinking the same thing I am—that Silver Ridge isn't big enough for our paths not to cross again.
I'm halfway down the trail when I hear his voice calling after me, echoing slightly off the rocks.
"Lottie?"
I turn back, pulse jumping at the sound of my name in his deep voice.
"There's a festival tonight. Music, food, dancing. Nothing fancy, but..." He shrugs, suddenly looking less than completely confident. "If you're not busy."
"I don't really dance," I say, which is both true and a completely inadequate response to what might be the most attractive invitation I've ever received.
"Neither do I," he replies, that almost-smile becoming something warmer. "But they serve excellent barbecue ribs."
Despite everything—my vacation plans, my usual type, my complete incompatibility with small-town life—I find myself nodding.
"What time?" I ask.
"Seven. Main street is closed to traffic, so you can't miss it."
As I continue down the trail toward the lodge, I can feel his eyes following me until the trees block his view. My pulse is still racing, and I can't stop smiling despite my better judgment.
A festival. With Jakob. Who called me beautiful and offered to show me shortcuts through his forest.
I should be sensible. I should remember that I'm leaving in six days and he lives in a different world from mine. Should focus on relaxation and getting my life back on track rather than developing inconvenient attractions to unsuitable men.
But apparently, when Jakob Lindström invites you dancing, sensible flies right out the window.
four
Jakob
