Page 5 of Getaway with the Mountain Man
Thefestivalisalreadyin full swing when I arrive on Main Street. Vernon Cooper and his crew have transformed the normally quiet road into a celebration with string lights hanging between storefronts, food vendors set up along the sidewalks, and a small stage where local musicians take turns entertaining the crowd.
I spot several familiar faces immediately: Thorne and Dahlia Harrington sampling something at the barbecue tent, Declan and Tierney Rivers swaying together near the stage. Silver Ridge festivals are family affairs, multi-generational gatherings where everyone from teenagers to grandparents mingles freely.
But tonight, I'm scanning the crowd for one specific face.
I find her near the craft booths, examining a display of locally made jewelry. She's changed from her hiking clothes into a sundress the color of summer sky, her dark hair falling in soft waves around her shoulders. Simple, elegant, and completelyout of place among the practical outdoor wear favored by most festival-goers.
She looks beautiful.
I make my way through the crowd, stopping to exchange greetings with neighbors but keeping Lottie in my peripheral vision.
"Finding anything interesting?" I ask, approaching from her left side.
She startles slightly, then relaxes when she recognizes me. "Just admiring the craftsmanship. This pottery is incredible—the glazes alone must take weeks to perfect."
I'm surprised by her genuine appreciation. "That's Julia McArthur's work," I tell her.
"The blue-green one is stunning," Lottie says, pointing to a vase with a glaze that seems to capture the color of deep forest lakes. "The depth of color is remarkable."
"Julia would love to hear that. She's always worried tourists won't appreciate the subtlety of her work."
Lottie glances at me with a slight frown. "You keep calling me a tourist."
"Aren't you?"
"I... yes, I suppose I am." But something in her expression suggests the label bothers her. "It's just—I may be visiting, but I'm not here to collect souvenirs and take selfies. I'm genuinely interested in understanding this place."
"Point taken," I say. "Would you prefer 'guest'?"
Her smile is like the sunrise. "Better."
The band strikes up a lively country tune, and couples begin gravitating toward the makeshift dance floor in front of the stage. I watch Lottie's eyes follow the dancers, her expression wistful.
"You said you don't dance," I observe.
"I said I don'treallydance," she corrects. "I took ballroom lessons in college, but this..." She gestures toward the easy, informal dancing happening around us. "This looks like something people are born knowing how to do."
"It's not complicated," I assure her, extending my hand with a confidence I don't entirely feel. "Basic two-step. I can teach you."
She hesitates, looking from my hand to the dance floor and back again. "I'll probably step on your feet."
"I've survived worse."
Her laugh is warm as she places her hand in mine, sending electricity up my arm at the contact. Her palm is smooth against my calloused fingers.
I lead her onto the dance floor, acutely aware of every point where our bodies connect, her hand in mine, my other hand resting lightly on her waist, the way she follows my lead with surprising grace despite her professed inexperience.
"See?" I murmur as we find the rhythm together. "Not so different from ballroom dancing, just more relaxed."
"Mmm," she agrees, but I can tell she's concentrating hard on her footwork. Her brow is slightly furrowed in the same focused expression she'd worn while examining the pottery.
Gradually, she begins to relax, letting me guide her through the simple steps. When she finally looks up from our feet to meet my eyes, the connection between us is immediate and overwhelming. Whatever this is—attraction, chemistry, it's mutual and impossible to ignore.
The song ends, but neither of us steps away. If anything, we move closer, her body fitting against mine with a rightness that should be alarming.
"That wasn't so bad," she says, slightly breathless.
"You're a natural," I reply, though my voice comes out rougher than intended.
