Page 4 of Merry'd to the Mountain Man
There’s something about it. Maybe it’s the blunt honesty, or the strange mix of desperation and pride, that sparks something deep in my chest. It could also be exhaustion or the wine that I consumed over dinner. Or maybe it was the fact that my mother’s words were still echoing in my head like a bad song stuck on repeat.
I’m grateful Frankie hasn’t found anyone.
My jaw tightens. “We’ll see about that.”
And I hit reply.
CHAPTER 3
Cole
The coffee sitting in front of me had gone cold twenty minutes ago. Not that it mattered, I hadn’t touched it anyway.
I stare up at the old diner clock ticked on the wall behind the counter. With each passing second, I feel my hold on the mountain slipping away from me. And the Christmas music playing on repeat doesn’t help either. Each festive melodic tune reminded me that I’m running out of time.
She wasn’t coming.
And could I really blame her? Most sane people didn’t respond to a stranger on the internet offering up fake marriages as Christmas plans.
I lean back in the cracked vinyl booth and rub my hand over my jaw, trying not to think about how stupid this whole thing was. The beer had done most of the talking that night. The beer, and the loneliness that snuck up on me when I least expected it. Holidays, specifically the winter ones, had a way of doing that—reminding me how empty the cabin felt when the wind was howling and there was no one left to talk to.
Deep down, I didn’t actually think anyone would take me seriously. It was a last second hail Mary pass down the field. But someone did take it seriously.
Francessca Douglas.
Even her name sounded too good to be true. She’d messaged me two weeks ago, short and to the point.
If you don’t have any other offers, I’ll marry you for Christmas.
I thought it was a joke at first, like my cousin somehow found the ad and was messing with me again. And I almost deleted it. But something about the way she phrased it, direct and no nonsense, made me pause.
We’d talked once on the phone, just long enough to make plans to meet here at the diner in town to go over the “logistics.” She didn’t sound crazy. And she didn’t sound desperate, either. She just sounded…steady. Certain.
Which almost made her seem more mysterious.
I check the clock again. Forty minutes late.
It would seem that she realized just how crazy this plan was for the both of us and came to her senses—she wasn’t going to show. Or worse, she showed up and took one look at me and bailed.
I rub my hand over my jaw again.
I had tried to make myself presentable, but that wasn’t saying much for a man that spent most of his time living in a log cabin on a mountain.
Sighing, I pull my wallet from my back pocket, and pull a few bills out to cover the untouched coffee. I’m about to slide out of the booth when a flash of red catches my eye through the big diner window.
A small red sports car pulls into the lot, kicking up the evenings dusting of snow. Definitely not a local vehicle. The kindof car that belonged in the city, not on mountain roads full of black ice and potholes.
The headlights dim, but the glare off the windshield kept me from seeing the driver inside. I froze halfway out of my seat, telling myself it couldn’t be her.
But then the driver’s door opens and a woman steps out. For the length of a few heartbeats, my brain short-circuited.
Her shoulder-length brown hair fell in thick waves that caught the light from the diner sign, like polished chestnut. A bright red scarf was wrapped around her neck, the same color as the lipstick on her mouth—soft, full lips that made my pulse stutter in my chest.
And then there were her curves, causing something to stir low in my gut.
She locked her car and looked up at the diner, squinting through the glass. I stayed perfectly still, watching her. Like any movement from me would scare her off, and that’s the last thing I wanted. My hand tightened its grip on my wallet.
Don’t be an idiot. This is a temporary arangement.
