Page 5 of Merry'd to the Mountain Man
I’d invited her to talk about the contract, not to stare like some lovesick fool. But as she walked toward the door, my chest did that tight unfamiliar thing it hadn’t done in years.
Hope? Or maybe panic?
The bell over the door jingles as she steps inside. Her gaze sweeping the room, calm but determined, until it landed on me.
I can’t breathe, not until she smiles. It’s just a small one, but it’s enough to knock something loose inside me.
Looks like the crazy lad actually showed up.
And for the first time since I’d opened that damn letter, I felt something that wasn’t anger or regret.
I felt alive.
CHAPTER 4
Frankie
The bell over the diner door jingles as I step inside, and I’m instantly hit with the smell of coffee, bacon grease, and something sweet baking in the back.
The place looks like it’s been here forever. Red and white vinyl booths, faded photos of the town on the walls, and a waitress behind the counter wearing a name tag that saysBevwith a hairdo that hasn’t changed since 1978. It feels like I’m stepping through a time portal into small-town nostalgia, complete with the squeak of my boots on the linoleum black and white checkered floor.
I scan the room, my heart hammering a little faster than I’d like to admit.
And then I see him. Cole Whitaker.
He’s sitting alone in a corner booth, his gaze steady and fixed on me. And those eyes.
Even from here, I can see they’re blue-gray, like the color of the sky after a storm—that strange, beautiful calm when the thunder’s gone but the air still crackles. His jaw is covered with a neatly trimmed beard, and his hair sits in a wild mess on top of his head. There’s something untamed about him. Like hewas carved from the mountain itself, with rough edges but still managing to be devastatingly handsome.
And for the life of me, I can’t figure out how this man needs to advertise for a wife. Even a fake one.
Cole stands as I approach, his mouth pressed into a thin line. “Francesca?”
“It’s Frankie,” I correct him quickly, offering my hand that feels a little too shaky. “Sorry I’m late. My car wasn’t exactly built for snowdrifts, and my phone decided to die about five miles back.”
He nods, and that one small motion makes something flutter in my chest. “Roads around here can be pretty rough this time of year.” His voice is deep, low and steady.
“Yeah,” I say, trying not to stare at his mouth. “Found that out the hard way.”
He gestures for me to take a seat, and slides back into the seat across from me. Neither of us say anything. It’s clear that he’s not the type to fill silence with small talk, and I’m too busy trying to act like this isn’t the craziest thing I’ve ever done.
After a moment, he clears his throat. “So, logistics.”
Straight to business, I can appreciate that.
Cole pulls a folded sheet of paper from his jacket and flattens it on the table. “It’s a short-term agreement. Just paperwork. We get married, keep up appearances until after Christmas, and then we file for divorce after the first of the year. No strings. No expectations.”
I nod. “That’s fine with me.”
He studies me for a long moment. “You didn’t ask why.”
“I figured you’d tell me if you wanted me to know.”
The corner of his mouth lifts, like he might actually smile, but it’s gone as quickly as it came. “Fair enough.”
“I assume you have your reasons,” I add, folding my hands in front of me on the table. “And I have mine. Maybe it’s better if we don’t share them.”
Giving me a small nod, it’s like that answer has earned me a sliver of respect from him. “You’re probably right.”
