Page 5 of Mountain Man in my Stockings
My stomach did a flip, and it had nothing to do with the greasy goodness I’d just consumed.
"Maybe," I heard myself say.
"Wednesday's usually busier. More dares." He paused. "Come back tomorrow."
"We'll see," I said, which we both knew meant yes.
THE COLD HIT ME THEmoment I stepped outside. I stood by my car for a moment, breath fogging in the frigid air, trying to process what had just happened.
I'd come here to hide. Instead, I'd kissed a stranger under mistletoe and made plans—sort of—to see him again tomorrow.
Back at the cabin, I went through my nighttime routine on autopilot. It wasn't until I was washing my face that I caught my reflection. Without the false lashes and heavy makeup, I looked like myself again. Not the version I carefully curated for public consumption. Just Eve.
When was the last time anyone had looked at me—really looked—and not at my follower count or filtered image?
I climbed into bed and pulled the flannel comforter up to my chin. Through the window, moonlight painted the snow-covered landscape in shades of silver.
My last thought before sleep wasn't about Hayden or the wedding that should have been happening in five days.
It was about blue eyes and that half-smile. About tomorrow night and whether Deacon would look at me that way again. About a bar full of people who'd made a stranger feel welcome.
I'd driven up this mountain to hide from life and lick my wounds in peace.
But lying there in the dark, something had shifted. Maybe there was still hope for something merry this Christmas after all.
Chapter Two
Deacon
The coffee maker gurgled to life as I rubbed the sleep from my eyes, dragging a hand across my stubbled jaw. Five-thirty AM—same as every morning since I'd bought this place. Some habits from my detective days were impossible to shake.
The empty dining room greeted me with predawn stillness, my boots scuffing against the worn wooden floors I'd refinished last spring. Morning light hadn't yet broken over the mountains, but I knew the view by heart—pristine white slopes, evergreens dusted with snow, the kind of scene tourists drove hours to capture. The kind of tranquility I'd needed after Denver.
Promises looked different without the crowd and clinking glasses—emptier and more mine. I flipped on the lowest setting of lights. The bulletin board behind the bar caught my eye—the mini stockings swaying in the heating vent's breeze.
One red stocking in particular.
My fingers brushed my lips without permission. That kiss last night.
Eve. Even her name felt good on my tongue, though I hadn't said it aloud since she introduced herself as Eve Cameron when she arrived. The memory of her body against mine followed instantly, the softness of her mouth. Five seconds had never lasted so long. Or ended so quickly.
"You're early." Sam's voice cut through my thoughts from the doorway.
"Says the man who insisted we needed to prep double the green chiles today," I replied, filling my mug with dark roast.
