Page 26 of A Mountain Man Walks into a Library

Chapter 13

Samuel

Despite Noah’s anxieties, the Harlow Mountain Men are blowing the roof off of Cabin Fever Fest.

We put together a more rousing set of songs than our usual slow, romantic fare, and the dance floor has been grinding-room-only since Noah’s first assertive beats. I love this town. I love that I got to grow up here with my brothers and with Noah. I love that everyone hibernates through the winter, but they’re ready to throw down every May at this festival. I love that the bartender keeps the free drinks coming.

I am tossing back some water at the end of our set when Noah elbows me sharply in the ribs. I almost soak my shirt but recover in time to look up. My heart speeds up behind my sternum.

“Is that your bookworm?” he asks, and I know he’s trying to be annoying, but I can only nod.

“Yeah,” I say as Remy lingers near the front door of the Snowdrift Brewery.

He looks good, his dark blond hair wind-tousled, the sharp collar of his black wool jacket turned up against the chill. This might be Granite-Glacier’s annual spring celebration, but that doesn’t mean the weather always cooperates.

I haven’t seen him since the cabin. All week, I thought about going to the library and begging for forgiveness.Are you here to apologize?Marjorie had asked that first night, and I had said I would do whatever Remy needed. That’s still true. Even if I don’t know what I should be apologizing for, I’m ready to do it.

Light glints off his glasses as he scans the crowd, and when his eyes meet mine, his face flushes and I could swear he’s fighting against a smile.

Without a thought, I make my way through the crowd.

“This is for you,” Remy says when I reach him. He shoves a pan into my arms, and I look down at it.

It’s a sheet cake, and a delicate, citrusy aroma drifts up from it.

“I’m sorry,” Remy says, “I’m not a baker. I’ve been torturing my coworkers all week, trying to get it right. I can’t really eat it, so.” He shrugs. “Anyway. I hope you like it.”

I stare down at the cake in my hands. He even fucking decorated it. And, okay, it’s not the most skillfully done frosting art, but I can definitely make out that he’s speckled the surface with little flowers and leaves—and frogs.

“Spring peepers,” I say, grinning at them.

Remy nudges my foot gently with his own.

“I’m diabetic,” he says.

I huff a laugh. “Yeah, so I gathered. Around the time you were passed out in your backyard, and your mom was showing me how to administer a glucagon shot. Plus your medicine cabinet is full of supplies.” My face heats at the memory of reaching into the cabinet for lube and a condom, and finding syringes and alcohol swabs and glucometer tabs alongside them. “That was a hint.”

Remy stares at me and then blinks. “That’s why you brought me food after the shower,” he says, like he’s getting it for the first time.

I shrug. “Thought it might help. Besides, I like feeding you—oh my God.” My face falls. “All those plates of cookies. I made you cupcakes withthree inches of frostingon top!”

And Remy looks at me with something like warmth, something like fondness, and he reaches out to pat my shoulder consolingly. “The other librarians really enjoyed them. And I always made sure I got at least a bite.”

We stare at each other for a long time, his hand still on my shoulder, my worried gaze on his face.

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