Page 17 of My Obsessive Mountain Man

"Almost finished. The Hendersons are picking it up next week." His hand moves to my lower back, fingers working at the knot that's been bothering me all morning. "That'll be three major pieces this month. Your social media marketing is working wonders."

"It's not the marketing," I correct him. "It's your work. Word travels fast when someone creates pieces like yours."

He shrugs, never comfortable with praise, but I feel the pleased tension in his shoulders. Our partnership extends beyond the personal—his craftsmanship and my eye for value creating something neither of us could have built alone.

"I have another surprise," he says after a comfortable silence. "But this one's not ready yet."

"Another one? The cradle would have been more than enough."

His hand slides over my belly again, protective and possessive in that way that still makes my heart race. "I'm building her a tiny chair. For when she's a little older. And a table to match. And maybe a set of blocks." He pauses, looking slightly embarrassed. "I may have gotten carried away."

"You think?" I tease, but there's no real criticism in it. His dedication, his careful attention to detail, his need to create and protect—these are the things that made me fall in love with him three years ago. They're the things I fall in love with again every day.

"It's not like you're any better," he points out. "I saw the tiny art easel you ordered last week. She's not going to be painting landscapes for at least a few years."

"It's never too early to nurture creativity," I say primly, then break into a smile at his knowing look. "Fine. I may have gotten a little carried away too."

His laugh is low and warm against my ear. "We're going to be those parents, aren't we?"

"Completely hopeless," I agree. "Utterly besotted before she's even here."

The baby moves again, a slow roll that visibly shifts the landscape of my belly. Paul watches with fascination, then leans down to speak directly to my stomach.

"Your mom and I are very excited to meet you," he says seriously. "But you need to stay put a little longer. I have three more projects to finish before you arrive."

"Five more weeks," I say, though we both know babies operate on their own schedules. "Just enough time for me to finish the Anderson estate valuation and set up the home office for remote work."

Paul nods, but his expression turns thoughtful, almost wistful. "Three years ago, I stood on this porch waiting for you, not even knowing what you looked like. Just knowing you belonged here." His hand spreads wide over the crest of my belly. "Now look at us."

I cover his hand with mine, feeling the strength in his fingers, the calluses earned through years of working with wood and metal and earth. "I still can't believe I almost sold this place," I admit. "That I almost walked away from all of this."

"You wouldn't have," he says with that same quiet certainty he's always had. "This mountain gets in your blood. This place was always waiting for you to come home. I was just the caretaker until you were ready."

"Always so sure," I tease, leaning into his side. "My obsessive mountain man."

He turns my face to his, kissing me with a tenderness that still holds the heat of those first desperate embraces. "I knew this was our home," he murmurs against my lips. "From the very beginning."

I smile against his mouth, feeling the baby shift between us, completing the circle. In the distance, thunder rumbles. Another summer storm approaching, like the one that first stranded me here. Like the one that changed everything.

"And you were always mine," I whisper back, the truth of it settled deep in my bones, as solid and eternal as the mountains that surround us.