Page 53 of Grumpy on the Mountain

"Beau, this is... this is incredible." She's staring at the cabin like it's some kind of miracle. "You built this? All of this?"

"Took me about two years," I say, trying to sound casual while my heart hammers against my ribs.

"It's beautiful," she says simply, and the wonder in her voice makes something tight in my chest loosen.

I give her the tour, but I can't stop watching her face. Maybe she won't think I'm just some hermit playing house in the woods after all.

She runs her fingers along the kitchen island, eyes wide with appreciation. "You made this?"

"Fell during a storm my first year here. Seemed a shame to waste it."

She moves to the stone fireplace, trailing her hand over the river rocks I spent weeks selecting and fitting. "Beau, all of this… it must have taken forever."

"Sometimes waiting forever is worth it," I say, and I'm not just talking about the fireplace.

Every room, she finds something to marvel at.

The built-in bookshelves. The hand-hewn beams. The massive windows that frame the valley view like living paintings.

"And this is the bathroom," I say, pushing open the door to reveal the deep clawfoot tub positioned perfectly to catch the sunrise. "And the view from here..."

She steps past me to look out the window, and I catch another hit of that vanilla scent that's been driving me crazy for days.

"God, Beau. This is like... paradise. How do you ever leave this place?"

I raise a brow at her and laugh. "I don't. Not unless I have to."

She turns to look at me, and we're standing close enough that I can see the flecks of gold in her green eyes. Close enough that if I leaned forward just slightly...

"Come on," I say roughly, stepping back before I do something stupid. Something that might her feel uncomfortable in a cabin in the middle of nowhere. "I'll show you where you can stay."

I lead her down the hall to the spare bedroom, which is exactly as neglected as I feared. Unmade bed, a thick layer of dust on the nightstand, a pile of clean laundry I never bothered to put away dumped in the corner chair.

"I'll get this cleaned up for you," I say, already mentally cataloging everything that needs to be done.

"Beau…"

"Fresh sheets, at minimum." I start gathering the laundry in my arms, but drop it when I think of something else. "Maybe I can find some of those fancy towels Betty gave me once as payment for a favor I helped out with."

When I turn around, Molly's not looking at the room.

She's looking at me.

And then she's closing the distance between us, her arms sliding up around my neck like she belongs there.

"Beau, stop. I don't want to sleep in the spare room," she says, her voice soft but steady.

"What?" My brain stutters. "You want me to take you home?"

She smiles and shakes her head, the movement gentle but still aa piece of golden hair falls across her face.

"I want to sleep in your room." She leans up on her toes, the tip of her nose touching now sliding across my chin. "Withyou."

Before I can think or breathe or remember why that might be a terrible idea, she's kissing me.

Not the gentle, tentative kiss from last night. Not the one I initiated down in the town when I did it to calm her down.

No.