Page 6

Tessa

I closed the door and turned around to find Max leaning in the hallway holding two mugs. “Peace offering,” he said, holding one out. “Chamomile tea. Don’t judge me. It was this or a protein shake.”

I took the mug and inhaled. “Are you trying to seduce me with sleepy herbs and goat chaos?”

“Is it working?”

That smile. The crooked, post-goat-chase, I-survived-you kind of smile. I was in so much trouble.

“Maybe,” I murmured, brushing past him into the living room where a fire was already crackling in the stone hearth. It cast a soft orange glow across the room, like we were living inside one of those cozy cabin romance books.

Max followed me and dropped onto the couch, stretching his legs out like a man who’d fought a war and a goat today, which, to be fair, he had.

I curled into the corner opposite him, tucking my legs beneath me. “I still can’t believe we chased a goat.”

Max sipped his tea. “That wasn’t even in the top five weirdest things that have happened since I moved here.”

“Oh yeah?” I said, tilting my head. “Do I make that list?”

“You are the list.”

I laughed softly, then sipped my tea to hide the blush I could feel blooming in my cheeks.

The fire popped and crackled, and for a minute, we just sat there in the warm quiet.

“You know,” Max said after a moment, his voice softer, “when you told me you were a brain surgeon, I didn’t know what to think.”

“Let me guess. You assumed I was just a quirky teacher who couldn’t keep track of any of her things, and fell into beehives?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to. I could see it in your face.”

“I just didn’t expect you, that’s all.” He glanced over at me, his expression unguarded. “You walk around like you’re a walking mess, but I don’t think you are. I think you’ve held so much in for so long, you forgot how strong you are.”

And just like that, my throat went tight.

“Max,” I said, barely a whisper.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he added quickly. “I just wanted you to know.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat and smiled. “Okay, but… fair warning. I’m still the person who forgets where her belongings are.”

He grinned. “Yeah, I figured that out.”

“Also, I might be emotionally attached to a goat named.”

“I noticed that, too.”

Silence stretched between us, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was that kind of silence that buzzed a little. That leaned closer than it should.

I looked at him. He looked at me.

And for a second, I thought he might kiss me.

Then we heard something outside. “I think the goat is back,” Max whispered. He messed up my moves.

I burst out laughing and nearly spilled my tea. “Your moves ? Were you about to kiss me?”

“Maybe,” he admitted, eyes still locked on mine.

I felt my heart flip like a gymnast. “Then you better hope the goat stays quiet for the rest of the night.”

Max leaned back with a slow smile. “Challenge accepted.”

The noise on the porch went quiet.

Max raised his brows. “Do you think he’s asleep?”

“Either that or he’s chewing through the drywall,” I whispered.

He chuckled, then turned a little on the couch to face me more fully, one arm stretched across the back, his mug resting on his thigh.

The firelight played across his face, softening the hard edges and throwing little gold flecks into his eyes. My stomach did a thing.

“Alright,” he said, sipping his tea. “Now that the goat’s not interrupting, where were we?”

I glanced at his mouth. Then back up at his eyes.

“I think you were going to kiss me,” I said quietly.

“Was I?”

“You said it yourself.”

“Hmm,” Max leaned in just a little, not touching me, not rushing it. “I guess the question is… do you want me to?”

I paused. Not because I didn’t know the answer, but because it hit me how different this was. Max wasn’t playing a game. He wasn’t rushing or assuming or pushing.

He was just there —solid, warm, steady.

And I wanted him.

I nodded, just once. “Yes.”

That’s all it took.

He leaned in slowly, giving me every chance to change my mind. I didn’t.

When his lips finally touched mine, everything else fell away. The bee stings, the awkward hospital gown, the goat, wherever he was—none of it mattered. His hand cupped my cheek, and I melted into him like I’d been waiting to do this since the moment I met him.

He kissed me like a man who wasn’t in a rush—like he planned to take his time.

When we finally pulled apart, we were both quiet for a beat, just breathing the same air.

“Well,” I whispered, “I’m glad the goat fell asleep.”

Max rested his forehead against mine. “I’m glad you showed up on the mountain.”

“I’m glad you didn’t die from bee venom.”

He laughed, low and rough. “Yeah. That would’ve been a real mood killer.”

We sat like that for a while, close and quiet. Not saying much. Just existing in the kind of silence that feels safe. Easy.

Eventually, I curled up next to him, resting my head on his shoulder. He didn’t move away. Instead, he wrapped an arm around me like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“You’re not what I expected, Max,” I murmured, my eyes growing heavy.

“What did you expect?”

“Someone less...”

“Charming? Ruggedly handsome?”

I smiled against his T-shirt. “Complicated.”

He didn’t respond for a long moment. Then he said, “Yeah. Me too.”

“I’m glad you got rid of the list.”

“Me too.”

I woke up warm, tangled in something solid and safe and very much not a pillow.

Max.

His arm was still wrapped around me, his chin resting lightly on top of my head. The fire had burned down to glowing embers, and the room smelled faintly of tea, smoke, and something distinctly goat-like.

We’d fallen asleep on the couch.

Together.

My brain was still half-asleep, floating somewhere between cozy and oh no I drooled on his shirt , when a sharp knock rattled the front door.

I blinked. Max didn’t move.

Another knock. Louder this time.

Then a small voice on the other side of the door yelled, “Boris!”

Max jolted awake like he’d been shot out of a cannon. “What the—was that the goat again?!”

“No,” I said, sitting up and rubbing my eyes. “That was a child. Shouting for Boris.”

He blinked at me. “The goat has a kid?”

“No, that’s a kid. Who apparently knows someone named Boris.”

Max groaned and rubbed a hand over his face. “Of course, he has an owner; it has to be the goat. We should’ve known—he had too much personality to be a stray.”

Another knock, followed by the unmistakable sound of the door opening and very small boots stomping across the floor.

“Hello?” the boy called out. “I followed his poop trail!”

Max groaned again. “That sentence should never be said out loud.”

We both scrambled up, still half-asleep, just as a little boy about eight years old marched into the living room with purpose. He was wearing cowboy boots, mismatched pajamas, and a serious scowl that could rival a retired general.

“Where is he?” the boy demanded.

“Uh…” I pointed vaguely toward the front porch. “He was sleeping. Like some of us were until a minute ago.”

The boy narrowed his eyes. “Did he try to eat your couch?”

“Yes.”

“Did he sneeze on you?”

“Yes.”

“Did he chew anything weird? Like, for example, shoes?”

I looked at Max. Max looked at me.

“…Yes.”

The kid nodded solemnly. “Yeah, that’s Boris.”

Max crossed his arms, still in his T-shirt and joggers, hair sticking up in every direction. “And you are…?”

“I’m Duke. Boris belongs to me. He sneaks out sometimes when my mom forgets to lock the barn.”

Tessa blinked. “He has his own barn?”

“Well, it’s technically my grandpa’s, but Boris is the boss.”

Max glanced at me. “Why does that make perfect sense?”

I was about to ask Duke if Boris was house-trained when the goat walked into the house.

Boris strutted over like he was late for an appointment, walked straight over to the boy, and headbutted him gently in the knee.

Duke scratched his ears like this was the most normal thing in the world.

“You found him fast,” I said, impressed.

“Just followed the trail,” he said proudly. “And I asked Junior down at the store. He said some girl with wild hair and pink arms was trying to steal a goat.”

“I was not trying to steal him,” I said, scandalized.

“He’s not mad,” Duke said with a shrug. “Boris picks people sometimes. He likes you.”

I smiled. “He’s kind of a menace.”

“Yeah, but I like him.”

Max let out a long breath. “Do we get a reward for keeping him alive?”

Duke pulled a lint-covered lollipop out of his pajama pocket and handed it to Max. “Here.”

Max took it like it was a medal of honor. “Thanks, kid.”

“Come on, Boris,” Duke said, turning to go. Boris hesitated—then trotted after him, but not before pausing by me one last time. I scratched his ears and whispered, “Don’t chew anything flammable, okay?”

Boris licked my knee and followed Duke out the door like a good little weirdo.

Max closed the door behind them and turned to me, yawning. “Well. That was a morning.”

“Did we just host a goat sleepover and get woken up by an eight-year-old cowboy?” I asked.

“Yes. Yes, we did,” He said.

I chuckled, turning around I headed for the stairs.

I grinned. “You still want to live on this mountain?”

“Yep, this is pure fun,” I said.