Page 6 of Moonlight With Maddox (Mountain Men Fall Harder #6)
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Aunt Connie looks far too smug as I hover by the front door, camera bag slung over my shoulder.
“Don't say a word, “ I warn her, feeling her eyes watching me over her book.
“I wasn’t going to say a thing.” She grins, unconvincing. “But if I were, I’d say you made the right call with the green floral dress instead of the red one.”
The second Maddox left earlier, I’d sprinted to my room and tried on every outfit I’d packed.
The green dress won—its soft print made my eyes pop, and the deep V-neck offered just enough cleavage to be interesting without screaming date night .
Not that I wanted him thinking this was a date.
But if that happened? Well, I wasn’t about to object.
A knock at the screen door makes me jump.
Maddox stands on the porch, freshly showered, and impossibly put together in a way that makes me want to forget every reason this isn’t supposed to be a date. His dark Henley fits a little too well across his broad chest, and the sleeves are pushed to his elbows, showing off his toned forearms.
I didn’t even hear him show up.
“Ready?” he asks, his voice low and steady.
“Umm, yeah,” I say, hoping I don’t sound as breathless as I feel.
This is not a date.
This is not a date .
Hell yes, it is! The inner voice of my teenage self screams in my head. I try to ignore the embarrassing happy dance she’s just broken into and focus on the man standing in front of me.
He steps aside and pulls open the screen door for me.
“You have a good night, Miss Connie,” he calls in the door to her.
“You kids have— fun .”
I shoot a glare over my shoulder at my aunt, but I can’t help but let it soften when I see the wide smile on her face. I haven’t seen her smile like that since I’ve been back.
“You call us if you need anything,” I tell her.
She waves me off with her good arm.
Maddox falls into step next to me as we make our way down the porch to his truck. Before I can even reach for the passenger handle, his hand shoots out and pulls open the door for me, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
This is not a date.
“Thank you,” I manage, as I climb up into the passenger seat. The cab feels warm and I wonder if he had the heat on, or maybe it’s just me overheating.
He closes the door behind me and rounds the truck to get in.
“What’s in the case?” he asks, glancing down at my bag, sitting on the bench between us.
“My camera.” I rest my hand on the soft leather and feel instantly at ease. It’s like my very own security blanket. “I want to get a few shots of the town, the festival, and the people. It's something I’m working on for my job.”
He nods, thoughtful but without saying anything before turning the key in the ignition. The old truck rumbles to life, and soon we’re rolling down the dirt drive toward town.
For a moment we ride in silence, and I’m not sure if he’s waiting for me to say something first.
“So,” he says at last, eyes fixed on the road. “You’ve been pretty much everywhere, huh?”
“That’s one way to put it.” I smile. “Ten years and thirty-something countries on the road. Beaches, deserts, glaciers, temples—some I loved, and some I couldn’t wait to leave.”
He’s quiet for a moment, with only the hum of the truck’s motor between us.
“Do you ever get tired of it?”
“Yes,” I pause, surprised by how naturally that response came out of me. “I mean, sometimes. It’s an amazing experience and it’s given me the chance to see so many places but can get lonely. Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to find a place to settle down and plant some roots.”
He glances at me for just a moment, something unreadable flickers in his eyes, but it’s gone before I can be sure it was even there.
“What about you?” I ask, eager to steer the focus off my ramblings. “Aunt Connie says you work on the mountain.”
“Park Service,” he nods. “Mostly I patrol the mountain, check permits, and keep folks from wandering off the trails and into trouble. This time of year, I spend half my time chasing festival visitors who think a quick hike means wandering off the path in flip-flops.”
I laugh, the sound surprising me with how easy it feels. “You don’t look like the flip-flop chasing type.”
He surprises me when the corner of his mouth curves up slightly. “I’m not. But someone’s got to keep them from running into black bears or falling off the ridge trying to take a selfie at Lookout Point.”
A warmth settles between us, quiet but not uncomfortable.
As the lights of the town appear through the windshield, I can see the sign announcing the Maple Ridge Fall Festival. And the very idea of nostalgia that I was trying to sell to Frank, hits me in the most wonderful way possible.
I run my fingertips over the leather again, heart skipping at the thought of the evening ahead—and at the man sitting beside me, who may or may not think this is a date.
Either way, I’m not sure I mind.