Page 89 of Mountain Daddy (Mountain Men #2)

Kendra

Stepping out of my car, I realize that it’s warmer down here than it is at home—higher up the mountain.

I pause for a moment, considering if I should take off my lightweight navy cardigan, but I decide to leave it. The shop could be cold inside.

Hiking my backpack onto my shoulder, I shut my car door and turn toward BeanBag Coffee.

When I plugged it into my GPS last night, to see if Luther’s estimated time was correct, there were lots of hits for BeanBag. But the closest one was forty-nine minutes away, and I confirmed the address with him.

I’m early to our three o’clock meet time, and I brought my laptop so I could do some work while I waited.

But apparently, Luther got here even earlier since I can see his truck parked in the next row over.

All the same, I keep my backpack with me. Maybe I’ll stay a bit after he leaves, enjoy the change of scenery.

I cut across the lot, and my traitorous sandals crunch a twig on the pavement.

I take a deep breath, careful to keep my expression neutral in case Luther’s watching me through the wall of tinted windows.

I haven’t decided when I’ll tell him that Ashley knows about us.

I’ll tell him eventually. I just don’t know if today is the right time.

Our luck has been so bad already. We just need to catch a break for a minute.

The scent of coffee wafts around me as I open the door. And there’s a wooden tinkling sound as I step inside.

Looking up, I see a small rain stick hanging next to the door, and it flips back over when the door closes. It’s a satisfying sound and a much more earthy welcome than a metallic bell.

The place has a cabin feel to it. Wooden tables and chairs, large leather armchairs, and a fireplace that isn’t currently crackling, but I can imagine that it would be in the winter.

A few of the tables have occupants. But only one of them has my man.

A bright kind of excitement fills my chest as I look at Luther from across the coffee shop.

He’s watching me.

Staring.

And I feel like I can breathe again.

I feel settled.

Luther stands, but I stay where I am.

I didn’t even realize how off-kilter I’ve felt until now.

His long strides close the distance in just a few seconds.

A few seconds for me to take him in.

To appreciate how his thighs look in those jeans. How his forearms look with the sleeves of his gray flannel rolled up. How his chest looks with the top buttons of his shirt undone.

He’s such a fucking Daddy, it’s unreal.

I clench my thighs, wishing I’d worn a skirt rather than shorts.

Not that we should have sex in a coffee shop restroom. But…

Luther stops before me, a smirk forming on his lips.

I open my mouth to ask him what he’s smiling about, but he stops my question. With a kiss.

Warm hands grab me.

One against the side of my neck, the other on my hip, holding me in place while his lips press against mine.

My eyes close. And I reach for him. My fingers clinging to the material at his sides.

I want to wrap my arms around his neck.

I want to drag him to the floor.

I want to do so much.

But we’re in public.

And even if we’re away from people we know, we still live in a mostly civil society, so we can’t dry hump each other.

We pull away at the same time, but Luther doesn’t drop the hand he has against my neck.

“Hi, Baby Doll.” His voice is desire and gravel.

I bite my lip. Knowing what I want to call him.

Knowing I shouldn’t. But…

“Hi, Daddy.” I keep my voice at a whisper.

Luther runs his tongue along his teeth.

I stare at his mouth.

“Let’s get drinks.” Luther lifts his chin toward the counter.

I nod.

The barista is about my age, and the way she’s trying so hard not to look at us makes me wonder if I whispered as quietly as I thought I did.

I stop at the counter, and Luther stands directly behind me, so close that his front is pressed to my back.

He reaches an arm around me so his forearm is against the top of my chest and his hand is gripping my opposite shoulder.

“You first.” I can feel his words vibrate against my back.

I look up at the menu board.

“Sorry, I need just a second,” I tell the woman who’s finally making eye contact with me.

“Oh, take your time.”

There are so many drink options. I want to read all the descriptions, but I also don’t want to take forever.

“Do you have a favorite?” I ask, rather than making a panicked decision.

“The, um, salty nut is really good.”

I feel Luther huff a laugh at the name.

I smile as I try to find it on the board. “What is it?”

“A salted caramel and hazelnut latte,” the barista supplies.

I perk up.

“Hazelnut is your favorite, right?” Luther asks.

I tip my head back to look up at him. “How’d you know that?”

“I saw the creamer you used at your, uh, dad’s house.” He starts to look sheepish as he explains. “During breakfast.”

My brows lift. He’s talking about that very first pancake breakfast. “Well, that was perceptive of you.”

The side of his mouth goes up. “I have my good days.”

I give him a side look, then turn back to the barista. “That would be great, thank you.”

She taps the order in. “Iced or hot?”

“I’ll… hot actually.” The plan is to linger, so I’ll get a hot drink to sip.

“And for you?” Her cheeks are pink when she asks Luther for his order.

“Hot black decaf, please. And do you have any bags of those Chilean beans?”

She nods.

“You still have that grinder at home, right?” I can tell from his breath on my cheek that he’s tipped his head forward to ask me.

I hum my reply.

Going out on a date was a cute idea, but not if Luther is going to be all rumbly and sweet. It’s affecting me too much.

“We’ll take two bags of the whole beans,” Luther tells the woman.

She gives us a total, and rather than try to argue with Luther over paying, I lean against him as he holds his wallet in front of me and pulls out a couple of bills.

“I’ll grab those beans quick, then we’ll get the drinks ready,” the barista says as she hands Luther his change.

He stretches to the side and drops the leftover cash into the tip jar.

Yet another reason to find this man sexy.

“Thank you for the latte. And the beans.” I reach up and wrap my fingers around the arm still around my chest. “I don’t know if I’ve had coffee from Chile.”

Luther slides his wallet back into his pocket, then settles his hand over mine, warming up my fingers. “Last year, one of the guys who worked here told me about them. Apparently they come from the same area of Chile that the rain sticks come from.”

I think about the pretty sound from when I opened the door. “Interesting.”

Luther shrugs. “Or maybe the guy was full of shit. But either way, it’s damn good coffee.”

When the woman returns with two bags, we untangle from each other, and Luther takes the beans.

I let him lead the way back to where he was sitting in the far corner.

The table is small and round with just two chairs. Perfect for being close.

Luther sets the bags side by side on the edge of the table, then goes back for his plain coffee when the order is called out.

I put my backpack on the floor beside one of the chairs and sit.

We stay quiet as Luther sets his coffee down, then goes back for my latte.

He puts the paper cup in front of me, and I wrap my hands around it while he lowers himself into the other chair.

“How was your day?” Luther’s dark eyes stay on mine.

I let a smile pull at my lips. “It was alright.”

“Just alright?”

“Well, it’s recently gotten better.”

The man smirks.

I tell him about my current project at work. We sip our drinks.

He tells me about the rest of his weekend with Ashley. We slide our free hands across the table.

Our fingertips meet, and I slide mine another inch closer.

Luther places his hand on top of mine.

And I have to ask him.

“Luther?”

“Yeah, Baby?”

I hesitate for a moment, then exhale. “Can I ask you about Ashley’s mom?”

I expect Luther to pull away.

To move his hand off mine and sit back in his chair.

But he doesn’t.

He stays leaned in.

And he doesn’t sigh. Doesn’t act uncomfortable.

“I’ll tell you whatever you want to know,” he says, and I know he means it.

“I didn’t hear anyone mention her during the grad party. Is, um…” I didn’t think this through. I can’t really just ask if she’s alive, can I? “Is she around?”

“If by around you mean living in the US, then yes. But she’s not involved in Ashley’s life.”

His answer brings up so many more questions, but I ask the first one that pops into my brain. “Were you married?”

Luther glances away. Then he slides his hand off mine. “Are you fucking serious?”

“Sorry.” My heart starts to pound. “Sorry, I?—”

He turns his head back to me, his gaze wide. “No, Baby, it’s not?—”

“Kenny?” My dad’s voice infiltrates my bubble of panic.

My head snaps to the side. “Dad?”

He’s halfway across the room, walking straight toward us.

I look down to where my hand is on the table. Where Luther had his hand over mine.

Did Dad see that?

I look at the bags of coffee standing on the edge of the table.

Please let that have blocked his view.

“What are you two doing here?” Dad’s eyes are narrowed when he reaches our table.

“Hey, man.” Luther somehow sounds completely normal. “I’m just running into everyone today.”