Page 5 of My Forbidden Mountain Man (Summer in the Pines #1)

Violet

Okay, this is bad.

Have I been wanting to get touched by Logan the moment I fell under that heated gaze of his? Of course. Did I expect to feel anything outside of the satisfaction of release?

No way in hell.

So, why is my stomach clenching up like I ate something bad? It’s as if something is crashing around in there. I think it’s my heart that’s creating such a ruckus. My poor stomach is getting assaulted by what I can assume is butterflies.

Butterflies .

Logan gives me the space I need to figure out these new feelings. I’ve never been so jerked around by someone before. I don’t even know what to call this. There’s no way this is love. It can’t be. I barely know the guy.

It can’t be love.

I slump over the table, my sigh muffled against my palms. Today, I didn’t follow him. Didn’t let myself fall into step beside him like some lovesick shadow, even though my body ached for it—for the dizzying replay of last time.

Just the memory of his nearness is enough to send heat skittering under my skin, and God, that’s the worst part.

I’m a grown woman, not some flustered kid hiding behind her hair at the mere brush of a boy’s hand.

But here I am, heart thudding like a damn drumline, all because a man exists within breathing distance.

Pathetic.

I press my forehead harder into my hands, as if I could crush the longing out of my skull. It doesn’t work. Nothing does.

It’s the vibration of my phone that gives me a little relief from the complications going on in my head. That is, until I see why my phone has gone off.

Thanks to the signal up here, it takes some time to get messages. So, when I see Noah’s name on the screen, the butterflies fluttering suddenly feel heavy. As our manager, I should’ve expected a word from him before anyone else.

Jeremy is an idiot who does not call the shots. Please tell me you’re alright. Violet? Call me so we can get this figured out.

A row of messages all come in at once, each one making my stomach feel heavier and heavier than the last.

Candice won’t last. They’re already fighting over the spotlight. Trent wants you back, too.

While I know this is what I wanted, why am I not rushing to pump my fist in the air and ready to do a celebratory dance? This is big. I can feel the regret behind each message.

Is it because Jeremy isn’t the one asking me to come back?

Flipping the phone over, I sigh into my hands once more before standing. Slipping into my room momentarily, I grab my guitar case and make my way outside.

Needing to release some of this pent-up anxiety that’s building more and more by the second, I already start feeling better as I open up the case to reveal my acoustic guitar.

It’s the OG piece I’ve refused to replace.

While the strings are new, the shell of the guitar is worn down to the bare bones.

Settling on the edge of the porch, I strum my fingers against the strings. Creating a melodic tune that pushes away the thoughts in my head, relief starts to creep in.

For just a few minutes, I’d like to stop thinking about my complex feelings for Logan and the opportunity to return to my old life.

As I play one of our newest songs, I snort at the familiarity of what I’m doing.

My mother got me this guitar when I was fourteen years old. It was her way of keeping me busy with a hobby. Quickly, I learned that if I played loud enough, I could drown out everything.

Her fights with whatever male had her attention. The stress that came with puberty. All of the above, actually.

Right now, there’s nothing to drown out. The mountain is quiet, it always is. I’m the one who is disturbing the peace. Thankfully, I don’t think Logan has any close neighbors to upset.

Right now, I really need this.

I don’t know when Logan returns, but he does. I don’t realize he’s watching me from the distance of one of the trees until I open my eyes long enough to take in my surroundings.

He’s got this weird expression on his face. One that looks oddly relieved. Once he realizes he’s been caught, he moves toward his home. Instead of sitting next to me like a part of me hopes, he takes one of the rocking chairs against the cabin.

“You’re amazing, you know that?” Letting out the compliment without batting an eye, his chair creaks. “I always wondered how you played that thing. Self-taught, too, if I remember right.”

Heat prickles up at the back of my neck as I continue strumming. “It’s nothing crazy. It’s just…”

“You’re amazing,” he repeats, more firmly. Like there’s no room for any other word to describe me, he says it in a way like he means it, not because it’s something I want to hear.

I’m not used to that.

“You should see me when I’m on stage. That’s where I perform best.” Murmuring the words, I’m surprised by the chuckle that radiates out of him.

“I have. Before you stopped sending me tickets, I used to try to attend the shows I could. Sure, I couldn’t go all the way across the country, but I have been to a handful of them. The ones I couldn’t, I watched recordings.” He drops the information with ease.

I’m jerking toward him, my eyes wide. “Wait, seriously?”

I remember clearly how disappointed I felt that neither of them ever came to see me. The lack of my mother didn’t surprise me, but Logan… he’s always been supportive. I assumed it was by words alone.

“All those tickets included the VIP pass. Why didn’t you come see me?” I don’t mean to sound hurt, but if I had seen either of them, then maybe I could’ve seen the signs of the downfall of their relationship. Could’ve been prepared to see what kind of man Logan had become.

Maybe I wouldn’t be struggling as much as I have been lately.

Clicking his tongue, he rocks in his chair. “Didn’t want to get in the way, I guess. Figured you should at least have someone in your corner at minimum.”

Moving to stand, he approaches and offers his hand. Still smelling like sweat from his stroll, the flutters come back once I’m back to breathing him in.

Telling myself that I shouldn’t touch him, I can’t deny how welcoming his hand looks. So, against my better judgment, I take his hand and let him lift me to my feet with ease.

Packing my guitar back up takes no time before he’s insisting on showing me something. Once I’m leaving the case at the front entrance, he’s guiding me up with my hand in his. It turns out that this cabin has an attic.

“Careful where you step. I don’t come up here too often.” Only releasing my hand once he pulls me toward a row of totes, he kneels. “Best place for storage.”

Curious to see what he’s hiding inside each, I watch as he shifts through a few of them before finding what he’s looking for.

“I’ll be honest, I never wore any of them, but I still wanted to show my support the best way I could.” He’s unfolding the shirts in his grip as he explains himself.

They’re band shirts. My shirts. The ones we sold at merch stands during our smaller shows before we hit it big.

“You really did come.” The words leave me in a way air leaves a balloon.

I take in the designs, a poor attempt at designs Jeremy, Trent, and I drew up until we met Noah. At that point, he hired graphic designers. But this piece of his? Shirts I don’t even own anymore, makes the knot in my chest grow tight enough that breathing feels impossible.

“Of course. I cared, Violet. Now look at you. You followed your dream. I want you to do what you want to.” His mouth curves into a small smile, and the view is enough to make my head swim.

My dream was to play the guitar for those who needed music, just as I did. I didn’t care if I was performing for ten people or a thousand. There’ve been nights where every ticket was bought, but that never made a difference.

Logan cares more than I thought he did. But now the question of why settles deep in my gut. Is it because he was trying to support his wife’s kid, or could there be more to it?

I know I shouldn’t want him to want me, but I do.

“I’m not sure what I want, not yet.” Taking one of the shirts from him, I sigh softly. “You know, my manager wants me to come back. To return to all the chaos and probably place this as a small bump in the road.”

Logan doesn’t reply, but he doesn’t need to. Despite his earlier words, his smile is gone. The way his jaw flexes, it’s like he wants to say something, but can’t. Or, rather, refuses to.

He wants me to follow my dream, sure, I get that. But he wants something else, too, doesn’t he?

“I don’t know what I want to do.” I repeat as the truth rolls out of me in a sigh.

I really don’t care about fame and fortune. Sure, the last few years of my life have been more than fun, but it’s also been exhausting in every sense.

Fairland might be this quaint little town, but it’s quiet and peaceful in ways I haven’t known in years. Like a breath of fresh air, I’m addicted. The silence I soaked up earlier can’t be found while travelling from city to city.

“If I don’t go back, what other choice do I have? I wasn’t smart, and I didn’t save up money. Perhaps I can persuade my manager to give me something here to avoid dealing with a bad break, but I feel like I don’t have any options. I can’t just keep leaning on you for support. Not when—”

All this time, Logan’s given me space—too much space. The kind that left me aching, wondering if he’d ever close the distance between us. But now, his hands find my face, rough palms cradling my jaw like I’m something fragile, something precious. And just like that, the knot in my chest unravels.

I breathe.

Finally.

“You can lean on me until I die, Violet.” His voice is gravelly, low, and raw, thumbs brushing my cheekbones in slow, deliberate sweeps. “If it means stopping you from doing something you don’t want to, then use me.”

But I don’t want to use him.

I want this—his touch, warm and sure, erasing every doubt with every stroke of his fingers. I want the way he’d touched me during that stroll. I want everything, all at once, and the hunger of it steals my breath.

My pulse thrums in my throat. His gaze drops to my lips.

The world narrows to the space between us—too much, and yet not enough.

“That sounds like a pretty big promise, you know?” Forcing the words out, my hold on the shirt tightens as I will my knees not to wobble. “After what you went through, do you really think I deserve it?”

As his thumb shifts to graze my bottom lip, his breath tickles my cheeks. “My past has nothing to do with what I want. Right now, I’m living in the present. Right now, there’s only you.”

We should talk. Should dissect every unspoken feeling, every complication tangled between us like barbed wire. But logic dissolves under the weight of his gaze, the way his fingers tense against my jaw—holding on, not pulling away.

My mind is static, white noise. But my body? My body knows.

I rise onto my toes, closing the last breath of space between us. The kiss isn’t desperate, it isn’t some fiery collision.

It’s a question—soft, testing. Just the brush of my lips against his, then the barest nip at his lower lip. A whisper of teeth, a silent asking for careful footing.

He goes utterly still.

For one heartbeat, two, I think I’ve misread everything.

Then his hand slides into my hair, angling my face up as he exhales—a ragged, surrendering sound—and answers, meeting me halfway.

What we share in the attic is the opposite of the hike. It’s vulnerability. When we separate, it’s not to jump each other’s bones.

It’s the start of something worth exploring.