Page 16 of Restored by the Mountain Man (Eden Ridge: Hunter Brothers #3)

ZOE

I wake to the sensation of strong arms wrapped around me and the scent of cedar and musk that I've come to associate with safety. Ezra's chest rises and falls steadily beneath my cheek, and for a moment I allow myself to simply exist in this perfect bubble we've created.

Last night was... beyond anything I could have imagined.

The way he touched me, worshipped my body, made me feel like I was the most precious thing in his world.

Every nerve ending still hums with the memory of his hands, his mouth, the way he filled me so completely that I thought I might break apart from the intensity of it.

"Morning, Sweet Cheeks," his voice rumbles through his chest, rough with sleep and something deeper.

I tilt my head up to find him watching me with those storm-colored eyes, his dark hair mussed from sleep and my fingers. "Morning yourself, handsome."

His hand traces lazy patterns on my bare back and I feel my body responding despite the delicious ache between my thighs. "How are you feeling?"

The concern in his voice makes my heart flutter. "Like I've been thoroughly ravaged," I tease, pressing a kiss to his collarbone. "In the best possible way."

His laugh vibrates through me and I feel him hardening against my hip. "Good to know I haven't lost my touch."

"Trust me, your touch is very much intact." I shift slightly and wince at the tender protest from muscles I'd forgotten I had. "Though I'm not entirely sure I'll be able to walk straight today."

"I could carry you," he offers with a wicked grin. "Might raise some eyebrows in town but I'm willing to make the sacrifice."

I swat his chest playfully. "I think I can manage. Besides, we should probably check on the distillery today. Make sure Nash hasn't burned the place down in our absence."

Ezra's expression grows more serious. "You're right. I need to input the new supply agreements from Wild Earth into our system. Get everything updated before the first shipment arrives."

"Look at you, being all responsible and business-minded," I tease, though I'm secretly impressed by his dedication. "And here I thought you were just trying to get me naked again."

"That's tonight's agenda," he says, rolling us over so I'm pinned beneath his delicious weight. "Right now, I'm thinking about coffee and breakfast. You're going to need your strength."

"Is that a threat or a promise?"

"Both."

An hour later, after a shower that definitely didn't help with my ability to walk normally, we're dressed and heading into town. Ezra drives with one hand on the wheel and the other resting possessively on my thigh, his thumb tracing small circles that make it hard to concentrate on anything else.

"You know," I say as we pull into the distillery parking lot, "I'm impressed I managed to get dressed without falling over. You were very thorough last night."

He parks and turns to me with a look that makes my core clench. "Sweet Cheeks, if you keep talking like that, we're never making it inside."

"Again with all the promises," I sigh dramatically, then squeal as he leans over to nip at my neck.

"Behave," he growls against my skin. "Or I'll bend you over my desk right there in my office."

The mental image that creates has me squirming in my seat. "That's not exactly encouraging good behavior."

He pulls back with a grin that's pure sin. "Come on, troublemaker. Let's get this work done so I can take you somewhere special."

The distillery is quiet this early, just a few workers preparing for the day shift. Ezra's office feels different somehow. I settle into the chair across from his desk, trying to look professional despite the fact that I can still feel his hands on my body.

"The Wild Earth partnership is going to require some significant updates to our inventory management system," I say, pulling out my tablet. "We'll need to track different grain varieties, moisture content, and delivery schedules."

Ezra nods, his fingers flying over his keyboard. "I've been thinking about expanding our quality control protocols too. Francisco mentioned some innovative testing methods they use."

We fall into an easy rhythm, working side by side to input data and update systems. It feels natural, this partnership both professional and personal. I catch myself stealing glances at him as he works, admiring him.

"There," he says finally, leaning back in his chair. "That should handle the initial setup. We can refine it as we get more familiar with their processes."

"Efficient and thorough," I observe. "I like that in a man."

His eyes darken. "Keep talking and we'll be testing the structural integrity of this desk."

"Tempting," I admit, "but didn't you mention something about errands before we can get back to your bed?"

His smile shifts from predatory to tender. "I did. There's something I want to get for you."

Twenty minutes later, we're walking down Main Street hand in hand.

The morning sun filters through the trees lining the sidewalk and I can't remember the last time I felt this content, this alive.

Eden Ridge is waking up around us, shop owners opening their doors, the elderly man at the hardware store setting up his sidewalk display.

"Where are we going?" I ask as Ezra leads me past the bookstore and the small boutique.

"You'll see," he says mysteriously.

Then I spot the familiar awning of Sweet Pines Bakery ahead and my heart does a little skip. "Ezra Hunter, are you about to buy me pastries?"

"Maybe," he says, trying to look innocent and failing completely. "I seem to remember someone mentioning pistachio cronuts."

I stop walking and turn to face him fully. "You remembered that?"

"I remember everything you tell me," he says simply, and the sincerity in his voice makes my chest tight with emotion.

Before I can respond and tell him how much this gesture means to me, my conscience decides to make an appearance. The weight of what we did last night, the risks we took, suddenly feels heavy.

"Ezra," I begin, then stop, not sure how to broach this subject.

"What is it?" He studies my face with concern.

"About last night," I start, then feel heat flood my cheeks. "I mean, about the... the protection situation."

His expression grows serious. "Zoe."

"I'm sorry," I rush on, the words tumbling out in a panic.

"I shouldn't have pushed for that. It was inconsiderate of me and reckless, and I wasn't thinking about the implications or what it might mean for you given your history and God, what if I had gotten.

.." I stop myself before saying the word but it hangs in the air between us anyway.

"What if you had gotten pregnant," he finishes quietly.

I nod, unable to meet his eyes. "I should have been more responsible. More thoughtful about what I was asking."

He's quiet for a long moment and when I finally look up, his expression is unreadable. "Can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"Do you want children? I mean, in general. Is that something you see in your future?"

The question, as it usually does, fills me with guilt. It's the question I've been dreading, the one that always makes people look at me like I'm broken when I answer honestly.

"Do you?" I deflect, not ready to expose that part of myself yet.

He runs a hand through his hair and I can see him struggling with the answer. "I honestly don't know," he says finally. "Before Elizabeth and Rosie, I thought I did. We were so excited about becoming parents, about building a family together."

His voice grows rough with pain. "But now? The thought of loving someone that much again, of risking losing them…," he shakes his head. "I don't think I could survive it again. Does that make you want to run away from whatever this is between us?"

I laugh and the sound surprises us both. Ezra's brows draw together in confusion.

"Sorry," I say quickly. "I'm not laughing at you. It's just... relief, I guess."

"Relief?"

I take a deep breath, gathering courage. "Ezra, I've spent my entire adult life wrestling with guilt over the fact that I don't want children. Not that I dislike kids," I add quickly. "I love kids. I'll be the world's best cool aunt. But having my own? It's just not something I've ever wanted."

He stares at me and I rush to fill the silence.

"Everyone in my life keeps telling me I'm just young and naive, that I'll change my mind when I find the 'right guy.

' They act like there's something fundamentally wrong with me for not wanting to be a mother.

It's taken me years to accept that not wanting kids doesn't make me broken, no matter how much society tries to make me feel that way. "

I search his face for judgment, for disappointment, but find neither. "So when you said you're not sure you could handle losing another person you love... I understand that. And honestly? It's a relief to know you're not expecting me to fulfill some maternal role I was never meant for."

Ezra steps closer, his hands coming up to frame my face. "You are not broken, Zoe Diaz. You're perfect exactly as you are."

"Even if I never want to give you babies?"

"Especially then," he says firmly. "Because that means you're choosing me for me, not for what I could give you or the life we could build together. You're choosing this, whatever this is, because you want it."

Relief floods through me so completely that my knees go weak. "I do want this. I want you."

He kisses me then, soft and sweet. When we break apart, I feel lighter than I have in years.

"Besides," he murmurs against my forehead, "we have plenty of time to figure out what we want our future to look like. Right now, I just want to buy you an obscene amount of pastries and watch you get sugar high."

I'm about to respond when someone calls my name.

"Zoe? Zoe Esmeralda Diaz?"

I freeze. I know that voice but it can't be right. They're supposed to be back in Portland. They're supposed to have left my cabin and gone home.

"Zoe, honey, is that you?"

A hand touches my shoulder and I turn around slowly, dreading what I'm going to find.

Tom's mother stands there with his father beside her, both of them holding a Sweet Pines paper bag. Their faces cycle through shock, recognition, and finally disapproval as they take in my appearance, Ezra's proximity, the obvious intimacy between us.

"Mrs. Patterson," I manage, my voice barely above a whisper. "Mr. Patterson."

"We were just getting some pastries before we drove back to Portland," Tom's mother says, her voice tight with controlled emotion. "Imagine our surprise to find you here... with someone."

The judgment in her tone is unmistakable. I feel Ezra tense beside me, his protective instincts clearly kicking in.

"Today is September 25th," she continues, her voice growing colder. "Do you know what today is, Zoe?"

Of course I know. It's the day before the anniversary of Tom's death.

"I know what day it is," I say quietly.

"And yet here you are," she says, her gaze flicking between Ezra and me with obvious disgust. "Spreading yourself around some small town like a common..." She doesn't finish the sentence but the implication is clear.

That's when something inside me snaps.

"Excuse me?" My voice comes out sharper than I intended but I don't care. "What did you just say to me?"

Ezra steps forward and I can feel the protective energy radiating from him. "I think you need to watch your tone when speaking to her."

But I hold up a hand, stopping him. "No, Ezra. I've got this."

I turn back to Tom's parents and all the grief, guilt, and frustration of the past year crystallizes into righteous anger.

"How dare you," I say, my voice shaking with fury. "How fucking dare you come here and speak to me like that."

"Zoe, we're just concerned—," Tom's father starts.

"Concerned?" I cut him off. "You've put my life through hell this past year. Showing up unannounced, pressuring me to plan memorial services, pushing boxes of his things on me when I've told you repeatedly that I'm not ready."

My voice grows stronger with each word. "I understand that you're grieving. I understand that Tom was your son and you miss him. But I'm grieving too. I lost the man I was going to marry, the future I thought I was going to have."

Tom's mother's face crumples. "But he loved you so much?—"

"And I loved him," I say firmly. "There will always be a special place in my heart for Tom. Always. But I have to move on with my life. I have to find a way to be happy again. And that doesn't make me a bad person or dishonor his memory."

I take a shaky breath. "You have to let me go. You have to let me heal. Because this? What you're doing? It's not helping any of us."

"But it's his anniversary—," his mother protests.

"It's the anniversary of the worst day of my life," I say, my voice breaking slightly. "And I'm finally, finally starting to have good days again. I'm finally starting to feel like I might actually have a future worth living. You don’t get to take that away from me."

The silence grows pregnant between us, heavy with a year of complicated grief and guilt.

"I think it's time for you to go," I say finally, my voice gentler but no less firm. "Thank you for stopping by but I need you to pack up your things from my cabin and head back to Portland. Tonight."

Tom's father nods slowly, understanding flickering in his eyes. But his mother looks stricken, lost.

"We just miss him so much," she whispers.

"I know," I say, and my heart aches for her pain even as I refuse to let it control my life anymore. "I miss him too. But he wouldn't want this for any of us. He wouldn't want us to be stuck in that terrible day forever."

They walk away without another word and I watch them go, feeling simultaneously drained and liberated.

Ezra's arms come around me from behind. "You okay?"

I lean back against his chest. "I think so. Actually, I think I'm better than okay. I think I'm finally free."

"Good," he murmurs into my hair. "Because you deserve to be happy, Zoe. You deserve to have a life full of joy and whatever the fuck you want it to be."

I turn in his arms and look up at him. "With you?"

"If you'll have me," he says simply.

"Try and stop me," I tell him, rising up on my toes to kiss him.

When we break apart, he grins down at me. "Now, about those cronuts..."

I laugh, feeling lighter than I have in a year. "Lead the way, mountain man. I have a feeling I'm going to need the sugar for whatever you have planned for later."

"Oh, Sweet Cheeks," he says, his voice full of wicked promise. "You have no idea."