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

EZRA

T he weekend wasn’t long enough to extricate this woman from my thoughts. It’s now Monday, her official first day, and I have to run her through our batches and get her familiarized with the Hunter flavors.

I run through my usual routine. Nightmare, numbness, get ready, arrive before everyone, and prepare myself mentally. Rinse and repeat. Three damn years.

Zoe isn’t due till eight, and I’ve been here since six. I’m upstairs in our large, intentionally decorated space we marked as the tasting room. We hold various tasting events here, both for the public and the staff, during pre-launches.

I’m prepping the glassware and water cups when Nash clears his throat. I see him over my shoulder but ignore him, mentally deciding which order to pull samples from the barrels.

“What’s this?” he asks behind me. “I didn’t hear about a staff tasting.”

Clenching my jaw, I inhale deeply before answering nonchalantly.

“Zoe’s first day as our QA requires knowing our brand thoroughly. How else are we to achieve that?”

I kick myself mentally for that defensive tell.

“I hear you,” he says, no longer lingering by the stairs. “Alex usually handles that, though.”

Yeah, like fuck I’m letting Alex handle anything. He’s the biggest damn flirt in the company. Possibly all of Eden Ridge.

“You know how he is,” is all I say, hoping Nash lets this go.

He just makes a sound of acknowledgment, but lingers at my back.

“Did you need something?” I walk over to the barrels, testing the equipment to extract.

“Maybe I’ll stick around. See how she responds to our blends.”

I stop what I’m doing and close my eyes, sighing.

Nash and I, being the closest in age, even though we’re not twins like four of our other brothers, we bonded growing up.

Back when I was the old Ezra. As much as life has kicked us, causing us to retreat and avoid people, he’s the one person I can give my darkest shit to and never feel judged.

I face him, tension building between my brows. “Say it.”

He watches me. That quiet observer who sees more than we give him credit for. Not saying anything else, Nash walks up to me, hooks his hand around my neck, and pulls me in for a quick hug. I keep my arms crossed in front of me, but he feels me lean in. It’s more than I give anyone else.

Patting the side of my neck twice, he just softly parts with, “Take it one day at a time.” Then leaves.

I manage to gather myself before Gus brings Zoe upstairs. She’s cheerful, focused, and eager to learn. I keep my tone and instruction no-nonsense. I walk her through setting up different batches of our latest barrel blends.

Just when we’re about to sample our seasonal line-up, her stomach gurgles. Loud. Her eyes widen before she covers her laugh with her hand.

“Oh, my God,” she muffles behind her hand. “I’m so sorry.”

Concerned, I ask, “Have you not eaten today?”

She hesitates before waving it off. “I’m not a big breakfast girlie. I still need to return to Sweet Pines Bakery and stock up on those dangerously tasty croissants. One of those and a coffee is all I need.”

A small growl escapes as I access the blends. Shaking my head, I tell her, “You can’t sample all these on an empty stomach.”

“No worries. I’m not a lightweight. Trust me.” That damn smile.

Ignoring her excuse, I grab my walkie and switch to channel four. “Cynthia?”

Two seconds later, the radio crackles. “Yes, Mr. Hunter.”

“Please have the kitchen bring up a brunch assortment.” Zoe’s brows shoot to her head. Her mouth opens, and I know she plans to protest. “And have them choose items that align with the Autumn blends. Please.”

“Sure thing, Mr. Hunter. I’ll have that brought up immediately,” Cynthia’s cheerful tone informs before the radio cuts out.

“Mr. Hunter,” she begins, but the formality stings.

“Ezra,” I insist.

A pause before her heavy sigh. “Ezra, truly. That is completely unnecessary.”

I ignore the shiver down my spine hearing my name on her lips.

“Not up for question,” I finalize. “I need your honest analysis of each batch. Last thing we need is you standing up and having an unexpected reaction.” Her brow furrows before she attempts to argue. “You drove here, correct?”

Knowing where I’m going with this, her jaw tightens. “Yes.”

“I won’t have you compromised, driving back later.”

Before she can respond, Ansel, our kitchen manager, walks in with two other interns who set up the main table with a charcuterie board with assorted quality cheeses, smoked salmon, dark chocolates, candied nuts, and small fruit-based mini sampler desserts.

“Okay, fine,” she says, watching intently as the staff sets up the food. “I’m hungry. And damn it, I’m weak for a good char-coot.”

“A what?” I ask, bewildered.

She faces me, hands on her hips, and of course, smiling. “Charcuterie.” Her hand waves at the setup. “Char-coot. Get used to the term. You’re gonna hear it from me a lot.”

Leaving me with the uncomfortable notion of her and I speaking often enough at all that I’d have to get used to the ridiculous term, Zoe eagerly joins my staff, introducing herself as she samples different things. She asks Ansel questions and praises them for excellent choices in quality.

I want to rub the tightness in my chest away, but that would give away too much. I quietly observe, letting Ansel take over the tastings with the batches. This is where he thrives. Zoe’s eyes find mine occasionally. A question in them. Perhaps she thought I’d take the lead here, but I can’t.

Her spirit, that fire, it’s too much. I feel the heat of her flame viscerally, and I don’t like it. That’s a lie. And that’s the damn problem. I do like it. I feel drawn to it. To her.

My fists clench at my next invasive thought.

Not even when I first met Elizabeth did I have this pull to her.

Fuck no. We’re not doing that shit. Not now. Not ever.

I turn to disappear when Zoe’s curse fills the room.

“I mean, crap,” she says, grabbing napkins. “I’m so sorry. I have great hands,” she jokes. “But, sometimes, I have my clumsy moments.”

Whiskey coats the entire front of her navy dress. Ansel is about to blot her chest with more napkins.

“Ansel,” I bark, to which they both jump. “I got it.” I leave no room for arguments, and he knows it because he drops the napkins and backs away.

“I’ll just get the mop and clean this up,” he turns to leave.

“Oh, I can do that. It’s my fault, after all,” Zoe offers.

“Absolutely not,” I say, gently grabbing her arm. “You need to remove that. Immediately.”

“Excuse me?” she sasses.

I pin her with a serious look. “We are surrounded by a facility’s worth of high-powered, highly flammable machinery. And you are a walking incendiary hazard waiting to happen.” Letting go of her arm, I step away. “Follow me. You can clean up in my office.”

“Ezra,” she begins.

“Zoe? Please.”

Her name on my tongue is too enticing. The last thing I need is to be in a room with this woman, alone. But the fear of something happening to her, on my watch, at my business, takes over. My sole focus is to eliminate the threat.

I walk ahead, leading us to my office. The sound of her heels clicking close behind me settles me, knowing she’s following. I saw the stubborn tilt of her nose. She’s not one to let any man, any person, tell her what to do. Not even her boss.

Fuck. I’m her boss now.

That shouldn’t feel complicated, but that nagging in my gut tells me I should prepare. A storm is coming.