Page 12 of Snug with the Mountain Man (Fall for a Mountain Man #12)

Chapter twelve

Ford

Maisie hums under her breath as she stirs something in a pot on the stove, her back to me. She’s wearing that oversized sweatshirt again, the one that falls off one shoulder and brushes the tops of her thighs like it’s daring me to do something about it. Bare legs. Pink toenails.

Maisie Carter is a mess of contradictions. Wild and sweet. Smart and impulsive. Tough and heartbreakingly soft. She walked back into Pine Hollow like she was stopping by, like she didn’t mean to turn my world inside out.

But she did.

And now, weeks after that first knock on the door, she’s here. In my life. In my space. In my head. And I don’t want her anywhere else.

She glances over her shoulder at me, stirring a wooden spoon through whatever she’s making.

“You gonna keep hovering in the doorway or come in and tell me how good this smells?” she teases.

I move behind her and slide my hands around her waist, tugging her back against my chest. Her hair smells like apples.

“I was just watching you work,” I murmur, kissing her neck.

She leans into me for a second, then turns with a wicked grin and presses a spoonful of soup to my lips. “Taste.”

I do. It’s spicy and perfect.

“Good?”

I nod, but I’m not really thinking about the food. I’m thinking about how right it feels to have her in this kitchen. To have her cooking dinner while I throw another log on the fire, and we move through this small space like we’ve been doing it for years.

She bumps my hip with hers and smiles up at me. “You’re quiet.”

I’m always quiet, but this silence feels different. Heavy in a way I want to put words to, but haven’t yet.

“You remember that night I saw you dancing in this kitchen?” I ask.

Her cheeks pink, just a little. “You were creeping through my window.”

“Checking on you,” I correct. “You were the one putting on a show.”

She laughs, then lets the sound fade into something softer. “I wasn’t thinking about anything. Just letting the music fill up the quiet. I didn’t know you were watching at first.”

“I couldn’t look away.”

Her breath catches.

“I’d told myself I wasn’t going to get close, that I was too old, too set in my ways. That you were visiting, that you didn’t really want to stay. But when I saw you dancing like that, smiling to yourself, I knew I was already in trouble.”

Maisie turns in my arms slowly, eyes wide, like she’s afraid that if she blinks, this moment will slip away.

“You never said that before,” she whispers.

“I didn’t know how,” I admit. “I’m not used to feeling like this.”

She bites her lip, blinking fast.

I cup her jaw gently, brushing my thumb along her cheek. “But I want to be the man who shows up for you. Who sticks. Who holds your hand and kisses your shoulders and tells you he loves you every damn day.”

“You already are,” she says, voice breaking on the last word. “You’ve been showing up since the beginning.”

She presses her cheek to my chest, arms curling around my waist. We stand like that for a long moment, the only sound the gentle pop of the fire and the simmer of soup on the stove.

Then she tilts her head back and gives me a watery smile. “I still dance in the kitchen sometimes when you’re not home.”

I chuckle low in my throat. “Now you’re just trying to kill me.”

She smacks my arm and turns toward the little Bluetooth speaker on the counter. A soft country song flows through the cabin, something slow and warm, with a voice like honey and a lazy beat.

She holds out her hand. “Dance with me?”

I hesitate. I don’t dance. Not really. But for her, I’ll try.

I take her hand, pull her close, and let the music guide us. Her head rests against my chest. Our feet shuffle in slow circles across the worn wooden floor. The firelight flickers. The whole world feels far away.

“I fell in love with you that night,” I murmur against her hair.

She pulls back, eyes wide. “The night you saw me dancing?”

I nod. “Didn’t want to. Tried to fight it. But I did.”

She swallows hard, then wraps her arms around my neck. “I think I fell when you came back when I called. I was inside, freaking out, and you showed up. Like some grumpy mountain man fairy godmother.”

I snort. “Not the nickname I was going for.”

She laughs and rests her forehead against mine. “You make me feel safe. Wanted. Like maybe I don’t have to have everything figured out all the time.”

I tilt her chin up and kiss her slowly and deeply, pouring everything I can’t say into the press of my mouth against hers. She tastes like home.

When I pull back, she smiles. “So… what now?”

I glance toward the stove. “Dinner before you burn it.”

She groans. “Crap. The soup.”

She darts back to the pot, stirring frantically, muttering under her breath about how I distract her too easily.

I lean in the doorway and just watch.

Watch this woman who came back to town with no plan and carved out a place in my life like she’d always meant to be here.

Watch her hips sway as she moves around the kitchen.

Watch the way her whole face lights up when she plates something that smells amazing and sets it on the table like it’s nothing.

Later, after dinner, we sit curled on the couch, her legs over mine, a blanket wrapped around us. We don’t say much. We don’t have to.

Because the truth is simple, she’s mine and I’m hers.