Page 6 of The Mountain Man’s Curvy Obsession (Mountain Man Sanctuary #15)
Chapter five
“You can tell when the cupcakes are finished by poking a toothpick in the middle of the cake. If the pick comes out clean, the cupcakes are ready.” I’ve baked them before, and I know when to take them out of the oven, but I don’t have the heart to tell her Slade’s mom.
From the first day Slade brought me home to meet her, Clara has always been kind to me. It’s been a week since I moved into her rambling mountain home and she never fails to let me know how much she appreciates my help at the Grizzly Grind. I can’t begin to express how grateful I am.
I take this job seriously and do my best to stay completely focused on work when I’m here, but I have to stop myself from daydreaming constantly about the way her son kissed me in that cave.
Clara, with her silver-streaked braid swinging as she moves, hands me a cup of cappuccino.
“Go on, Eva, go ahead and enjoy it. I made it just for you. You’ve earned it.
” Her eyes crinkle at the corners as she grins.
I glance at the counter, where a few stray crumbs linger from the morning rush.
Guilt tugs at me—I should be helping, not sipping coffee—but Clara’s already grabbed a dish towel and is wiping it down.
“Don’t give me that look,” she scolds playfully, flicking the rag at me. “You’ve been on your feet since six a.m. Go. Sit. Enjoy.”
“Okay, okay,” I relent, cradling the warm cappuccino mug in my hands.
I take a sip and wander through the shop.
This place was a gem when she opened it, but Clara’s recent remodel has transformed it into something breathtaking.
The walls are now a soft sage green, adorned with local artwork—vibrant landscapes of Passion Pines’ rolling hills and quirky sketches of coffee cups with sassy quotes.
The front area is still buzzing with locals catching up on gossip, or working on their computers in one of the few places with reliable internet. I round the corner into the new addition, a sprawling lounge that feels like stepping into a friend’s living room.
Oversized armchairs, upholstered in plush velvet shades of ruby and sapphire, invite customers to stay awhile.
The coffee table is stacked with paperbacks and board games.
This is the kind of place I’d dreamed of back in Missouri, where our “coffee shop” was just a sterile counter, all business and no soul.
I check out the bulletin board and scan the flyers and notes: a grainy photo of an orange tabby with a plea to “Find Mr. Leonardo,” a yoga class schedule, and a neon-green poster for a dance this Saturday, promising live music and “boot-stompin’ fun.
” I make a mental note to keep an eye out for the poor missing kitty when a voice cuts through my thoughts, teasing and low. “You here to tame Slade?”
I jump, nearly spilling my drink and spin toward the sound.
“What?” My gaze drops to the floor, where a good-looking guy kneels beside a wobbly table with a toolbox open at his side.
Shaggy brown hair falls into his face, but those familiar blue eyes spark with recognition.
It takes a second, but then it clicks. “Eli? Oh my gosh, Eli Boone, is that you?”
“Eva!” He scrambles to his feet, dusts off his jeans, and pulls me into a friendly hug, smelling faintly of wood polish and motor oil. “Look at you, all grown up! How long has it been?”
“Six years,” I explain, really taking him in.
He’s taller now, broader, super handsome, with a scruffy charm I hadn’t noticed before.
But he doesn’t come close to Slade, whose chiseled good looks and mysterious dark eyes have haunted me all week.
He’s been in everyday for coffee, leaning against the counter with that slow, dangerous smile, and I have to fight the urge to kiss him senseless.
“Sorry, Eli, what were you saying about Slade?”
He grins sheepishly. “Just messin’ with ya. There’s this wild rumor goin’ ‘round that Slade ordered a mail-order bride. Can you believe it? I saw you standing’ here and thought maybe you were her.”
I laugh. “You nailed it, I was. I mean, I am.” Eli’s jaw drops, and I wave a hand. “There was a mix up with the mail-order bride service. The story would bore you to tears, so forget it. What about you? What’s Eli Boone up to these days?”
He straightens and digs into his back pocket. “Rusty Wrench Ranch and Home Repairs. That’s me.” He hands me the crumpled business card with a sweet, cocky grin. “If you need anything fixed—leaky faucet, creaky porch—give me a call. Friends and family discount, just for you.”
Before I can respond, a deep, velvety voice slides over my shoulder, sending a shiver down my spine. “That won’t be necessary.” Slade. I don’t have to turn to know it’s him—I sense his presence whenever he’s near me. Always have. I stifle a grin.
“Hey, Slade,” Eli says quickly, gesturing to the table. “Just fixin’ this for your mom. Leg’s busted, but I got it.” Slade’s gaze flicks to the table, then back to Eli, cool and assessing.
“Good for you, Eli,” Slade’s tone is even but laced with something possessive.
He steps closer, his broad shoulder brushes mine, and my heart trips over itself.
“But as far as Eva goes, she’s living with my family now and doesn’t require your help.
My brothers and I have Eva covered, no question.
” His words ignite a buzz through my veins.
Does he consider me part of the family now?
Eli blinks, caught off guard. “Oh. Right. Uh, cool.” He clears his throat, drops to his knees and starts rummaging through his toolbox.
“Gotta finish this up. Nice seein’ ya, Eva.
Oh, and if you’re goin’ to that dance at Timber Jack’s, I’ll catch you there.
” He flashes a quick smile before disappearing beneath the tabletop.
Slade’s hand grazes my elbow, guiding me away from Eli’s workspace toward one of the cozy loveseats.
My heart is doing somersaults as I sink into the cushions, clutching my cappuccino, hyper-aware of how close he’s sitting with his knee almost brushing mine.
He smells like cedar and something crisp, a forest after rain, and I’m trying—failing—not to notice how his flannel shirt stretches across his shoulders.
“So, you’re back,” I say, aiming for casual, “what brings you here for the fifth day in a row?” I catch a ghost of a smile tugging at his lips, and my stomach flips again.
“Just checking on you,” he says in a low, deep voice like he’s sharing a secret.
“Oh?” I raise my brows and send him my most mischievous grin.
“Absolutely. I’ve been thinking about you a lot.”
“Wonder why.” I slowly lick my lips, deliberately trying to drive him crazy.
He zeros in on my mouth and lingers before he drags his gaze away and nods toward Eli’s table. “What dance were you talking about?”
“Oh,” I mutter nonchalantly. “The one at Timber Jack’s tomorrow.” I tilt my head toward the wall. “Flyer’s over there. Are you going?” I shift slightly, purposely touching his knee with mine, and flash a playful smile, hoping he can’t hear my heart hammering.
Slade’s brown eyes lock onto mine, intense and unreadable. “I wasn’t planning on it.” He pauses, and I hold my breath with anticipation. “But maybe I will.”
My brows lift, and I lean forward, attracted to the sparks flying between us. “Well, wouldn’t that be fun?” I bite my lip, holding back a big smile, still attempting to play it cool. “Just because we’re not getting married doesn’t mean we can’t dance together, right?”
He sends me a devastating smile, and he leans closer. “But is a dance really all you want from me, Eva?”