Page 65 of Wrecked on the Mountain

I snort, grabbing a caramel. “You're a different breed around here.”

“Damn right.”

He starts scrolling through Netflix until he finds the latest romantic comedy that everyone online’s been screaming about. The second the opening credits roll, I curl into him like a satisfied cat, cradling a bowl of popcorn while his hand rests easily on my hip.

The headache’s still there, dull but manageable now. Or maybe it’s just muffled by the weight of Jamie’s arm and the sugar high blooming in my veins.

“I can't wait for tomorrow,” I whisper against his chest. “I hope I feel good enough to meet your family.”

He dips his head to press another kiss into my hair. “You will.”

And for once, I believe it.

Because this sweet, stupid, snack-filled mountain night… feels like the start of something worth staying for.

Chapter Fourteen

Jamie

I wake up at 0500 hours, like I always do. Apparently old Army habits really do die hard.

Only this time there's something warm and soft pressed against my side that makes my entire world feel different.

Brooke.

She's curled into me, one hand splayed across my bare chest, her face peaceful in sleep. There's no tension in her shoulders, no lines of pain around her eyes.

She's completely, utterly... peaceful.

Hopefully the migraine's gone.

I'm pretty sure it is because her breathing is deep and even, not the shallow, careful breaths she was taking last night. Her color's better too—that pale, pinched look has been replaced by the soft flush of a good night's sleep.

Jesus.She's beautiful.

I've seen her in a lot of different states over the past week. Flustered and aroused when I caught her staring through the fence. Defiant and challenging when she thought I was being an ass. Professional and competent at work. Completely undone and desperate when I had her bent over my desk.

But this? This quiet, trusting vulnerability as I hold her in her sleep? This might be my favorite version of Dr. Brooke Shields.

Last night was something else.

We demolished half those snacks during some ridiculous romantic comedy about a woman who inherits a bakery. Brooke made sarcastic commentary about the male love interest's "unrealistic emotional intelligence" while stealing all my caramel popcorn, swiping the best pieces of course.

I pretended not to notice, but each time her hand brushed mine in the bowl, I felt that little jolt of electricity that's got me right where I am right now.

She fell asleep during the third act, right when the guy was making his grand gesture speech. Her head dropped onto my shoulder, and she made this tiny contented sound that did things to my chest I wasn't prepared for.

I stayed awake as the credits rolled on the screen, just watching her breathe, wondering how the hell I got so lucky that the woman next door would be this amazing.

When the screen eventually went dark, I carried her to bed, tucked her in fully clothed, and settled beside her. I sat and watched her for a little longer than I'll ever admit to, but after I eventually nestled in beside her… It was the best nights sleep I've had in years.

Now, I stretch from the early morning rise and ease out of bed carefully, trying not to wake her.

I pad to her kitchen in just my boxer briefs and the first hint of sunlight streams through the tall windows, adding to the warmth of her home. The smell of the mountains drifts inthrough a crack in the window, and a fresh sprinkle of snow rests on the small front garden.

I love that clean, sharp scent that means Stone River is waking up for a new day. But inside the cabin, it's all Brooke. That perfume she wears, the faint scent of her shampoo still lingering in the air.

Fuck.I'm in deeper than I thought.