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Eventually, the heavy tread of footsteps gets stronger as he approaches the door, then it stops, a few seconds pass, and then he whips open the door. The smell of bacon comes tumbling out, and my stomach growls.
It might have been daylight when he was over last night, but it was dusk, and he did not look like this in my memories. If I was anywhere else, with anyone else, my jaw would drop.
This guy is the classic definition of a mountain man. He’s tall, broad-shouldered, has a full head of dark hair, and scruff across his sharp jawline. His eyes are brown, and they’re on the darker side. He has freckles splattered across the bridge of his nose, and although I shouldn’t find them endearing, I do. Dropping my gaze to run down the length of him, I get stuck on the fact that he’s wearing flannel with the sleeves rolled up.
Flannel.
When he clears his throat, my eyes fly back to his and his brows drop, forcing two little lines to strike between his eyes, and he frowns.
So it’s going to be like that. Hours later and he’s still grumpy.
Instantly, I feel emboldened.
“Good morning,” I say to him with a chipper voice.
His frown deepens, and he pulls the door closer to him to keep me from seeing the inside. So much for being invited in.
The big scary dog pops his head out between this guy’s legs, and I realize he’s not so scary at all. He’s a chocolate lab, and he’s old. He has white hair all over his face and looks like just the sweetest thing ever. I can’t help but smile at him and bend down to pet his head.
“Well, hi there,” I say to the dog, ignoring the frowning grumpy man. The dog sits, and his tail starts thumping on the floor.
My mood instantly improves. Maybe this won’t go bad after all. I mean he has a nice dog. Nice people have nice dogs.
Standing back up, I smile at him. “I just wanted to come over here and say I’m sorry for how we met last night. Thank you for coming in case something was wrong. I appreciate it. My name is Cora, and obviously, I’m your new neighbor.”
Now, while most normal people would introduce themselves back, he does not. Instead, his eyes narrow and then they drop to take me in from head to toe. To embrace my new mountain life, I’m wearing shortalls with a white T-shirt underneath and my tall rubber boots. His gaze stops on the boots, and his lips press together.
“I take it you’re Briggs?”
His gaze shoots back to mine. There’s surprise there that I know who he is as well as wariness. That’s right, pal, you can just stand there all you want and wonder what it is that you think I know about you. I might know nothing, but he doesn’t know that, and at the moment, I feel like I have the upper hand.
“Anyway, I just wanted to bring you this as a thank you for last night. I really do appreciate you coming over as quickly as you did.”
I hold the plant out, but instead of taking it, he looks at it as if it’s poisonous.
“What am I supposed to do with that?”
His voice is gruff like he hasn’t used it much today, and I can’t tell if I like it or not. Part of me wants to because I want to be friends with my new neighbor, but part of me doesn’t after the way he yelled at me last night. I feel like I should still be on guard.
“Whatever you want.”
There’s no point in telling him that studies show having plants increases mental health and happiness. That constantly seeing them, being around them, and smelling them can help us feel more relaxed and less anxious.
“Well, I don’t want it.”
“Oh.”
It never occurred to me that he wouldn’t want the plant. I thought it was a nice gesture and I feel a blush of uncertainty heat my chest and climb into my neck.
“It’s a really easy plant to take care of. You only water it once a month.”
He somehow straightens and makes himself taller. “Do I look like someone who wants to take care of a plant?”
He has to be joking. Ash and Clay told me he owned this property, and there are signs for the business in multiple places, including the road and right in front of his house.
“You are the owner of an orchard,” I say to him slowly because clearly one screw must be loose.
His hand tightens on the door, and his knuckles turn white. “By that, you mean it’s a business where I make a profit.”
