Looks amazing. OK. See you tonight.
Opening the door, I find the grumpy lumberjack standing before me, wearing dark jeans and a pressed flannel. His beard has recently been groomed as well, and it takes every ounce of willpower for me not to jump in his arms and cover his gorgeous face with kisses.
Flint clears his throat and says, "You look nice."
"So do you," I say, stepping aside to let him in.
I hand him an opener and two wineglasses. He pours us the wine he brought from Duskwood Winery.
"I hope you like Malbec," he says.
"I do. Thank you."
As I plate the dinner, the lumberjack sits down at the kitchen table. I place his dish in front of him.
"Wow. This looks amazing," Flint says, staring down at the roasted prime rib, glazed carrots, and garlic mashed potatoes.
We eat in silence for a couple of minutes, and I look over at him from time to time. Something is off about him. He seems stiffer than his norm and even a little gruffer. As I chew my food, I study him, and it's clear he's purposely not looking at me.
Swallowing, I decide to take the bull by the horns and ask, "You seem a bit off tonight. Why?"
Flint's golden-brown eyes meet mine, and I swear I can see his cheeks blush under his beard.
"Sorry, I don't mean to be rude," he says.
"You're not exactly being rude, but you're different. Why?" I ask again.
The gruff lumberjack places his fork down and sits back with a sigh.
"It's just, well, Petula, I don't think we should hang out again after tonight. I'm forming feelings for you, and, well, that's fucking dumb since I am ancient compared to you."
"You're ancient compared to me?" I say, unable to contain my laugh.
"Yes. What are you, like, in your early forties?"
"I'm 42."
"Well, I'm 55," he says matter-of-factly, as if that answers any question in my mind.
"That's not ancient compared to me," I snort.
"It's thirteen years!"
"Okay, so not a lucky number, but I'm not 20 years old. I'm 42," I say with a laugh as I point to my graying hair.
"Okay," he says, looking at me confused.
Reaching across, I take his large hand in mine, savoring the way his touch makes me feel.
"Flint, what I'm saying is that I also have been forming feelings for you, and there's absolutely no reason why, if we both have feelings, we shouldn't explore where they may go."
My heart pounds against my chest as the mountain man studies my face. After a long beat, he says, "You have feelings for me?"
"Yes."
We give each other a heated look, then both stand reaching for each other. Our mouths meet, and he tastes of honey mixed with wine as our tongues explore each other.
I wrap my arms around his neck, and he picks me up, carrying me into the living room. I can feel his arousal pressed against me. He tosses me onto the couch, and I immediately go for his belt buckle, looking up at him.
