Page 5 of Snowbound Mountain Man

With that, she steps inside, promising me the next few minutes, or even an hour, to be incredibly difficult and more than a man in my shoes deserves.

Chapter three

Juniper

Needing a break is an understatement. Going through my belongings and bringing up old memories is what led me to baking in the first place.

Growing up through my teenage years, it was always a way to distract myself. Thankfully, because I needed it so often, I became good at throwing desserts together as my own personal escape from reality.

My excuse wasn't entirely a lie. Thankfully, I had someone who deserved them after the effort he'd put in.

I still can't figure out why he'd done so much without me uttering a single word, but if he hadn't, I wouldn't be here in his home otherwise.

Hunter leads me to his living room, sweeping his hand toward the couch, motioning me to sit while he sets the tray down right there on the table in front.

"Would you care for anything to drink?"

Working my coat off, I decline his offer and try to focus on anything else but the troubling thoughts swarming my mind. Not just of my father, but the feelings that are bubbling up because of his next-door neighbor.

Hunter is the definition of distracting. As he leaves the room, my eyes follow without fail. Once he's gone, I look around.

His home carries a warmth to it, and that's only slightly because of the flickering fire against the wall. Golden light flickers around the fireplace as wood crackles and pops against the growing heat.

His fire is bright and alive, radiating the kind of warmth that made my fire come off as pitiable. Honestly, I wouldn't be surprised if mine was already out by the time I returned. It's going to be such a pain to get it going again.

More reason not to stick around, yet here I am, sinking deep into his comfortable couch. At my side, there's the fuzziest wool blanket I've ever felt. Without realizing it, I'm growing calmer by the second as my fingers stroke the fabric.

Breathing in, the faint smell of pine needles clings to the air, making me realize that's something that comes with this mountain. But here, there's also the lingering scent of coffee grounds.

"Don't mind the mess," Hunter excuses himself as he returns with a glass of milk, warning me about something that doesn't exist as he approaches.

When he sits next to me, the cushion sinks with his weight, and gravity almost makes me lean in with him.

If I weren't paying attention, I might have stumbled right onto this man's lap. Thankfully, he doesn't seem to notice.

"How are things going over there?" Keeping his attention on the platter, he carefully unwraps the dish. It's a disk that's chipped on the corner. That's how a lot of the dishware is, unfortunately.

I'm still looking for a way to toss it without struggling.

Beginning to spiral in my head, I forget that he's expecting some kind of answer.

"Oh, I mean, as good as it can." Tangling my fingers together, I hesitate on my next words.

I don't know what kind of man Hunter was friends with, or if he knew who my father was before coming up here.

I had braced myself for a disaster zone—for sticky floors, mountain ranges of empty bottles, and the sour stench of a bender. I thought I’d be scrubbing away the evidence of a man drowning himself toward his maker. It had been his liver that took him out, so I assumed, but...

Instead, I walked into neat counters and folded blankets. It was lived in, cared for—and bone-chillingly cold in a way that had nothing to do with the winter.

A warmth appears against my knuckles when I take too long to continue, and I realize it's his fingers brushing against them. He's got this pinch on his brows and a frown that isn't radiating anger. More worried than annoyed.

It's a nice warmth, but having him right here trying to console me is having the opposite effect. Instead of easing this pain in my chest, it's creating a different kind of ache.

Cradling my hands closer to my stomach to break free, I work a smile onto my face as his hand curls away.

"I'm alright, really. It's just, I came here with certain expectations, and they weren't met," I try to explain before grimacing. "In a good way, though. But now, I'm not sure what to make of it."

The way Hunter looks at me, his brows lowering and his stare lingering, I know he wants to ask for more information despite his silence. Maybe if there weren't a little piece of me that still cared about what my father thought, I'd be straight with him and reveal the truth of what kind of person he was during the never-ending length of my childhood.