Page 11 of Cider for the Mountain Man

If love isn't what he's looking for, it's better to find out now than to torture myself by waiting to see how things play out.

Caden appears, his hair ruffled and his expression as soft as I left it. He's shirtless, but he's wearing a pair of sweats now, snugly pulled up to his hips.

For a moment, I drink him in and forget what I'm supposed to say.

A woman can really get used to this view. Even now, all I can think about is climbing him. I don't even know if I could do it, but I would want to try.

"Good morning," he murmurs as he approaches. Instead of fetching a drink for himself, he takes my glass and sets it down.

Before I can ask what he plans to do, he swoops in and kisses me.

This is going to be harder than I thought.

Melting against him, my hands flatten against his chest, and I have to force myself to push him away. He grunts, but steps back just enough that I’m no longer trapped against his body and the counter. Even with his movement, there's barely much space between us.

"We should talk," I tell him, my voice catching in the back of my throat as I look up at him. "Last night was... wonderful, but—"

"It's not a one-and-done deal for me," he says, interrupting me. "I don't want it to be. Wonderful doesn't scratch the surface, Valerie. Last night was everything I could have asked for. I want this more than you can imagine."

Filling my lungs with a deep breath, I reach behind me and grip the counter for support. "I really like you. I know it might not make sense with how much time we've spent together, but all these years, I've only liked you even more."

He nods and reaches forward, his hands resting next to mine. Once more, I’m trapped. "It doesn't have to make sense. The way we feel about each other, everything happened so naturally. Don't question it; just let me love you."

Caden McGivens loves me. I might have to pinch myself again to make sure I'm not imagining things.

"Can you say that again?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

The corners of his eyes wrinkle as his mouth does the funniest thing. It curves upward in amusement, a small smile playing out. That's when I realize the smile I saw on this man before was forced and fake. This is a real smile. He's smiling for me.

His hands move, and he easily picks me up. Setting me down on the counter and making enough room for his bulk between my parted legs, he slides me right to the edge, so I'm forced to cling to him for support. Leaning in, he grazes my jaw with his breath. "I love you, Valerie."

Kissing him, I pepper my mouth against his lips and his cheeks. "I'm really happy to hear that. I thought I'd have to convince you to let me see you much sooner than usual. I didn't think I would be able to wait until the next town event to get you to myself again."

"Trick or treating? That's weeks away.” He scoffs against me and shakes his head. "I'm not going to be able to last later today without having you near, let alone Halloween. I'm addicted, and I need to scratch this itch."

A laugh erupts through me as his hands graze my sides and his mouth finds my ear. Instead of the heat I normally feel, I'm ticklish.

"How about we eat something first?" I suggest, squirming against him. "After all the energy you sapped from me yesterday, I'm going to need a refill."

He grunts, but pulls himself away. "I'll fill you up with food first, and then I'll take care of my own hunger."

His promise is absolute, and my stomach does a dizzying flip. This was always the dream, but as I watch him start puttering around the kitchen, I realize the reality is going to be so much better.

Chapter eight

Caden

Epilogue

The autumn air is crisp, carrying the rich, sweet scent of crushed apples, warm cinnamon, and fried dough across the festival grounds. A few years ago, I would have been sprinting through these crowds with a clipboard clamped in my fist, a walkie-talkie glued to my hip, and a vein throbbing in my temple over a delayed hayride or a shortage of volunteers keeping everything running smoothly.

Today, my hands are completely empty. Well, not entirely—one is slipped into the warmth of my wife’s hand while the other is claimed by a much smaller one.

Without the weight of running the show, the festival feels different. More carefree. The golden late-afternoon sun filters through the changing oak leaves, casting a warm glow over the endless rows of booths, games, and laughter.

At my side, the smell of pumpkin spice radiates from Valerie's fingers. She takes delicate nibbles from a donut, almost like she's afraid of running out.

Do I have to remind her that I am willing to buy her as many as she wants?