Lost with the Mountain Man

Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

JESSAMY

T he night seems to last forever.

Every crackle of the fire is as loud as a shout in the silent cabin. I pull my blanket closer, but its warmth does little to chase away the chill creeping through me. I toss and turn, eventually resigning to lie on my back and stare at the ceiling above as the storm rages on outside.

Beside me, Beau lies fast asleep, his breaths steady and soft. He’s inches away from me, but we might as well be worlds apart.

How did we get here?

We were happy. Or… I thought we were. I thought we had our entire lives ahead of us, full of big plans and sweet promises.

Oh, Jessamy.

You know what went wrong.

You know who has been whispering in his ear, turning him against you.

A faint creak above breaks my thoughts. I look up, holding my breath, wondering if Malcolm is awake. I picture him alone in his loft, surrounded by silence and peace. A pleasant image. It surprised me how quickly I felt at ease here, how suddenly the city life faded from my thoughts. It’s different for Beau. I can see the pull of civilization in his eyes. The way he absently reaches for his cellphone in his pocket every few minutes, the urge to check his messages overwhelming despite the lack of wi-fi.

If I could rip that thing from his fingers and toss it outside into the snow, I would.

Choose me, I’d beg him.

Choose us .

As if drawn by my thoughts, Malcolm steps down onto the stairs. For a second, I think about pretending to be asleep, but it’s too late. He sees me watching him as he descends; sees my eyes traveling down his bare, muscled arms. He wears a black tank top and a pair of dark gray sweatpants that cling to the very best parts of him.

Forcing my eyes up, I bow my head respectfully, greeting him.

He pauses, nodding in acknowledgment, his eyes lingering just a moment too long before he heads toward the kitchen.

“Can’t sleep?” he whispers.

I shake my head, not wanting to answer aloud as Beau slumbers nearby.

Malcolm nods, then pulls a bottle from the fridge and places it on the counter with two shot glasses, wordlessly inviting me to join him.

I hesitate a moment before rising off the floor. Taking a blanket with me, I wrap it over my shoulders as I cross the room. “You have a lovely home here,” I say.

“Thanks,” he says, pouring the amber liquid.

“You know, sometimes, I get the urge to sell all my possessions and escape to a place like this. Someplace where the world just fades away.”

Malcolm studies me. “What’s stopping you?”

“Beau. He’d have to clear it with his mommy first,” I say, then instantly regret it. “Sorry. I shouldn’t talk like that.”

“Just being honest,” he says softly before taking his drink in a single gulp.

“Maybe,” I mutter. “Still…”

He doesn’t pry, just listens, leaving space for the words I can’t quite say. His gaze lingers on mine, steady and unwavering, and I realize how rare it is to be looked at like this—like someone actually sees me.

I down my drink. “Whoa,” I say, feeling it burn. “That’s strong stuff.”

“Should help you sleep. Helps me.”

“I’m sorry if we’re keeping you up.”

“It’s not you. Storms like this usually put me on edge.” His eyes scan the ceiling before returning to me. “Truthfully, I’m enjoying the company.”

“Good. So am I. I mean…” I chuckle. “If I had to choose between having a late-night drink with a bearded stranger or dangling off the side of a mountain…”

Malcolm’s smile reaches his eyes, warm and handsome. “I know what you mean.”

“Thank you. Again.” I falter for a moment. “If you hadn’t…”

My voice fades as a cruel fear returns to my stomach.

“Jessamy,” Malcolm says, his voice barely above a whisper. “Are you happy?”

The question catches me off guard, and I look down at my empty glass. I want to say yes. Of course, I’m happy. I’m a happily married woman. We have everything we could ever need. We live in a beautiful penthouse in the city. He has a good job. And I…

In the dim light of the cabin, with the fire casting shadows across Beau’s sleeping form, I struggle to answer.

Finally, I breathe out a quiet, “I don’t know.”

Malcolm glances over at Beau, then returns his gaze to me, something unspoken in his dark brown eyes. Rather than say it aloud, he walks over to the fireplace and adds another log, his movements careful and quiet. I watch as the flames leap higher, illuminating the room in a warm, golden glow.

“Thank you,” I say, finding my voice again.

Malcolm returns the bottle to the fridge. “Goodnight, Jessamy," he says. “Try to get some sleep.”

“You, too,” I say. “Malcolm.”

The weight of his name hangs in the air as he heads back up the stairs. I stand still for a moment, listening to his footsteps fade, feeling the small fracture his question left in my heart.

I return to my spot by the fire, by my husband, and close my eyes. Slowly, the smooth liquor lullaby tempts me to sleep as the snowstorm continues outside.