Chapter 2
Chapter Two
FELICITY
TWO MONTHS LATER
“ S alut, ma luciole,” Fierce’s deep voice rumbles with its ever so slight French accent, his rugged face beaming on the screen of my phone. Fierce started calling me “ma luciole” or “my firefly” a couple of weeks ago, explaining it’s because thoughts of me constantly fly into his head, lighting his world and setting his soul on fire. Who knew a reclusive sheepherder could be so poetic?
“Salut, mon bébé,” I answer, craning my head around the cafe bustling with activity.
“I hear you are already at Café de la Presse this morning. No doubt, hold up in your little corner typing away.” I chuckle at his words, turning my phone to give him a three hundred and sixty-degree view of the place. He knows me too well despite our never meeting and living four hours apart.
“And this is what my morning looks like,” he replies, panning his phone as I stare at the screen, marveling at the verdant valley where his ranch is located, the fluffy herd of sheep grazing all around him, and the towering, snow-capped Sierra Nevada Mountains behind. I can hear the wind on the microphone, and he pulls his scarf tighter around his neck.
“Who are you riding today?” I ask.
He turns the camera towards a lovely, compact Quarter horse, his favorite mount.
“Hi, Gracie,” I exclaim.
The screen returns to his handsome face, cheeks ruddy from the wind and framed by a neatly trimmed black beard. He wears a black beret and a red scarf and looks like something straight out of a Travel Channel documentary, only far sexier. “She loves you already,” he says wistfully. “But not as much as her owner.” The man’s been subtly and not so subtly confessing his feelings to me for weeks now, which has me on the edge of a crisis.
“It is not customary to frown when your man appreciates you. What’s wrong, Firefly?”
I shake my head. “Trouble at work.”
“Do you want to talk about it?” He asks, his brow furrowing.
“Maybe another time.”
“This is what pains me about the long distance between us. If you were here, I would buy you a big bouquet of sunflowers to cheer you up.” They’re my favorite flower.
He stares at me, smiling, his eyes raw with emotion, communicating more than words could ever express.
“When, mon amour?” He arches a thick, black brow.
Fierce has offered to drive to San Francisco to meet me. He even suggested meeting my parents first to ask their permission to date me if that helps. I can tell he’s at the end of his rope, and I’ve run out of excuses for not meeting him.
Thanks to my editor, McDuffey, this changes tomorrow. I bite my tongue, tempted to tell Fierce as much. But McDuffey wants it to be a surprise. He’s far too sensational an editor to work at the Chronicle. I half think he expects me to show up in Hollister to find Fierce married with kids or something. He doesn’t know the first thing about this sweet, adorable man.
“Making love with our eyes is not nearly as interesting as what we could be doing. But I don’t want to pressure you.”
“And what could we be doing?” I ask in low, seductive tones.
The screen goes black as he turns off FaceTime, and I follow suit, pressing the phone to my ear for privacy’s sake.
“I dreamt about you again last night,” he says quietly, his voice throbbing with desire.
My heart pounds in my chest. “And what did you dream about me this time?”
He clears his throat, his voice dropping a few steps. “You were sitting on my face, your thick thighs squeezing my head as I undid you with my tongue.” I hear him run his hand over his beard, making a scruffy sound. “You tasted so good. I couldn’t get enough of your delicious honey.”
“Is that what you want to do with me?” I ask, already knowing the answer but needing more from him.
“I wish you were at your place,” he growls. “So that you could touch yourself when I tell you about my dream, and I could watch, pretending your fingers were mine.”
My lower core is a tight throb, and my cheeks burn at how far I’ve let things go in recent days. What the hell am I doing? But I’ve never met a sexier guy in my life or one that I want to please and be pleased by more.
“I wish I was, too,” I respond breathlessly.
Fierce insists on phone calls and FaceTiming. He says it’s because he’s old-fashioned. All I know is it’s been the biggest mistake of my life. Because unlike my ex, Tim, who I sometimes sexted when traveling, there’s an intimacy and connection through FaceTime with Fierce that’s undeniable. So undeniable that I’m about to lose my dream job over it.
“Tonight?” He pants.
“Tonight. And I want to see you touch yourself, too,” I add, breathing hard.
He swallows loudly. “Anything for you. I have to go now before I’m unable to think straight and fall out of the saddle with lust. You are a bad influence on me, but one I cannot deny. Salut, ma luciole.”
“Salut, mon bébé.”
I’m a twenty-seven-year-old, big-city freelance journalist and content marketer in love with a Basque shepherd who lives above sixty-five hundred feet in a rugged cabin that’s about as close to off-grid as I’ve ever considered visiting. What does this say about me? Or better yet, why can’t they make men like him in San Francisco?
“Well, you look flustered. Are you okay?” My bestie, Callie’s voice catches me so off guard I jump in my seat, putting my hand over my heart.
“Sorry. I was just…concentrating.”
I stand, and we lean into each other, hugging.
“Do you need a few more minutes?” she asks, eyeing me curiously.
I shake my head. “Did you put in your drink order?”
She nods. “They should have it at the bar in a few minutes. This place is packed today,” she observes, sitting opposite me at our small table, piled high with my laptop, planner, and notes. I stack everything, clearing room for her.
“I know. Weird for a Monday. Fortunately, I arrived early to stake out my spot.”
“Girl, it feels like forever. So, how have you been?”
I shrug, overwhelmed by where to start.
“Your column’s been amazing, by the way. Oh my God!” Callie laughs, her head bouncing. “That story about the guy in the nightclub was classic. Did he really send you a dick pic as soon as he got your number? Shrinkage and all?”
“From the bathroom. And, yes,” I nod, laughing. “It was…underwhelming.” Nothing like the Basque shepherd. My cheeks burn. I’ve worked on a weekly column for the San Francisco Chronicles’ lifestyle section for months now, published in eight installments. Think a revamped West Coast version of Sex and the City . Play my cards right, and it’ll become a permanent, syndicated column.
I only have one article left to submit to my editors, which makes my chest burn with guilt. It’s supposed to be about my last social experiment, a witty foray into the Mountain Mates Dating Site, and a walk on the wild side with a Basque shepherd who I wasn’t supposed to fall in love with.
I rub my hand absent-mindedly over my heart, replaying this morning’s phone conversation with my editor. I tried to nix the article altogether, wrapping it up with something else. But he wants a deep dive into dating a rural Basque American, and he also wants me to meet said shepherd in person “but keep things professional.” Do mutual masturbation sessions over FaceTime count as professional?
I sigh loudly, and Callie eyes me, her perceptive face already reading far more into my expression than I mean to let on. I’ve always been an open book to her.
She raises a magenta-tipped, immaculately manicured finger. “Hold that thought. They just called my drink order.”
A few minutes later, the curvy, gorgeous black woman with a perfectly coiffed halo of thick black curls dressed in a black silk shirt, black tight-fitting jeans, and leopard-spotted ankle booties, saunters back to the table, catching every male pair of eyes in the room as she passes. I’ve known her since first grade, and she’s everything I’m not—cool, sophisticated, dazzling, and fashion-forward.
She acts like she doesn’t notice any attention from the opposite sex, fluttering her eyelids to enhance her glittery, hot pink eyeshadow and thick, long lashes. Claiming her seat once more, she sets her large cup and saucer on the table. I stare at the frothy top of her drink, decorated artfully with a leaf by the skilled barista behind the bar. “Alright, level with me. What’s wrong?”
Where to start? I press my finger against my temple, taking a deep breath. “I had the worst phone call with my editor today. The kind that could cost me my job before I even officially earn it.”
Her graceful eyebrows arch, and her cinnamon-colored eyes round. “But your column has been so amazing and well-received. What’s the problem?”
I sit back in my chair, looking at the ceiling. “So you know, each week I’ve profiled a dating disaster to highlight the perils of romance in the twenty-first century?—”
“To hilarious effect,” she interrupts.
“Thank you. There’s been a nightclub scene, a singles hiking group, a single mingle cooking class, the wine tasting.” I shake my head. “I know I’m missing a few of them. But the culmination of the series is a walk on the wild side with the Mountain Mates Dating Site.”
Callie frowns, knitting her brows. “What’s that?”
“A dating site for women who are into mountain men.”
“Mountain men?” she grimaces. “You mean, like Jeremiah Johnson?”
I cock my head to the side, thinking about how Robert Redford became a liver-eating cannibal in the movie. That aside, she’s more or less spot on. I nod. “Between you and me, this part of the article was supposed to lay waste to middle America. Cast flyover country in the worst possible light, The Hills Have Eyes style, while providing readers with plenty of laughs and helping them gain perspective on dating in the city. You know, something along the lines of, even though the San Francisco dating scene can be annoying and dissatisfying at times, at least you’re not dealing with inbred hicks in the backcountry.”
Callie nods slowly, her brows furrowing some more.
“The one caveat, of course, was not falling in love…”
Callie sits back in her chair, clapping her hands together. A huge smile crosses her face. “Good riddance, Tim,” she mutters, referencing my ex. She never liked the way he treated me. “Okay, this is getting good. Go on.”
Remembering a picture is worth a thousand words, I unlock my phone, scroll to some of Fierce’s most recent, G-rated pictures, and hand her my phone. “Just take a look for yourself.” (I keep the NSFW ones in a special folder marked “ .” For my hungry eyes only.)
Flipping through his photos, she covers her mouth with her hand, her eyes rounding. “This guy is gorgeous and sexy AF! And where did you say you met him? Mountain what?”
“Mountain Mates Dating Site.”
“Girl, I’m all over this. Does he have any brothers?”
“Six, actually.”
Her eyebrows shoot skyward.
I sigh. “I’m falling for him, and I know he’s falling for me.”
She stares at me blankly. “But have you met in person yet?”
I shake my head.
Callie leans forward. “Okay, I get that he’s total eye candy. But what if you meet in person and the chemistry’s not there? You know, the pheromones are all off. Shit like that happens sometimes. I read about it in Cosmo recently.”
“That would suck.” I frown.
“Don’t look sad. I don’t mean it like that. I’m just saying you owe it to each other to meet up in person before your hearts get any deeper in this.”
I nod, pausing. “Thanks to my editor, that’s happening tomorrow.” I exhale sharply, my cheeks burning. I still can’t believe it.
“Oh my God. How exciting!” A little puff of air escapes her thick lips, a juicy shade of hot pink, thanks to her lipgloss. “What are you going to wear? How are you going to do your makeup?”
“I haven’t thought about any of that yet.” I shake my head.
“Girl, what are you doing this afternoon?”
I shrug.
“Okay, let me rephrase that. Here’s what we’re doing this afternoon. We’re giving you a makeover.”
“But I don’t have the money for that,” I confess, looking down, my cheeks burning.
“Okay, you and I both know your closet is filled with beautiful clothes that you never wear. You’re always tromping around in jogging suits, no offense.”
She’s not lying. Between freelancing from home and the breakup six months ago, my self-care and fashion sense have been in the dumps lately.
“And there’s always my closet, too, Sis.” We’ve always been the same size, which has meant a lifetime of swapping outfits. “And those fantastic thrift shops on Geary and Haight. Besides, I still owe you a Christmas gift and a birthday gift for last year. So, we’re going underwear shopping at Victoria’s Secret, too.”
“You don’t have to?—”
“Girl, you cannot meet that delicious-looking man wearing the ratty-ass Grandma panties I know you’ve got on right now. Probably with holes at the waistband.” She frowns, and I shift in my seat uncomfortably. Callie’s been on this high horse ever since seeing a pile of laundry on my bed. In the context of my mountain man shepherd, she has a point.
“But what about my editor and the not falling in love part?”
“Okay, the man you just showed me looks like the country version of Henry Cavill. I’m sorry, but your editor has to take a backseat.”
I press my lips firmly together.
“When’s the last time you saw a guy like that walking around the city?”
“Never.”
“The whole beauty of your column is that we get to live vicariously through you and your experiences. So, you better enjoy the hell out of riding that…what is he again? A mountain man?”
“Yes, and a Basque shepherd, to be more specific.”
“Okay, that’s so not my thing. But damn, it sounds hotter than hell.”
“How do you think I feel?” I ask, fanning myself. “But the problem is I really, really need this promotion, and if I don’t return with the article McDuffey, my editor, wants, I won’t get a desk job at the paper.”
Callie presses her lips together, deep in thought. “Does your shepherd know about the article? Or that you’re visiting so that you can spill the tea about him?”
“He has no clue.”
“Why haven’t you told him?”
I shrug. “Because honestly, by the time things progressed this far, I talked myself out of writing the last piece altogether. I even came up with a whole new idea, pitching and writing it up. McDuffey didn’t bite, though. He wants me to stick to the original plan no matter what.”
“And you’re afraid this could hurt your chances with?—”
“Fierce.”
“Fierce?” Now, she fans herself. “This guy sounds too damn good to be true. Dang, Sis!”
“He is. But he’s also a very private and proud man. I can’t imagine him taking well to me writing about him and his family. Especially in a derisive way like McDuffey wants.”
“Of course, you may get over there and find out Fierce has been lying about all sorts of things. I hate to say this, but it wouldn’t be the first time online dating failed.” She frowns, biting her lower lip.
“I can’t imagine it. He’s been so forthright.”
She cocks her head to the side. “As far as you know, but?—”
“We FaceTime twice a day.”
She nods. “Do you text, too?”
“He hates texting.”
Callie frowns.
“What?” I ask, my stomach knotting.
“Remember that guy Darrell I dated on and off before the holidays?”
“The cheater guy. How could I forget?”
“He always insisted on us FaceTiming.”
“What does that have to do with anything?” I ask.
She leans forward, whispering, “He didn’t want any evidence left behind. No matter how good you are about deleting texts, there’s always potential for a smoking gun. All it takes is one new, poorly timed text.”
Her words make my chest ache.
“And does he say he has to go to bed early at night? Say, nine or ten?”
“Eight.”
Her eyebrows shoot sky-high. “He’s cheating on you, then. Or he’s cheating with you on another woman.”
“How do you know that?”
“What man goes to bed at eight every night?”
“A shepherd. He’s up before the crack of dawn working.”
She shakes her head, her expression filled with disbelief. “Well, you’re going to find out tomorrow. Sounds like you have a lot to sort out. Is he excited about you visiting?”
“He doesn’t know. It’s a surprise.”
“What? Why?”
“Because McDuffey insisted I surprise him in his native environment.”
“Gosh, this is starting to sound like an episode of Cheaters or something.”
Fierce cheating on me? I only know him from our online exchanges, and I have always found his hatred of texting a little odd. Now that I think back on it, he did get pretty raunchy with me during our first conversation with that whole head between my thighs reference. What if that’s an icebreaker for him with all his conquests? I cross my arms over my chest, frowning. “No need for a makeover if he’s cheater.” But I still can’t believe it. Not after the connection I feel between us.
“What are you talking about?” she asks, narrowing her eyes. “There’s even more reason to slay under those circumstances. You’ve got to go in looking so hot and so pulled together that the man will beg you to stay and promise to give up his unfaithful ways.”
I shrug my shoulders. “I would never fall for that.”
“I wouldn’t, either. But talk about a confidence boost! It’s the only way to break up with a player.”
“Okay, we have not established my Basque shepherd is a player,” I remind, rubbing my hand over my aching heart.
“And if he isn’t, then you’re really going to need super sexy, super lacy panties and bras for this weekend. Girl, I’m so jealous of you! I want my own mountain adventure!”
“Mountain Mates is free to sign up.”
“I am so on it. But this is not about me. Back to you and Henry Cavill. You can’t go in there looking like someone’s grandma, or the cutie will never learn his lesson. And on the off chance, he’s being truthful about everything? You’ll be able to look back on this weekend as the first time you fucked your husband-to-be, the father of your children, and my future brother-in-law, because, trust, I’m headed out to the country to find and marry Fierce 2.0.”
I can’t stop giggling, even as my heart feels heavy, speculating over what might be happening with him. All I know for sure is I need to find out now one way or the other. And it won’t only be my love life I’m investigating. What happens this weekend will impact my career trajectory moving forward, too. Because if Fierce is who he claims to be, I’ll never deliver the article McDuffey wants. And if Fierce is lying, I’ll have a nameplate to polish on my new desk at the Chronicle…with the tears from my heartbreak.
“What are you worrying about?” Callie asks, staring at me perceptively across the table.
“I’m trying to figure out how to have my cake and eat it, too. You know, give McDuffey the article he wants and, hopefully, find out Fierce is everything he claims to be.”
She shrugs. “The first part, I wouldn’t worry too much about. Fierce is a mountain man. What are the chances he reads the San Francisco Chronicle anyway?”
“You’ve got a point.” But that reasoning sits heavy with me. I would never want to found a relationship on deception.
“You know what else I’m right about?”
I arch an eyebrow.
“The fact it’s makeover time. We’re going on a shopping spree, and then let the fashion show begin.”
“Are we starting at your place or mine?”
“No offense, but I won’t step foot in your apartment complex after dark. That place is scuzzy as hell. So, I vote for your place and then mine. You might as well pack up, so we can do a bestie sleepover. What time are you leaving tomorrow?”
“Probably around seven or so. I’d like to avoid the weekend rush.”
Callie’s face beams as she stomps her feet excitedly. “This is going to be so much fun. It’s been way too long since we did a bestie sleepover!”