2. Amelia
2
AMELIA
I check the directions on my phone for the tenth time since starting my trek up the mountain, making sure this secluded, winding path is where I’m supposed to be. The road is barely wide enough for my tin can of a car and littered with tree roots and loose rocks.
This might not have been the best idea I’ve ever had. It seemed like a fun excuse to go explore the mountain my new town is named after. However, I’m losing confidence with every switchback road leading me higher and higher toward my destination.
I glance over at the plate of cookies in the passenger side seat, along with a few mystery books I picked out for Adrian. I couldn't stop thinking about him after he ran out of Evergreen Books a feeling of acceptance. We only exchanged a handful of words, but his dark blue eyes spoke volumes as they locked onto mine. He looked like a trapped animal, terrified, disoriented, and ready to lash out at any moment. Beneath that, I saw something else. A small, flickering flame of warmth and hope.
It’s also possible I’m just lonely and latching onto someone whose soul is as broken as mine.
Either way, I just pulled into the long dirt driveway leading up to Wild Roots Woodworking. I’m here now, so I might as well make my delivery. Then I can scurry back down the mountain and hide under my covers out of embarrassment, if necessary.
Gathering up the cookies and three books, I make my way up to the cabin, marveling at the wrap-around porch with a porch swing and several rocking chairs. It's the perfect spot to curl up and watch the sunset with a cup of tea and a good book.
I take a deep breath and knock on the door three times. No response. Waiting a few moments, I knock again. Nothing. Well, dammit. I should have called or looked up the business hours or something.
As I head back to my car, I hear a rhythmic tap-tap-tapping followed by a shrill buzzing noise. Following the sound, I see another structure several hundred feet behind the gorgeous log cabin. Duh, it's a workshop. He doesn't make furniture in his living room, of course, he's in a separate space.
I hesitate, not sure if I should disturb him or turn around and forget about this entire hair-brained idea. Before I have the chance to fully make my decision, I start walking toward the workshop. My mind is still a mess, but apparently, the rest of my body has chosen to see Adrian today.
The door is slightly ajar, making it easy for me to slip inside. What I see has my heart racing and my mouth hanging open. Adrian is shirtless, his back turned to me as he chisels something into the slab of wood in front of him. The corded muscles on his back gleam with sweat as they tense and flex with each movement.
He's so… beautiful. He's also harsh, rugged, and rough, but beneath that, he's fragile. The contours of his muscles, the grace with which he moves, and the confidence in each strike of the chisel all amount to an entirely different man than I met yesterday. This man isn't trapped or fumbling over his words. No, this version of Adrian is very much in control. Why is that so… hot?
I take a step forward, needing to be closer. My foot catches on a block of wood I didn't see, making me stumble slightly and lose grip on the plate I'm holding. I scramble to keep my balance while trying to save the cookies, but I end up dropping everything. At least I didn't fall on my ass.
The cookie plate shatters on the hard floor, sending crumbs and shards of ceramic across the workshop space. Adrian spins around, holding out a sharp object and bracing himself for an attack. I gasp and take a few steps back, my voice caught in my throat. I open and close my mouth but no sound comes out.
Adrian tilts his head and then blinks a few times as if trying to decide if I'm real or a hallucination.
“Sorry,” I squeak out.
He immediately drops his makeshift weapon, holding his hands out to show me he’s not a threat. The simple gesture soothes me ever so much. Here I am, barging into his personal space and startling the poor man, yet he’s the one convincing me he means no harm.
“Amelia?” he asks, his deep voice rattling through my bones.
Oh, god. His chest. If I thought his back was sexy, it’s nothing compared to the rippling muscles of his torso and hard pecs. And those biceps… I bet one hug from Adrian would wipe away every sad thought I’ve ever had.
Stop it, that’s such a weird thing to think, I scold myself.
"Yeah," I finally reply. "I don't know what I was thinking. Clearly, you're busy so I'll just clean up my mess and–"
“What are you doing here?” he grits out, angling his body slightly and turning his head to the side.
“Oh. Right. I had a silly idea to bring you some stuff, but I see now that was a mistake. I’m sorry I bothered you,” I rush to say. “I’ll just be going now. Sorry.” I look around for a broom to clean up the cookie mess, then decide maybe it’s best I just leave altogether.
“Wait,” he calls out, a desperate edge to his tone. “You brought me cookies?” Adrian stalks forward, still keeping his face slightly turned away from mine.
“That was the goal, but you know what they say about the best laid plans…”
“Of mice and men,” he says, finishing Steinbeck the quote. “Why?”
He still won’t look me in the eye, but I don’t think he’s trying to be cold. I realize he’s hiding his scar. Everything in me softens toward Adrian in this moment. He’s clearly a private man and I waltzed into his sanctuary and broke a plate of cookies all over the floor. He’s not upset, he’s self-conscious. That’s something I can relate to on a visceral level.
“We never got to finish our chat about mystery novels,” I say with more confidence in my voice. “I picked out a few I thought you might enjoy.” I hold out the stack of books that was tucked under one arm, closing the distance between us.
Adrian takes my gift, his features morphing from stoic to curious, then to disbelief. “Books and cookies, huh?”
“I figured they’re pretty similar. You can’t have just one good cookie or one good book. You always need more.”
I smile at the enigmatic man and am thrilled when the corner of his lip twitches up. One day, I hope to see his full smile. For now, I’m satisfied with a flicker of joy.
“Thank you, Amelia. I don’t even know what to say.”
My eyes drop to his chest once more and try as I might, I can't seem to look away. Is it weird that I kind of want to lick his abs? Yes. Yes, it is.
“Shit, sorry,” Adrian says, grabbing a red t-shirt from the workbench next to him.
“I don’t mind,” I blurt out. Oh my god. Did I really just say that? “Er, uh, right. Never mind. What was I saying?”
Adrian finally looks me in the eye, his lips pulled into a slight smirk. My cheeks are on fire with how hard I’m blushing, but if it gave him a confidence boost, that’s worth it. How can he not see how freaking gorgeous he is? Especially compared to someone like me.
“You were sharing your philosophy on books and cookies,” Adrian says, reminding me of our conversation.
“Right. Well, we don’t have the cookies anymore, but the books are still good.” Adrian’s gaze drifts over my face, and I wonder what he’s thinking. “I just thought since you didn’t get a chance to browse more of the books yesterday, I’d bring some to you. I don’t know how often you make it into town and wouldn’t want you to miss out.”
He continues to study me for a few silent moments, allowing me to see his face, scar and all.
“I mean, I totally understand why you’d rather be up here,” I continue. I have a bad habit of rambling when I’m nervous. My mother found it annoying and never failed to shut me up one way or another, but the lesson must not have sunk in all the way. “I’d spend all my time in this beautiful sanctuary if I could. The peaceful streams, thick forest, and delicate but resilient wildflowers… it’s all so magical.”
“It is,” Adrian agrees. “It can be lonely, though.” Adrian’s blue eyes flash with a sadness so deep I could fall right in and drown. He clears his throat and changes the subject, clearly uncomfortable with the information he just shared. “Thank you for the books. I can’t remember the last time I got a gift, let alone a hand-delivered gift.”
“Don’t forget about the mess of broken cookies I left for you,” I tease.
Adrian gives me another slight smile, each one tying my heart closer to his. “I guess you’ll just have to stop by again with more.” As soon as the words leave his lips, his eyes grow wide. “I mean, if you want. Not that I’m telling you to bake things for me.”
I lay my hand on his arm, the warmth of his skin seeping into mine. He tenses at my touch but doesn't jerk away. "I would love to stop by again," I say softly. "I don't mind baking. It's like the one thing I'm good at," I joke. Memories of my mother complimenting my meals and desserts come flooding back. The only time I made her proud was when I cooked for the family..
“I’m sure that’s not true,” Adrian murmurs, his hand covering mine. We share a tender moment, a quiet moment filled with unspoken understanding.
My phone rings, cutting through the silence and making us jump apart. I dig my phone out of my pocket, my stomach sinking when I see who’s calling.
“Sorry,” I apologize as I silence the call.
“Are you okay? You look like you just saw a ghost.”
“What? Yeah. I’m fine,” answer, trying to recover. “Just someone checking in on me.” I smile at him, but Adrian isn’t buying my bullshit. He doesn’t press the matter, though, which I appreciate. I don’t want to burden him with my past. Adrian is complicated and still healing from whatever drove him all the way up here in the first place. He doesn’t need to carry my past as well. “I should get out of your hair,” I say, awkwardly shuffling my way out of his workshop.
Adrian doesn’t say anything or make a move to stop me until I have one foot out the door.
“Wait! Amelia, wait a second.”
I pause, looking at him over my shoulder. I’m on the verge of a panic attack after receiving that call and I don’t want him to see me fall apart. “Yeah?” I manage to say, swallowing back tears.
“Can I see you again?”
His question shocks me and delights me at the same time. “Of course,” I reply with a smile despite my growing anxiety.
“Tomorrow? I can come to you this time. Or not. Or next week. Or never. It’s… I mean, it’s probably not a good idea.”
I want to wrap my arms around this man and tell him he’s worthy of love and companionship. Not that he’d ever love me. I’m not that naive to think someone like Adrian would go for a chubby girl with enough baggage to sink a ship.
“Adrian, I would love to see you tomorrow,” I assure him.
“Are you sure?”
I giggle at his question. “Yes, I’m sure. I even have some extra cookies we can share.” This earns me another partial smile.
We exchange numbers and agree on a time for him to come over. As I climb back in my car, I can’t help but feel like there has to be a catch. Good things never last long for me. My damn phone rings again, a stark reminder that my time in Misty Mountain may be coming to an end sooner rather than later.