Epilogue #2
A sense of wistful longing fills me. I miss being part of a couple.
For the last three years, I was half of ‘Violet and Jonathan.’ I had someone to cuddle with on winter nights, someone to take to family dinners.
But in the last year, he rarely wanted to do any of that.
He preferred spending time scrolling through his phone or doing anything that didn’t include me.
After spending Thanksgiving without him for the second time, I’d had enough.
Even though we both lived in the same town, he said that sitting around a table making small talk ‘felt like torture, so why force it?’ My dad is a huge introvert who deplores superficial chit-chat, so I understand.
But showing up for your loved ones is important. So, I broke it off.
Now that it’s the new year, I’m trying my best to put all that behind me. Even so, there are times I still get sad about what could have been.
Several songs later, the snow has lightened to flurries as I round the bend. The outskirts of Wilderidge Falls appear in the valley below, the fading afternoon light turning white-capped rooftops into a patchwork of golden orange.
The map to my cousin Willow’s condo shows I’ll arrive at my new home in about fifteen minutes. Nervous energy flows through me. I shipped my things ahead of me, paying movers to unpack, so all I have to do is get there and relax.
The complex is made up of multiple two-story buildings that house four units apiece. Willow lives on the top floor in a two-bedroom unit. It’s an open floor plan with plenty of space for the two of us, plus a generous covered deck that overlooks the Silverheart River. It’s the reason she bought it.
My phone rings, and I use the button on the steering wheel to answer Willow’s call.
“I’ll make it quick, Vi. Can you pop into Birdie’s and pick up extra firewood? I’m almost out. It’s on your way.”
“Got it.”
“You’re the best. Oh, and I thought of someone perfect for you! He’s amazing.”
I sigh. “I’m not ready for that, Willow.”
“Just meet him. No pressure. See you soon!”
She ends the call, and I roll my eyes. My cousin and I will be talking about this.
Birdie’s Mercantile is a general store with groceries, a small section of tools, and homemade baked goods that’s been around for ages and is beloved by locals.
Although it’s run by Birdie’s grandson now, Willow said that still Birdie pops in from time to time.
I pull my SUV up next to a truck, then hop out, my boots crunching as I head inside.
Warmth envelops me as the door closes behind me with a cheerful jingle. My cheeks tingle as they thaw, and I unzip my jacket halfway, already too warm.
The scent of hot apple cider calms my senses, the apples and cinnamon making my mouth water.
I make a mental note to grab a cup on my way out.
In search of firewood, my boots squeak against the old wooden floors, and somewhere nearby, a classic Kenny Chesney song plays softly from overhead speakers.
I pass the fresh bread racks, grabbing a loaf along with a bottle of wine before heading to the back corner near the hardware section.
Just as I round the aisle, the hottest man I’ve ever seen approaches from the other side in all his flannel and denim yumminess.
He’s tall and carries the scent of wood smoke and winter air, as if he’s been working outside all day.
Underneath the cowboy hat, dark brown hair falls across his forehead, and he’s got the kind of jaw that belongs on a cologne ad.
Seriously. That and the dark scuff of beard make me want to reach out and trace my fingers along it.
I’m so entranced that I don’t notice that we both reach for a bundle of wood until it’s too late.
Somehow, we bonk foreheads, pain blooming across my skin, and end up in a tangled pile on the hardwood floor of Birdie’s.
Well, it’s not actually a tangle. It’s more of me lying on top of him with one of his legs wrapped around mine.
His arms instinctively wrap around me, absorbing the impact like it’s nothing, steady as a horse beneath a saddle.
He holds me there, protective, like he’s making sure I’m not hurt.
For a long, beautiful moment, all I can think about is how good he feels underneath me.
Solid. Masculine. And his scent, a mix of wood smoke and pine, makes me want to lay my head on his chest and take a deep whiff.
“Hi. I’m so sorry.” His cerulean blue eyes gaze into mine as his hand slides up my back.
Up. My. Back.
Slow and deliberate, steadying me. Even through my jacket and sweater, his touch burns a trail up my spine, leaving a tingling wake that makes my breath catch. I watch his throat work as he swallows hard.
“Are you alright?”
I was until your cowboy hands decided to caress my spine, which I shouldn’t even feel through my coat, but somehow I do.
“Yes. I, uh, I’m sorry.” I try to push myself up, but when my mittens touch the hardwood.
They slip, and I smack back down. This time I land harder, my chest flush against his, my breasts smushed against his pecs.
I freeze, hyperaware that my entire body is pressed against his and that one of his hands has landed on my hip to steady me.
“I should... move. I’m going to move now. ”
I don’t move. I turn three shades of red, though, a terrible affliction of mine.
A slow smile spreads across his face, his hat on the ground next to us. “No rush.”
That does it. I roll over and jump up, my legs unsteady. I brush sawdust from my jeans and then straighten my jacket before turning around to see that he’s standing, too, cowboy hat back where it belongs.
His stance is wide and grounded, his weight shifted to one hip like he’s used to standing in stirrups.
One thumb hooks into his belt loop, a casual gesture that somehow makes my stomach flip.
His jeans are faded, and his boots are scuffed at the toes.
Even in the middle of Birdie’s Mercantile, he looks like he belongs outdoors.
A lazy grin curves his mouth. “You know I can’t let you have that wood. Temperature’s dropping.”
I tilt my head, lips pursed. “So you’d leave me to freeze while you’re warm in your castle on the hill? Does your moat have alligators to keep the common folk away?”
He adjusts his hat with one finger, pushing it back slightly, his eyes widening in surprise. “Let’s flip for it.” He half smirks, half grins, making a dimple pop through his short scruff.
I almost give in to his broad shoulders and lumberjack-ish looks, but I just can’t do it. “We need to settle this like civilized Montanans.”
He tilts his head to the side with a curious but skeptical look on his face. “And that would be how exactly? Trivia? Fly-fishing? Karaoke?” His arms cross over his chest, and even through the flannel jacket, his biceps are huge.
“Rock-paper-scissors, of course.”
He throws back his head in laughter. The sound is rich and genuine, his Adam’s apple bobbing above the collar of his shirt.
On try one, we tie with rock. On try two, we tie with rock again. On the third try, I throw paper to his rock and do a little happy dance. Glancing up, his expression is a mix of amusement… and is that heat?
“I tell you what, Hotshot. How about we split it?”
“Deal.” His blue eyes flash beneath his dark lashes.
The cashier splits the wood for us at the counter, then bags my wine and bread before handing me the insulated cup of hot cider. The stranger hefts the bundle as if it weighs nothing, tucking it under one arm. He tips his head toward the door in a gesture that’s pure cowboy manners. Ladies first.
As the hatch to my SUV closes, my groceries tucked in with my belongings, we stand in the snow, closer than strangers should. A small flurry dusts us with flecks of white. The cold air stings my flushed cheeks, my breath coming out in puffs that mingle with his in the tight space between us.
“Don’t move.” His voice is low. There’s a hint of drawl that wasn’t there inside, like the cold air brought out his Montana roots, or maybe he’s just more relaxed now.
With his gloved thumb, he wipes a large snowflake from my eyelash. “Thank you for splitting the wood.” His thumb traces along my cheekbone, and my eyes flutter closed for just a second. When I open them, he’s staring at my mouth again.
“Thank you for not being weird about all of that.” I gesture toward the store. “The whole lying-on-top-of-a-stranger thing.”
“See you, Snowflake.”
He opens his truck door, and we both wave goodbye. As I put the car in drive, I glance in the rearview mirror. He’s still standing there, watching me go, white flakes dancing around his shoulders. Our eyes meet in the reflection, and even from a distance, the pull between us is strong.
Turning onto the highway, I grip the steering wheel, the ghost of his hand still lingering on my cheek. As I head toward my new home, I can’t help but feel like this was a sign from the universe that I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.
THANK YOU!