Chapter Two
Forrest
I arrive at Peak Tavern a few minutes early.
The place is already filling up with the usual crowd — locals laughing, country music playing from the jukebox, the rich smell of grilled burgers and fried pickles in the air.
I claim a couple of stools at the bar and order two waters while I wait, trying not to look as nervous as I feel.
When Sloane walks in at seven o’clock sharp, the whole room seems to brighten.
She’s changed into a soft emerald sweater that hugs her curves and dark jeans that make her legs look endless.
Her glossy dark hair falls in loose waves, and those sparkling eyes find me immediately.
A slow, teasing smile curves her lips as she makes her way over.
“You showed up,” I say, standing to pull out the stool for her. My voice comes out gruffer than I intend, but I can’t help it. She looks even prettier than she did this afternoon.
“Of course I showed up,” she replies, sliding onto the stool and turning those bright eyes on me. “I told you I wanted to spend more time with you, big guy. I don’t say things I don’t mean.”
The nickname lands warm in my chest. I rub the back of my neck, feeling my cheeks heat. “Good. I’ve been looking forward to this since you drove away earlier.”
Rosie appears behind the bar with a big grin, setting two menus in front of us. “Well, look at you two. Already on a date after one little car bump? Pine Peak works fast.”
Sloane laughs, the sound light and bright. “Apparently. Forrest was kind enough to forgive me for hitting his truck and invite me out.”
I grunt, but I’m smiling. “There wasn’t even a scratch.”
We order burgers and fries, and the conversation flows easily from there.
Sloane tells me more about her life in Denver—her job, the constant noise, how she came to Pine Peak just to breathe for a couple of days.
I listen, genuinely interested, asking questions that make her eyes light up.
In return, I share a few stories about growing up in the mountains, about the peace I find here.
Every time our hands brush, reaching for a fry or our knees bump under the bar, a spark jumps between us.
I catch myself watching her mouth when she laughs, the way her eyes sparkle when she teases me.
She catches me staring more than once and doesn’t look away.
She actually leans a little closer, that sassy smile playing on her lips.
“You keep looking at me like that, big guy, and I’m going to start thinking you like what you see,” she says, voice light but laced with something warmer.
“I do,” I admit, my voice dropping lower. “A lot.”
Her cheeks flush pink, but she doesn’t pull back. The tension between us simmers, growing thicker with every shared glance and accidental touch.
After we finish eating, the music shifts to something with a stronger beat. A few couples move to the small dance floor. I look at Sloane, feeling that same nervous excitement from earlier.
“You dance?” I ask.
“I do tonight,” she answers, taking my offered hand.
On the dance floor, I pull her close. She fits against me like she was made for me. My hand settles low on her back, possessive but careful. Every time our bodies brush, heat flares between us. Sloane leans into me during the slower songs, her cheek resting against my chest.
Rosie swings by with a tray of shot glasses filled with amber liquid. “House special — local moonshine. Goes down smooth but kicks like a mule. You two look like you’re having too much fun not to try it.”
Sloane shrugs with a grin and takes one. We clink glasses and toss them back together. The moonshine burns a fiery path down my throat, spreading liquid warmth through my limbs and making everything feel bolder. Sloane coughs, eyes watering, and I thump her back gently with one hand.
“Easy there, darlin’,” I say, voice rough from the burn. “That stuff sneaks up on you.”
We order another round because the first one makes us both laugh harder.
The dancing grows looser, our bodies moving closer with every song.
I pull her against my chest during a slower number, one arm wrapped around her waist while my other hand holds hers.
She fits perfectly, soft curves pressed to my harder frame, and the chemistry between us burns hotter with every touch and teasing word.
“You’re full of surprises, big guy,” she murmurs against my chest. “I didn’t expect you to dance like this.”
I chuckle, the sound vibrating through her. “Been coming here since I was old enough to reach the bar. Mama made sure I learned how to move so I wouldn’t embarrass her at weddings.”
She tilts her head back to look up at me. The tavern lights catch in her eyes, turning them golden. “I like your mama already.”
The moonshine keeps flowing in small, dangerous doses. Our laughter grows louder, our touches linger longer. At one point, Rosie leans in with a conspiratorial grin.
“You two are the cutest thing I’ve ever seen. Hey, word is Judge Whitaker is still at the courthouse doing late paperwork…”
The idea plants itself in our tipsy brains and grows roots fast. I look down at Sloane, my hands resting on her hips as we sway to the music.
“One more adventure tonight?” I ask, voice low and warm, a little husky from the moonshine and the heat building between us. “The courthouse is just down the block. Could be fun to see what kind of trouble we can get into.”
She bites her lip, the alcohol and the undeniable pull of me making every wild idea sound brilliant. “What kind of trouble are we talking about, Forrest?”
“Whatever feels right,” I tell her, smiling that sweet, straightforward smile. “I’m game if you are.”
The decision feels easy in the golden haze of music, moonshine, and the way Sloane looks at me like I’m the best thing ever. She laces her fingers with mine.
“Let’s go see what kind of adventure is waiting,” she says, heart racing with excitement and something deeper I can feel in the air between us.
We slip out of Peak Tavern hand in hand, the cool night air hitting our flushed skin as laughter trails behind us.
The streets of Pine Peak glow softly under streetlamps, and the towering pines stand sentinel around the edges of town.
With every step, the chemistry crackling between us grows stronger, the night feeling full of possibility and just enough reckless joy to make my blood sing.