Chapter 5
Chapter five
I’m twenty-two and standing in the gravel driveway outside Creed’s cabin in the kind of cold that burns your lungs. My duffel bag is already in the backseat of my beat-up Jeep, the engine still ticking as it cools. I told myself I wouldn’t cry this time. I lied.
He’s on the steps, arms crossed over that massive chest, flannel sleeves rolled to his elbows even though it’s barely twenty degrees.
The porch light catches the silver flecks starting to show in his beard.
He’s twenty-seven, already weathered in the way mountain men get early.
Those storm-blue eyes are locked on me like he’s memorizing every inch before I disappear again.
“You’re really doing this,” he says. Not a question. Just the fact.
“Denver’s only six hours away, Creed. It’s not Mars.”
He snorts. “Feels like it when you’re gone.”
I swallow the lump in my throat. “I got the job. Graphic designer at that boutique agency downtown. They want me to start next week. It’s good money, good benefits, real grown-up employment. I can’t keep waitressing at the diner and hoping the tips cover rent forever.”
He steps down one stair. Close enough that I can smell pine and warm, buttery leather mixed with spice, a scent that will always make my knees weak.
“You could stay. Work remote. Or hell, open your own thing in the valley. Passion Pines needs designers. Tourists pay stupid money for logos and wedding invites.” I laugh, but it cracks.
“And live in your cabin? Play house while you’re out climbing poles in blizzards and I’m pretending I’m not terrified every time the scanner crackles with another lineman injury?”
His jaw flexes. “I’m careful.”
“You’re reckless. You always have been.” I step close enough to feel his heat through the cold.
“I watched you take hits on that football field. I told everyone I was there for my brother, but I was cheering for you. Every Friday night, I had my heart in my throat, praying you wouldn’t get crushed.
You still play the same way up on those poles, as though you’re immune from falling. ”
He reaches out, tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. His rough fingers linger on my cheek. “I haven’t dropped yet. Besides, I’ve got my gear tied off, and a rescue pack to catch me if shit hits the fan.”
“But it might. And I’ll be here waiting for the call informing me something terrible happened.
” My voice breaks. “I can’t do that again, Creed.
Not after last winter when you were gone three days straight, and I didn’t know if you were alive until Slade finally texted me a thumbs-up emoji, as if that was supposed to make it okay. ”
He exhales hard, drops his hand to my waist, and pulls me against him. “I’m not asking you to wait forever. I’m asking you to stay long enough for us to figure it out.”
“We’ve been figuring it out since I was seventeen and you kissed me behind the bleachers. We’ve had six years of figuring. And every time we get close to something permanent, one of us bolts, and it’s usually me.”
He rests his forehead against mine. “Because you’re afraid I’ll die on you. And I’m worried you’ll wake up one day and realize you could’ve had a life that didn’t involve checking the weather report every morning like it’s a death sentence.”
Warm tears roll down my cheeks. “I love you. God, I love you so much it hurts. But I need to know I can stand on my own. Denver’s my chance to prove that.”
He kisses me then. A long, slow, deep goodbye. When he pulls back, his eyes are wet.
“Drive safe,” he says, voice wrecked. “Text me when you get there.”
“I will.” I climb into the Jeep. He doesn’t move from the porch steps, and I watch him in the rear view until the trees swallow him.
I wake with a start with my heart hammering, and the dream still clinging to me like smoke. We broke up that night because love wasn’t enough to outrun fear. But we always found our way back. Every damn time.
I blink up at the ceiling, reminding myself thirty-five now, not twenty-two. We were so young. And so stupid.
I remember the first time I really saw him.
I was thirteen, still in junior high, tagging along to Passion Pines High football games because my older brother, Nick, was a senior starter.
I was screaming my lungs out, cheering when he made a tackle, rolling my eyes when he strutted off the field …
but the second Creed took off his helmet after the fourth quarter, all sweaty dark hair and that cocky grin flashing under the stadium lights … I forgot Nick even existed.
He was eighteen then, already six-three and broad-shouldered, built like the mountain he grew up on.
When he laughed at something one of the other players said, the sound rolled through the bleachers like thunder, and I felt it in my chest. Infatuated doesn’t cover it.
I was done for. Every Friday night after that, I found excuses to be in those stands, borrowing Nick’s hoodie, pretending to care about the score, while I memorized the way Creed moved, the way he looked when he scanned the crowd like he was searching for someone.
We didn’t actually speak until I was seventeen. Behind the bleachers after a championship game. By then, he’d graduated and was working with his brothers and caught me sneaking a smoke (a bad habit I quit years ago).
He took the cigarette from my fingers, crushed it under his boot, and kissed me like he’d been waiting three years to do it. We were inseparable after that—stolen nights in his truck, summers tangled in his cabin, promises whispered against skin. We waited until I was eighteen to make love.
But then we kept breaking up. College first. I went to Colorado for graphic design and spent four years in Denver, chasing a degree and independence while he stayed in Passion Pines with his family and Maverick Lines.
Distance turned phone calls into arguments, holidays into missed chances.
Our first breakup happened during my senior year when I told him I needed space to “figure out who I was without him.” He didn’t fight it.
Just said, “If that’s what you need, go. ” I hated him for making it easy.
The last time was the worst. Six months ago, after a wild summer storm where lightning took down several massive trees.
It was a rain-soaked night. He’d been gone for two days.
I hadn’t slept. I told him his job was impossible for me to handle, and I couldn’t continue waiting by the phone for someone to tell me you got hurt, or worse.
He kissed me anyway, like he could pour forever into one moment. Then he stepped back. “Drive safe,” he’d said again. Same words. Same wrecked voice.
I shake my head and drag myself to the shower with the dream still messing with my head.
I’ve been holding off on giving him his private date.
We’re now six dates into the show, and every time his name comes up, I find a reason to pass.
Not because I don’t want him. Because I’m terrified of what happens when the cameras stop rolling and it’s just us.
One look and I’ll forget every careful boundary I’ve built.
The walk to the bachelor cabin is fast, with the crisp air biting my cheeks, snow crunching under my boots, fairy lights twinkling along the path like fallen stars.
The door swings open before I reach it. Jake’s grin flashes first, then Ethan’s easy wave, Tyler gives me a smile.
Blake adjusts his scarf with that poet’s flourish.
Ryan, the pilot, leans in the doorway, all sky-blue eyes and easy confidence.
And Creed. At the back, arms crossed, watching me like I’m the only thing on earth that matters.
Elena ushers us into the living room with its leather sofas and roaring fire. Derek Voss steps forward with his clipboard in hand. His expression seems more serious than usual.
“Evening, gang. Happy Valentine’s Day.” He pauses; letting everyone get settled.
“Quick update. Marcus had to go home last night. His fever spiked high enough the on-set doctor insisted he leave. He fought like hell to stay, but we couldn’t risk it.
He’s stable now, resting comfortably. We’re reviewing backups and should have a replacement soon. ”
A murmur ripples. Elena sweeps in, red coat swirling.
“Gentlemen, Lyssa.” She beams. “We’re coming down to the wire.
Only five of you are left. There are three goodbyes coming soon, then it’s time to meet the parents.
” She winks at me. “No pressure.” Laughter breaks the tension.
“Tonight’s group date is a small-town Valentine romance event.
We’re heading to the charming Passion Pines Theater.
You each have fifteen minutes to write a Valentine’s poem for Lyssa.
Then you step on stage and read it to her.
The audience will consist of the crew and our bachelorette.
One of you will win a one-on-one date tomorrow. ”
My stomach flips. Poems. From these men. From him.
The theater is a quick drive to an old brick building, with the marquee lit up with glowing red hearts. Inside, Elena, Derek and I settle in the front row as the men disappear backstage to write.
Fifteen minutes stretch like taffy. Elena brushes my shoulder, “Are you nervous?”
I nod. “A little.”
One by one the men take the stage and recite their poems to me.
The three standouts so far are Jake, Ethan and Tyler, whose poem is playful, with rhyming lyrics like a song.
Then, at last, Creed steps onto the stage in dark jeans, flannel, and his Stetson.
He doesn’t look at the paper. He peers at me from under his brim.
“In the high country where the pines stand guard,
I learned silence teaches more than words.
Storms come hard, winds howl, lines snap in the cold—
but the mountain holds. Steady. Unbroken.
You were my storm, Lys. Wild curls, green eyes flashing lightning.
I thought I could outlast you. Thought pride was armor.
It wasn’t.
It cracked the first time you laughed in my cabin,
snow beating the windows while firelight painted your skin gold.
I’ve climbed ridges in whiteouts, spliced wire with frozen fingers,
kept lights burning for strangers.
But keeping my heart from you? That was the real impossible.
You’re the ridge I want to stand on at dawn,
the quiet after the wind dies,
the warmth when the fire’s banked low.
I’m not good with pretty words.
But I’m good at staying.
At holding on when everything else lets go.
If you’ll have me, sweetheart,
I’ll be your mountain.
Steady. Yours.
Forever.”
The last word hangs. No one breathes. Tears prick my eyes.
That wasn’t simply a poem. It was Creed, my raw, stoic mountain man, laying everything bare.
No growl. No claim. Just truth. Gentle. Deep.
The type of love that endures, the kind my parents always said was worth every risk.
The kind I’ve been running from because it terrifies me how much I want it.
The crew claps softly and then louder. Derek nods like he’s watching gold. Elena’s eyes are watering when she turns to me. “Time for you to decide.” She nods to the stage. “Go ahead, tell everyone your decision.”
I walk to the stage and up the side steps on shaky legs. “Creed,” I announce, keeping it together as much as possible. “I’m afraid my voice will break and I’ll turn into a blabbering idiot if I say too much. So, I’ll keep it brief.” I turn to Creed. “You win. Tomorrow is about you and me.”
His eyes darken with relief. He tips his hat once and disappears behind the curtain.
During the break, while others grab water, he finds me in the secret alcove I found to get away from the cameras.
He doesn’t utter a word. Instead, his calloused hands cup my cheeks.
He guides my face up to meet his lips as his thumbs make gentle sweeps across my cheekbones.
When our lips finally meet, there’s nothing hurried about it.
He takes his time as I melt, tasting me like I’m the first drop of water he’s had after days in the desert.
I clutch at his shirt, feeling the soft, worn flannel bunch between my fingers.
The scratch of his beard against my skin sends delicious shivers down my spine.
Something molten and urgent awakens in my core, the familiar current I know all too well.
Slowly, he grinds against me, pressing his thick length against my core through layers of fabric.
I moan into his mouth as his hands move down my body.
His fingers press into my hips before he suddenly drops his hands and cups my ass to lift me, bringing me to his eye level with my back pressed against the wall.
“You’re mine, Lys,” he growls before kissing down my neck and sucking. “Always have been.” The words send me spiraling as the sound of footsteps echo down the hall. We freeze.
“Tomorrow, darlin’. No interruptions. I’m gonna make you come until you forget every other man’s name.” He sets me down, straightens my blouse, and steps back as Elena rounds the corner. “Places, you two! Lyssa, you still have a one-on-one to shoot tonight with Ryan.”
How am I going to get through this show?