Matched with the Mountain Daddy (Date Night In The Mountains #18)

Chapter 1 John

one

John

I wake up on my couch with a splitting headache and approximately forty-seven messages from the idiots I call friends. The group chat is titled "HAWK'S GOT A DATE ??" and I already want to commit murder.

Marshall: Remember that dating app the librarian's friend made?

Rex: We signed you up buddy

Geoff: You matched with the candy girl

Marshall: The one with the pink shop

Rex: You're welcome for the profile. "Likes long walks and cuddles" ??

I'm typing death threats when my phone pings. New message on "Rent-A-Date":

Hi! Um, this is probably super weird but I need a date to my brother's wedding on Valentine's Day (this Saturday!

!!). I promise I'm normal! I own Sweet Bunny's on Main Street.

The candy shop? With the giant lollipop in the window?

Anyway, if you're free, could we meet at the Darkmore Lodge lobby tomorrow at 2 PM to discuss? - Bunny ??????

The pink monstrosity of a shop that looks like Candyland exploded. I've walked past it a hundred times, never been inside because I'm not five years old and I don't need diabetes.

But I'm not a coward. Grandfather's military code rings in my head: "A man keeps his commitments, even the stupid ones."

I type back: Tomorrow. 2 PM. Lodge lobby.

Three dots appear immediately. Then disappear. Then appear again. Finally: OMG YOU'RE REAL. I THOUGHT YOU WERE A BOT. THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU ??????

What the hell have I gotten myself into?

The next day, I arrive at Darkmore Lodge at 13:55. Military time is the only time that matters. The lobby is decorated for Valentine's Day—red and pink everywhere, cupids hanging from the ceiling. I want to leave already.

She rushes in seven minutes late.

"I'm so sorry! There was a candy emergency! A little kid dropped his lollipop and was crying and I had to make him a new one and—"

She stops mid-ramble, staring up at me. And up. And up.

I see her for the first time properly. She's short, maybe 5'2", with curves that her pink dress can't hide. Soft everywhere—round cheeks, full breasts, thick thighs. The kind of woman built for comfort, not speed. Size 20, maybe 22.

"You're very tall." She's breathless.

"You're very late."

"Only seven minutes!" She's wearing a pink dress with tiny hearts on it and her blonde hair is in what I think are called space buns. There's glitter on her cheek and chocolate on her fingers. "You're John? You look much more... intense than your profile photo."

"My idiot friends made that profile. You're Bunny?"

"Yes! Hi!" She sticks out her hand. It's covered in what appears to be chocolate. She notices, squeaks, wipes it on her dress—making it worse—then offers it again. "Sorry. Occupational hazard."

I shake her tiny, sticky hand. "About Saturday."

"Right! Yes!" She plops into a lobby chair, patting the one next to her.

I sit, the delicate furniture creaking under my weight.

"My brother Keith is marrying Patricia. She's very.

.. thorough. She'll interrogate us about our relationship.

She made her sister's boyfriend fill out a questionnaire at Christmas.

Twenty-three questions. There was a section on 'relationship goals' with subsections. "

I hold back a sigh. "What's our story?"

"I was thinking we could say we met at the farmer's market? You came to my candy booth, tried my English toffee, fell madly in love?"

"I don't eat sugar."

Her face falls. "Oh. Right. Of course not. You probably eat raw eggs and protein powder."

"And the souls of my enemies."

She blinks. Then giggles like this is funny. "Well, I don't sell those, but I do make sugar-free gummy bears?"

"Pass." I lean back, the chair creaks ominously. "New story. I came into your shop looking for a gift."

"For who?"

"My niece. Lives in Calgary."

"Perfect!" She pulls out a pink notebook covered in stickers. "So you came in looking for candy for your niece. When?"

"Two months ago. December."

"And I helped you pick out... hmm... English toffee and maple fudge."

"Fine."

She scribbles notes. "And you asked me out because...?"

I look at her properly—chaos incarnate with chocolate on her dress, glitter on her face, notebook covered in cartoon stickers. Soft and sweet where I'm hard and bitter.

"Because you were wearing reindeer antlers and singing Christmas carols to yourself while you wrapped the box. It was endearing."

She stops writing. "That's sweet."

"It's believable. You seem like someone who'd wear reindeer antlers unironically."

"I do! I mean, I did! They lit up!" She's excited now. "This could work. We've been dating two months. You're protective and grumpy but secretly sweet. I'm sunshine and chaos but I make you laugh."

"I don't laugh."

"You will. I'm very funny." She's serious about this. "Oh! Pet names. All couples have them. I'll call you... Bear? Because you're gruff and large?"

"Absolutely not."

"John-y?"

"I have killed people."

She doesn't even flinch. "Fine, Mr. Grumpy. What will you call me?"

I look at her again: pink dress, space buns, literal bunny on her apron that's peeking out of her bag. Plus those soft curves that make her look like the kind of woman you'd want to grab onto. "Bunny seems accurate."

"That's already my name!"

"Little Bunny then."

Something flashes in her eyes. Her cheeks go pinker. "That's... yeah. That works."

Interesting reaction.

"We should practice being couple-y. Can you come to my shop tomorrow? After closing? Six PM?"

"Why your shop?"

"Because Patricia sometimes goes to the lodge for yoga. If she sees us practicing being romantic, the jig is up."

Fair point. "Fine. Six PM. Don't be late this time."

"I own the shop, I can't be late!" She stands, gathering her bag. "This is going to work! We're going to be the best fake couple ever!"

She bounces out, leaving a trail of glitter. I sit there for a moment, wondering what fresh hell I've agreed to. My phone buzzes.

Bunny: Thank you again! I'll make you some sugar-free protein fudge! Is that a thing? I'll make it a thing! ????