Moody Mountain Man (Cold Mountain Nights #8)

1. Annie

Chapter one

Annie

The bakery smells like cinnamon, sugar, and coffee. It’s the busiest weekend of Pine Hollow’s fall festival season, and I’m barely keeping up. Cinnamon rolls fly off the shelves, toddlers smear frosting on the glass case, and I’m three orders behind when the outlet near the mixer sparks.

Then pops.

Then flares.

“Extinguisher,” I call. Rosa throws it my way, and I blast the little fire before it has a chance to grow teeth. Smoke rolls low and angry. The smell is awful—burnt wiring and melted plastic over butter and vanilla.

Chief Myers shows up within minutes. “You’re lucky. But that panel’s cooked. You need a licensed contractor to replace this before you can reopen.”

I nod, smile like it doesn’t sting. The café’s heart just stopped beating, and I don’t have time for downtime.

I ignore her and grab my phone. I scroll past every contractor in the county. No answer. No availability. Then my thumb hovers over the one name I promised not to call again: Cal Redmond.

I hit the number and dial.

“Yeah?” His voice is gravel and steel.

“It’s Annie.” I pause. “I had a fire. It’s just a small one, but I can’t reopen until someone replaces the wiring. Fast.”

Silence.

Then: “You okay?”

The question sucker punches me. “Yeah. Just shaken.”

“I’ll be there in twenty.”

He hangs up.

He shows up in eighteen minutes. He’s always on time or early.

Tall, broad, in a Henley and a toolbelt, his eyes scanning for damage before they land on me. That same unreadable expression I used to get back when he’d show up for cinnamon rolls before a shift and pretend not to care how often we "accidentally" touched hands at the register.

“You’re all right,” he says, relief quickly passing through his eyes.

“Hello to you too.”

He ducks into the kitchen, crouches by the outlet, and works in silence. That’s Cal. Focused. Quiet. Always a little too close for comfort and a little too far away to hold onto.

“You did it right,” he mutters. “But this whole run’s shot. I need to pull the wall, rewire it to the panel.”

“Can you do it today?”

He nods once. “If I start now.”

“Coffee?”

He grunts.

I set a mug near him and hover as he tests lines, isolates circuits, and shuts off the kitchen power. It’s like watching a man build a wall and tear one down at the same time.

“I’ll bring ovens back first,” he says. “Let them warm while I work.”

“Thanks.”

He looks at me then, full-on. “You kept your head. That matters.”

I look down, suddenly warm all over. “You came.”

“You called.”

By noon, he’s halfway done and hasn’t stopped moving. I bring him lunch; he waves it off. I leave it anyway.

Chief swings by and signs off on the repairs. “Redmond’s got you in good hands,” he says, and I pretend my heart doesn’t stutter.

When Cal finishes the wiring, he wipes his hands and glances at me. “I’ll be back at six to do the tile.”

“Six? Like… a.m.?”

His mouth twitches. “You want to trip over wet grout mid-morning?”

“Fine. Six.”

I mean to leave it at that. But I follow him to the door, words rising in my throat before I can stop them.

“Do you remember when you used to come in for muffins and glare if I thanked you?”

He pauses. “I paid.”

“You glared.”

His voice drops. “They were good.”

We stare at each other, heat curling in the space between us. I don’t say anything about the kiss he never mentioned after. About the months of silence. About how my chest still tightens when he walks into a room like this one.

“Cal—”

“Don’t,” he says. Not sharp. Not unkind. Just final.

I nod, even though everything in me leans toward him.

He steps out into the cool afternoon air. “Six,” he says again.

“Bring coffee,” I toss after him.

He pauses, glances back. “You make better coffee.”

Then he’s gone.

Later, my phone buzzes.

6:00. bring coffee. black.

I laugh out loud.

Yes Sir

His reply lands a moment later.

See you in the morning, Annie

And damn it, I already can’t wait for morning.