Chapter 8 Beau
EIGHT
BEAU
I don’t remember the drive off Wedding Cake Mountain.
I remember the moment Ryder told me Mila left.
I remember the way my chest went hollow like something vital got ripped out.
And I remember reading her note—three lines of fear dressed up like kindness—then feeling something in me go hard and hot and done.
Done letting people I want walk away because I’m scared.
Done letting my past write the rules.
Done pretending I’m built for solitude when my whole body just proved I’m built for her.
I get to the gas station on the edge of Timber Creek fast enough that common sense should probably pull me over.
Her SUV is there.
Crooked in the spot, like she parked in a hurry. Like she didn’t care if she took up two spaces because the only thing she was trying to fit into was escape.
I kill the engine and step out into the cold.
The bell over the gas station door jingles when I push inside.
Mila is by the coffee station—hands wrapped around a paper cup like it’s the only thing keeping her upright. Hair a mess. Eyes red. Her cheeks still flushed like she’s been crying or fighting or both.
She looks up when she hears the door, and the second our eyes lock, she goes still.
Like prey.
Like she’s bracing.
That hits something primal in me.
Not anger at her—never that.
Anger at whatever taught her she has to run when she’s happy.
I cross the room in three strides, stopping close enough that she has to tilt her head up to look at me.
“Mila,” I say, low.
Her voice is shaky. “Beau.”
She tries to step back.
I catch her wrist—gentle, firm. Not trapping. Just stopping her from vanishing.
“Don’t,” I growl.
Her breath stutters. “You can’t just—”
“I can,” I cut in. My thumb strokes the pulse point at her wrist, and I feel it hammering like a scared bird. “Because you don’t get to leave me a note and disappear like last night didn’t happen.”
Mila swallows hard, gaze flicking around like she’s afraid someone’s watching.
Nobody is.
And even if they were, I don’t care.
“Beau,” she whispers, pleading. “I panicked.”
“I know.”
The fact that I know doesn’t soften me. It makes me steadier.
I step closer until she’s backed against the counter. Not pinned—she has space to move—but she feels me there, solid and real.
“You ran because you’re scared,” I say, voice rough. “Not because you don’t want me.”
Her eyes flash. “You don’t know that.”
I lift my free hand and tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Slow. Careful.
“I do know,” I say. “Because I’ve been you.”
Her throat tightens. “No you haven’t.”
“Yeah,” I murmur. “I have.”
Mila’s eyes shine like she’s fighting tears. “Then why didn’t you tell me?”
Because I don’t tell anyone anything that matters.
Because the last time I did, I watched it get taken.
I inhale, forcing my ribs to expand, forcing air into a chest that wants to lock down.
“Come outside,” I say, quiet but firm. “We’re talking. Now.”
Mila’s lips part. “Beau—”
I lean in, my mouth near her ear, voice low enough that only she can hear. “You can be mad at me. You can cry at me. You can tell me to go to hell if you want. But you’re not leaving without hearing the truth.”
Her breath shudders.
She nods once.
Outside, the cold bites.
I guide her to the side of the building, where the snowbanks make a little wall and the world feels far away. I let her wrist go, but I don’t step back.
Mila folds her arms like armor. “Okay. Talk.”
My jaw flexes.
I’ve faced cliffs and storms and blood and screams.
This is harder.
“I saw your note,” I say. “The part where you said I deserve someone who isn’t afraid.”
Mila flinches.
I point at her chest, not touching her, but close. “That’s you.”
She shakes her head. “No, it’s not. I’m—”
“Human,” I snap. “You’re human. And you’re brave. You called when you were stranded. You moved to a mountain town alone. You looked a man like me in the eye and didn’t shrink.”
Her eyes widen slightly.
I step closer anyway, because distance feels like lying.
“You’re afraid of falling in love,” I say, voice low. “And you know what? So am I.”
Mila’s breath catches. “You are?”
I swallow, throat tight. “The last woman I loved… she died.”
The words hang there in the cold like smoke.
Mila’s face changes—shock, pain, empathy so sharp it hurts to look at.
“Oh,” she whispers. “Beau…”
“I didn’t come up here because I hate people,” I say. “I came up here because loving someone taught me what it feels like to lose oxygen. And I decided I’d rather be numb than feel that again.”
My voice cracks at the edges, and I hate it, but I keep going.
“Then you show up on my road with a cupcake air freshener and your big brave eyes,” I say, rough, “and you look at me like I’m safe. Like I’m good. Like I could be more than the worst day of my life.”
Mila’s hand lifts to her mouth, trembling.
“And I can’t do it halfway,” I add. “I can’t have you in my bed and then pretend I’m fine when you leave. I can’t kiss you like you’re my salvation and then act like you’re just a moment.”
Mila’s eyes fill. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“I know,” I say, softer. “You weren’t trying to hurt me. You were trying to protect yourself.”
She nods, tears slipping free now. “Every time something feels good, I start waiting for the part where it’s taken away. Or where I find out I wasn’t enough.”
My chest aches.
I reach up slowly and wipe a tear from her cheek with my thumb. “Mila. Look at me.”
She does.
Her eyes are wet and bright and terrified.
I cup her jaw, gentle but unyielding. “You are enough. You’re not a consolation prize. You’re not a temporary fix. You’re not a ‘good time’ I’ll regret in daylight.”
Mila’s breath shakes. “How do you know?”
“Because my body knows,” I growl. “Because my heart knows. Because I’ve been dead inside for years and you walked into my cabin and made me feel alive in one night.”
Her lips part.
I lower my voice, the possessive edge sliding in—not as threat, but as truth. “And because when you left, I felt it like you ripped something out of me. So don’t tell me I don’t know what I want.”
Mila whispers, “Beau…”
I take a breath and force the next words out, even though they scare the hell out of me.
“I want you,” I say. “Not just in my bed. Not just in my arms. In my life.”
She lets out a broken little sound.
“I don’t care if you’re scared,” I continue. “We can be scared together. But you don’t get to decide for me that I can’t handle loving you.”
Mila’s chin trembles. “What if I leave again?”
My jaw tightens. “Then I’ll come get you again.”
She gives a watery laugh. “That’s not—”
“It’s exactly what it is,” I cut in, voice going low and growly. “I’m not a man who lets go of what’s his, Mila.”
Her breath catches hard.
I soften it immediately, because I’m not here to cage her.
I slide my hand down to her waist and hold her there—steady, warm. “But I’m not asking you to be trapped. I’m asking you to choose.”
Mila’s lashes flutter. “Choose what?”
“Choose me,” I say. “Choose this. Choose the cabin and the mountain and the mess of it. Choose letting me try. Letting us try.”
She stares at me like she’s standing at the edge of a cliff.
Then she whispers, “I don’t know how to do love right.”
I lean in until my forehead touches hers. “Neither do I.”
My voice turns rough with honesty. “But I know how to stay. I know how to protect. I know how to show up. And I know how to hold you like you’re the best thing that ever happened to me.”
Mila’s breath shudders.
Her hands lift slowly and grip my jacket.
Not pushing me away.
Holding on.
“Beau,” she whispers, “I’m falling.”
The words slam into me.
Heat. Fear. Hope.
All of it.
I pull back just enough to look at her. “Then fall. I’ve got you.”
She lets out a sob-laugh and nods fast. “Okay.”
That single word is everything.
I crush her to me, arms wrapping around her like I’m claiming a miracle. Mila clings back, burying her face in my chest, and I hold her like I’ve been waiting my whole life to.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers against me.
“Don’t,” I growl, kissing her temple. “Don’t apologize for being scared. Just don’t run.”
“I won’t,” she promises, voice thick. “I won’t.”
I lift her chin, needing to see her say it.
Mila’s eyes meet mine—raw, brave, real.
“I’m staying,” she says.
My chest goes tight.
“Say it again,” I demand, because I’m greedy.
Mila’s mouth trembles into a smile. “I’m staying, Beau.”
A sound rips out of me—half laugh, half groan.
I kiss her.
Hard.
Not polite.
Not gentle.
A kiss that says mine and yours and thank God all at once.
Mila makes a soft sound and melts into me, hands fisting my jacket like she’s anchoring herself to the truth.
When I pull back, my voice is wrecked. “Come home.”
She nods, dazed. “Okay.”
Back at the cabin, I make her sit first.
She rolls her eyes like she’s trying to pretend she’s not still shaking. “You’re in full rescue mode.”
“I’m in full ‘you scared the hell out of me’ mode,” I mutter.
I lock the door behind us. Check the windows. Reflex.
Mila watches me, expression soft.
“You really came after me,” she says quietly.
I turn, meeting her gaze. “I’m going to keep doing that. For the rest of your life, if you’ll let me.”
Her eyes shine again. “That’s… a lot.”
“It’s true,” I say.
Mila stands slowly and steps closer, hands sliding up my chest. “You’re intense.”
I catch her wrists and bring them to my mouth, kissing her knuckles one by one. “You like it.”
Her laugh is breathless. “I do.”
I pull her in, palm firm on her lower back. “You’re not leaving this mountain thinking you were a mistake.”
Mila tilts her head. “And what am I, then?”
I look at her—really look.
The woman who walked into my quiet life and made it worth living again.
“You’re my chance,” I say. “My home.”
Mila’s breath catches.
I kiss her slower now, savoring. “And I’m going to spend the rest of my life proving you belong exactly where you are.”
Her arms wrap around my neck, holding me close. “With you?”
“With me,” I growl. “If you want it.”
Mila smiles against my mouth. “I want it.”
That’s the only permission I’ll ever need.
I lift her up, and she squeals softly, laughing as she wraps her legs around my waist.
Beau Wilder—broody mountain man, emotionally scarred, sworn-off-dating idiot—carries a curvy woman down the hall like he’s proud of it.
Because I am.
I pause at the bedroom door and look at her, letting the romantic truth hit my tongue without flinching.
“I love you,” I say, raw. “I think I’ve been loving you since the first time you looked at me like I wasn’t broken.”
Mila’s eyes go wide.
Then she cups my face like I’m precious and says, steady and sure, “I love you too.”
My chest caves in and rebuilds itself in the same second.
I kiss her like a vow.
Like a promise.
Like forever starts right here, in this cabin, on this mountain, with her in my arms.
Later—after the world quiets again, after she’s tucked against my chest like she was always meant to be—I stare at the snow falling outside the window and realize something simple:
The mountains still don’t care about my five-year plan.
But Mila does.
And for the first time, I do too.
She shifts, sleepy. “Beau?”
“Yeah.”
“Are you still going to make me go to June’s for Sunday dinner?”
I snort softly. “You’re going to June’s for Sunday dinner whether you like it or not.”
Mila groans. “Your grandma is terrifying.”
“She is,” I agree, kissing her forehead. “But she’s ours.”
Mila smiles into my chest, and I tighten my hold—possessive, protective, grateful.
“Sleep,” I murmur. “I’ve got you.”
And this time, I don’t say it like a rescue line.
I say it like the truth.
Thank you so much for reading Mountain Man Daddy’s Curvy Date.