“She?” Pearl sits at attention. I roll my eyes at her.
“Yes, she. She got in late last night. Staying for a few months.”
“Ohhh, interesting. What’s her story? How old is she?”
Pearl’s already big blue eyes expand as a smile breaks out across her face. Bless this damn woman, she really does only want me to be happy, but everyone in this town needs to mind their own damn business.
I let out a long sigh and lean back in my chair. This isn’t the first time Pearl has gotten a flea up her ass about setting me up with someone. But this is just the first time it’s been one of my tenants . . . and a beautiful woman I already can’t get out of my head. Fuck.
“Well, considering I just met her last night, I don’t know and I plan to keep it that way. None of my business, Pearl.”
“Hmm, maybe I should stop by the Bean & Bun, pick up some treats, and take up a welcome basket with Jade.” I can see the meddling look on her face as she talks about her best friend.
“I know what you’re doing, Pearl. She’s young—probably your age. I don’t know why she’s here, but my guess is she’s fresh off some breakup. A woman like that doesn’t just book a mountain cabin for no reason. I’m sure she’s got ‘em and I don’t plan on askin’. Now, can we please get back to work or am I paying you to be a gossip?”
Pearl just shakes her head and stands up before grabbing her coffee and heading back to the front desk just as two rowdy teenage boys walk through the door with their dad.
“Welcome in, guys! Ready for a kick-ass mountain adventure?” I hear Pearl say enthusiastically. Her energy has returned as the boys hoot and holler.
After a few hours at the Jeep rental, most of our big tours are under control, so I tell Pearl I’m heading out for the day and make my way to my custom furniture shop. That’s where I really love to be. No one around to make small talk or get in my way—just me, my tools, and the smell of wood and fresh lacquer.
I’ve been building things since I was a kid. My dad was old school and knew how to work with his hands, so he passed it down to me. He felt a man should know how to maintain his own home and provide for his family, which was something he took pride in. When he got sick, I buried myself in all of this. It started out as a hobby—a way to take my mind off things—but it quickly turned into a very successful custom furniture business.
I work with a couple buddies of mine who own a brewery and a whiskey distillery, Drake and Colton Slade, and supply all the furniture in their tasting rooms over in Virginia Dale. We have a meeting later today in Loveland to discuss a possible business venture together.
As I drive the 20 minutes to my warehouse, an image of Quinn’s bright blue eyes and pale, freckled skin pop into my head. The thoughts quickly turn from innocent to imagining those lush lips wrapped around my cock, and I hate myself for being a pig. That sure as hell doesn’t stop me from remembering how tempting the curve of her hips and round ass looked in those skintight jeans she was wearing this morning. Why is this woman haunting my every thought? I haven’t been interested in a woman since Justine ripped my heart out, and I had planned on keeping it that way.
Just thinking about Justine has my stomach in knots. Memories of seeing her writhe beneath my best friend and moan his name in my bed is something a man doesn’t just get over.
That’s the memory that always keeps me in check—the memory that won’t let me ever consider falling in love again.
Three
Quinn
I made sure to set my alarm for 6 a.m. so I could enjoy the sunrise over the Rocky Mountains. I roll out of bed a little groggy from the altitude, and from what I’ve read, it may take several weeks or months for me to acclimate.
I make my way to the kitchen and find the coffee maker. I hunt around in the cabinets until I find grounds and filters, then get things brewing before I head to the bathroom.
After a quick shower, I pull a pair of dark skinny jeans out of my suitcase and shimmy into them. I skip the bra and pull on an old, faded Boise Hawks Minor League Baseball hoodie and slip on my UGGs. Not my finest look, but hey, it keeps me warm and it’s comfortable. I hear the beeping of the coffee pot signaling it’s ready, and eagerly pour myself a cup.
“Mmm.” I bring the piping-hot liquid to my nose and inhale it for a minute. Coffee truly is one of my most favorite things. Doesn’t matter what form it’s in—black, cream and sugar, iced—I’ll drink it. I enjoy a few sips before taking it out on the balcony and admiring the predawn calm that encapsulates me. I lean against one of the pillars for a few moments—enjoying my coffee before setting it on the ledge and walking up the steps to get closer to the edge of the ravine.
The sunrise doesn’t disappoint. The fiery orange glow illuminates the yellow and red leaves, setting them ablaze. I take in a deep breath of the crisp mountain air, holding it in my lungs briefly before slowly exhaling. I’ve been here less than 24 hours, and weirdly, this place feels like it could be home—like I belong here. I think of John Muir’s famous quote, “The mountains are calling and I must go.” Even though he was talking about California, it’s perfectly fitting for Colorado.
My thoughts are interrupted by the squeak of the front door opening and the crunch of the gravel under someone’s footsteps. I spin around to see Sawyer making his way toward his truck.
“Good morning!” I say, offering up a wave. I can tell he’s startled as he turns around to meet my gaze.
It feels like someone’s kicked me in the chest. The man is an imposing figure, and seeing him in the shadows last night didn’t do him justice at all. His dirty blond hair has a bit of a curl to it at the ends and hangs loosely over the collar of his faded blue Henley. My eyes immediately drop to his thick thighs wrapped in black denim, and that picture I saw on Airbnb of someone’s reflection in the mirror pops in my head. It was definitely him. His large hand dwarfs the thermos he’s holding, which makes me curious about the size of something else. Seriously, Quinn? I silently reprimand myself for so obviously objectifying a complete stranger, but it does little to temper my excited imagination.
I nervously try to make small talk and pick his brain about the town, but I always pick the worst times for these exchanges. He doesn’t seem interested and I watch as he climbs into his truck and drives away.
After taking in the sunrise, I make my way into the cabin and explore the rooms in the light of day. There are several custom-looking furniture pieces throughout. I run my hand along the smooth edge of the small dinner table near the kitchen. It’s been stained and lacquered, so there’s no possibility of splinters, but there are varying colors of knots and woodgrain running throughout, lending to its character. The kitchen is small but has a full oven and microwave, and from the looks of it, most, if not all, of the necessities. The windows are complemented by a set of navy blue curtains, and a wooden moose figurine sits on the sill above the sink.
I step from room to room with a fresh cup of coffee as I sort out where I want to sit when I write. The bedroom extends into a sitting area where there’s a small desk that’s light enough to move around, so I could even drag it to the balcony to enjoy the view while I write. The walls are adorned with different mountainscapes, some with herds of what I assume are elk, and one with an eagle perched high atop a tree. They look like they’re enlarged photographs—maybe a pastime of Sawyer’s?