Page 23 of Working for the Mountain Man

"That's what it sounds like. You are deciding what's right for both of us because you think I don't know my own mind." I keep my voice even because I mean this, I want him to actually hear it. "Daniel treated me like my feelings were too much. You're treating them like they're not enough to trust. I don't know which one is worse."

Hugo is quiet for a long time. "I'm not trying to take it away from you," he says finally. "I'm trying not to take advantage of it."

"There's a difference between taking advantage and letting me choose."

He looks at the floor, then back at me. "You're in Forge Creek for three more weeks. After that you go back to your life and I'm still here."

"I know that."

"So what does this become?"

"I don't know," I say. "But that's not a reason to not start."

He does not answer, instead, he goes back to the shelf, finds two tins and starts opening them. His jaw is tight and his shoulders are set and I can see the argument still running in him, but he’s listening. And that’s all that matters.

We eat the canned soup that Hugo heated on the stove. It’s not good, but not terrible either. We sit on opposite ends ofthe small space and the cabin gets warmer while the storm gets louder.

"Daniel was charming," I say. I am not looking at him. I’m focused on the bowl in my hands. "In public. He was very good at being in public, whereas in private he made me feel like I was too much, too emotional, too romantic for my own good." I pause. "When he left, he turned it into a story. Something he could talk about, and I became the cautionary tale about the woman who loved too hard. And fourteen thousand people agreed with him, and I started to think that maybe he was right."

Hugo says nothing, but I can feel his gaze on me, he’s watching me and listening to every word.

"You don't make me feel that way," I say. "You make me feel like the ground is solid beneath my feet. And I hate that you want to take that away because you're scared."

"I'm not scared," he says.

I look at him.

"I don't know what to do with wanting you," he says. "That's the truth."

His voice is flat, like being honest is a vulnerability.

"I've spent a long time being the man who handles things," he says. "My dad wasn't around much, my mum needed someone reliable, and the crew needed someone reliable. The town calls when roads wash out because Hugo will go, and that's fine, because that's who I am." He looks at the stove. "I don’t have a lot of practice with wanting something just for me, something that has nothing to do with responsibility or fixing a problem."

"And I'm that thing," I say.

"Yes."

The silence spreads between us, my heart racing at his words.

"So the reason you keep stepping back," I say carefully, "isn't that you don't want me."

"No."

"It's that wanting me scares you."

"Yes."

"Okay," I say. "Then we're the same."

He looks at me.

"Daniel scared me off wanting anything," I say. "And you scared me because you made me want something again before I was ready. We're both scared. The difference is I'm not using it as a reason to stop."

I stand up, the blanket falls off my shoulders, and I let it fall to the ground as I cross the room to him. He watches me come, his gaze zeroed in on my face, but he doesn’t move, I’m not even sure if he’s breathing.

"I want you," I say. "I know my own mind, I know this is complicated and temporary, and I don't have a clear answer for what will happen in three weeks." I stop in front of him. "But I'm asking you to stop deciding for me."

He looks at me for a long moment. "Are you sure?" he asks.