Page 17 of Playing With The Mountain Man

“Of course you run.” She scoffed.

“What’s that mean?” I asked, the bitterness of my tone, surprising me.

“People don’t end up looking like you without running through mountain trails, spending hours in the gym, or wrestling bears for fun.” She sighed.

“You think I wrestle bears for fun?”

I watched as she swallowed. Her cheeks were red, and it wasn’t from the exertion of the hike. I was quickly becoming addicted to riling Tillie up.

“I think I have a big mouth,” Tillie said, shaking her head.

“Well, I like your big mouth,” I told her honestly, not realizing what I’d said until I’d said it.

“I’m sure you do.” She chuckled, and now it was my turn to squirm.

I clapped my hands. The sound echoed across the valley. “Right, well, I should feed you.” I changed the topic, headed over to the large flat rock, and started unloading containers.

“What’s all this?” Tillie asked as she came to sit beside me.

“Snacklebox?”

“Do I even want to know what that is?”

I laughed. Being with Tillie was easy. She kept me on my toes, but it was surprisingly refreshing.

“It’s basically a charcuterie board in takeout form,” I explained, popping the lid. “I wasn’t sure what you liked, so I just threw together a selection.”

She reached for an olive and popped it in her mouth. “Oh, my god. I can’t remember the last time I had olives.”

When she moaned, the sound went straight to my dick. I wriggled in my spot, trying to give myself some more room without drawing attention to my growing situation.

“We’ve got olives, salami, some fancy goat cheese the lady at the store recommended,” I pointed out, reaching into the bag and pulling out a box of crackers.

“This is perfect,” Tillie exclaimed.

“I didn’t know …” I admitted, feeling off-balance.

We sat there picking at the food and talking. Tillie told me all about moving to Wattle Creek for a fresh start and opening Rosie’s. It was undeniable how much her grandmother meant to her. When her eyes filled with unshed tears as she told me about spending hours in the kitchen with her grandmother, baking and preparing what they called ‘good old-fashioned comfort food,’ I felt my throat clog up.

For my part, I told her about growing up in Dallas and always hating the city. While it definitely had its perks, on-demand takeout for one, it was always too crowded. Too busy. Too noisy.

It wasn’t until a loud clap of thunder overhead interrupted us that I looked away from her and realized the blue sky was long gone, replaced by menacing black clouds.

“We’ve gotta go,” I told her as I started shoving everything in the bag.

“I didn’t think it was going to rain,” Tillie replied, handing me the now-empty box of crackers.

“The weather changes quickly in the mountains. This could be a passing shower, or we could be flooded in for days,” I told her as I hoisted the bag over my shoulder and checked we hadn’t missed anything.

“Flooded in?”

“Yeah. The roads go under quickly up here. Wherever the creeks or streams cross the road, it doesn’t take much,” I explained. “You got everything?” I asked.

She looked worried, not that there was anything she could do about it.

“We’ll be fine,” I attempted to assure her. “Let’s get moving.”

With my hand on her back, we started back down the trail. Focusing on getting us home before the skies opened up kept me from being too disappointed that our time was coming to an end. I wasn’t ready to say good night yet, but maybe it was for the best. It wouldn’t be the first time I’d been accused of going into a situation gung-ho. Taking it steady might drive me to the edge of sanity, but it might prove to be the way to build something worthwhile.