Coming Home to the Mountain: Complete Edition

4. Anchor

CHAPTER 4

Anchor

I know what she's doing.

I can see her from where I stand on my back porch, and I fucking love it. She's in this teeny-tiny navy-blue bikini with white polka dots, and her brown hair is loose around her face, with curls that make me want to run my fingers through them and draw her close.

She looks like the quintessential girl next door and it's driving me up the fucking wall.

I never get like this—spun up about a woman I've just met—but there's something about her confidence. She is effortless, comfortable in her skin. And she's not intimidated by me.

Look, I'm not trying to toot my own fucking horn, but lots of women try to impress me. That's something that comes with the territory of being a reality TV star, a millionaire, a guy who's had a New York Times bestseller, who sold a company and has been on the cover of a few magazines.

I'm not saying I'm some droolworthy model, but fuck, I've never had a hard time getting the attention of women.

But a lot of times those women get a little insecure, for lack of a better word. They forget who they are. Because they're so desperate to impress me.

Not Lemon.

Lemon is herself—through and through.

She knows how to carry herself around a man, which makes me wonder who she is exactly. Either she's really fucking experienced when it comes to guys or she just knows a fucking lot about men.

Either way, it makes you want to know a hell of a lot about her.

And now, watching her drink that white wine on her patio, reading that book, fuck, I'm turned on in ways I have never been before.

She knows I'm watching her.

So I tear myself away from the porch and go inside. If I can't win her over on that deck, I'm gonna win her over by cooking some good food while wearing a pair of low-slung sweats. If she’s wearing a barely there bikini, I figure two can play that game.

No one can resist a man who can barbeque. I’ve got a couple of steaks and I know how to cook them.

I fire up that grill. I season those ribeyes and put on some music in the house, making sure it's low-key and chill. The kind of music you can make love to. And then I pour myself an IPA. With the meat grilling along with some skewers of peppers and onions, and some stems of asparagus, I roast some baby red potatoes tossed in herbs.

I take out some plates, some cloth napkins. Fuck, this house was move-in ready, and it has everything I need to woo a woman. Sure, I’d like her in my bed, butfuck, I’d be happy with her sitting in my goddamn lap.

When the steaks are resting on a cutting board, I walk right the fuck over to the edge of the property and I ask her, “Hey, Lemon. You have any plans for dinner?”

She licks her lips, setting her tablet down. Then she takes a long sip of that white wine, finishing the glass entirely.

“Are you asking me out?” she asks.

“Yeah,” I say. “I'm asking you to come over to my cabin and eat the steak I just grilled you. You eat meat?”

She laughs. “Yeah. I love to eat meat.”

“You want to eat my meat?” I ask her. My eyes, they're locked on hers.

She gives me a deadpan look that turns me on in ways I was not prepared for. “You really asking me to come over to eat your meat?”

“Yeah, Lemon, I am. I want you to come over to my house in that tiny little bikini. And I want you to sit down and eat my meat.”

“All right.” She stands. “I mean, it is my birthday week.”

I smile. “Good answer.”

She looks down at herself. “Should I change?”

I shake my head. “Not unless you want to.”

She slides her feet into a pair of flip-flops and then reaches for the sheer white kaftan on the back of her chair, slipping her arms into it. It hangs to her mid-thigh, and I can’t help but marvel at the curves of her body. She knows I am staring, but the truth is, she is staring at my eight-pack, at my biceps, and I want her to keep on looking if it is giving her ideas of where this night might go.

She walks down her back steps and crosses into my yard.

“I'm glad you can make it,” I say.

She laughs. “Yeah, I’ve been drooling for the last hour while you’ve been cooking.”

“Good,” I admit. “I was hoping to tempt you with my prowess in the kitchen.”

“Really?” She stops, resting a hand on my elbow. “Were you really doing that? Trying to woo me over here?”

I nod. “Yeah, to be fair, there are a lot of things I’m not great at. But I can grill steak. I can fillet a fish. I can make a good Caesar salad. Baked potatoes? I'm your man.”

She twists her lips. Pressing a finger to her chin, testing me. “How are you with dessert?”

I throw my head back and laugh. “I have a few specialties.”

“And they are?” she asks, dead serious.

“I can do a mean skillet chocolate chip cookie.”

“Enough said. You should lead with that, Anchor.”

“Really?” I laugh.

“That's wildly impressive. My mom, she would be all over you.”

“Is that a compliment or…?”

Lemon nods. “Oh yeah, that's a compliment. My mom is a total foodie. She hosts Sunday dinner every week. And no one's allowed to miss. And every week it's like a whole thing—what she's gonna make. She takes her dinner menu very seriously.” Lemon gives me a big smile as we walk into the house.

“Sunday dinner, huh? Sounds pretty old-school. Who comes?”

“Oh, the whole family,” Lemon says nonchalantly. “My brothers and sister and, well, my brothers’ wives now. Two of them just got married this year. My parents, sometimes my grandparents, just whoever.”

“Wow, a big family.”

“Yeah, and everyone lives in Home,” she says, looking around. “Wow. You don't have any pictures or anything in here yet. It's just as we left it after I did the redecorating.”

“I just moved in four days ago,” I tell her, chuckling.

“I did this job three months ago. I didn’t even know the house was listed already. I remember talking with the realtor only a month ago. Was it on the market long?”

I lead Lemon to the table, pouring her another glass of white wine. “No, only twenty-four hours. I bought it sight unseen.”

“You must have really loved the photos. Our family lake house was built on land our family had for a hundred years. But this...” Her sentence ends out of politeness.

The lake house I bought was $3mil and we both know it—but she is tactful enough not to say as much.

I shrug. “I needed a change. Any waterfront property in the state has gone through the roof. It’s an investment.”

Bringing her over a plate of food, I set one in front of my chair as well. Her eyes widen. “Wow. This is gourmet! I’m impressed, Anchor. I feel like I should have dressed up more for this date,” she says, looking down at herself.

“I think you look incredible.”

“Well, thanks.” She laughs nervously. “I just don't go on many dates.”

“Really? I find that hard to believe.”

Lemon cringes.

“I feel like there's a story there,” I tell her.

“Do you go on many dates?” she asks, turning my question back to me.

Now it's my turn to backpedal. “I never go on dates.”

“I'm sure there's a story there as well.” She sips her wine.

“Do we want to get into stories right now?” I ask her.

She exhales, swirling her wine around, looking out the big bay window to the lake.

The sun has begun to set. It's a beautiful night. Pine trees everywhere. The mountain range behind us. The lake is still, so quiet.

“I don't want to get into anything,” she says. “I came to the lake to relax.”

“You wanted to spend your birthday alone?”

She smiles. “If you knew how crazy my family was, you wouldn’t judge me wanting to be alone for a few days. What about you? You’re here alone too.”

“I came here to make a plan for the rest of my life,” I tell her honestly.

“Wow.” She smiles playfully. “You have a big week.”

I run a hand over the back of my head. “No pressure, right?”

“Do you have to have it all decided within one week's time?”

I shake my head. “No, not exactly. I just get restless without a plan. What about you? Do you have it all planned out? Your life?”

We begin to eat our food. She moans with pleasure with each bite, and I'm glad the steak was finished perfectly and that the potatoes are seasoned perfectly and the vegetable skewers aren't overcooked.

“I don't have a plan. Exactly,” she explains. “I work for my parents, for my dad's construction company. I work in the office and do his bookings for him. My brothers do too—I have five of them. And one little sister.”

Anchor's eyes widen at that. “Oh wow. You really do have a big family.”

She tells me their ages and where she is in the lineup.

“So in those terms, I guess yeah, my life is pretty planned out. I just kind of fell into it. I did online college after high school. And I love doing the interior design stuff. But it's not very practical because the town is pretty small and I wouldn't want to move to a bigger city to get more clients. I love my house and I love my family. And I love Home.”

She smiles but there's something missing in that smile.

A light has gone out.

“What aren't you saying, Lemon Rough?” I ask her. I reach for my glass of wine and take a drink.

She sighs, shaking her head, running her fingers through her loose curls. “I guess… Sometimes I imagined my life being a little bigger than it is, that's all.”

“Bigger how?” I ask, curious about how her mind works. Not wanting to assume anything about this woman I've just met.

Using her fork, she runs the tines across the vegetables on her plate. “It's not that I want to leave Home. I don't want to change my life in any wild way. But…” She shakes her head, her cheeks turning pink.

“What?” I ask, leaning in, my elbows on the table.

“Nothing. We've just met. This is stupid.”

“Doesn't have to be. Tell me what you were just thinking right then.”

“You want me to tell you the truth?”

“Sure,” I say. “Why not?”

She groans. “I've never brought a guy home,” she admits.

I chuckle, but wanting to know with absolute certainty I am reading this woman correctly, I ask, “Do you mean your house or your family’s home? Are you a virgin?”

“I am. It's not a secret. It's just the facts. I have five big rough-and-tumble brothers and…” She shakes her head. “They haven't let a guy get anywhere close to me.” She bites the side of herlip. “It's why I was thinking maybe I should have left for college. Maybe I should have skipped town. My little sister Fig, she's a senior in high school right now. And she has these big, lofty plans for herself. She's leaving. She's headed to Europe and wants to see the world. And I think she's pretty smart because when she leaves town, she won't have anyone watching over her, judging her every movement. She'll be able to have one-night stands and make mistakes. And those aren't things I've ever had.”

I swallow. “Never, ever?”

She shakes her head slowly, her eyes finding mine. Innocent in a way I wasn't expecting. Out on that dock earlier, she was all competence. And even though she's sitting here in this tiny little bikini, wearing a cover-up, I still see her like that. Like a woman who knows exactly who she is, but there's parts of her that have never been explored.

I see that now. “Your little sister though,” I say, “if she leaves and doesn't have you? Your brothers watching over her? She might be missing out. Having a family like that. That's something pretty special.”

“What about you?” Lemon asks me. “Do you have a family? People who are up in your business in ways that drive you crazy?”

I shake my head. “No. My family's gone. I'm a lone ranger.”

The way I say it must be so quiet, so intimate that she doesn't press me further. Instead, she reaches across the table and takes my hand.

“Well, right now I guess it's just you and me here at the lake,” she says. “No one can judge us here.”

“All afternoon you had me thinking some crazy thoughts.”

Her eyes lift. “What kind of thoughts?”

“Thoughts I'm not quite sure your brothers would approve of.”

“Well, good thing they're not here,” she says with a smile. Then she pushes herself away from the table and stands. She lets her cover-up fall to the floor. “I know I've been to your lake house before,” she says with a smile, “but how about you give me the tour anyways.”