Coming Home to the Mountain: Complete Edition

8. Anchor

CHAPTER 8

Anchor

I n the morning, I roll over and find the other side of the bed empty. Lemon’s left. I find a note in the kitchen.

Anchor,

Thank you for the best birthday eve of my life.

I had to go home and shower. Something you didn't know about me—I'm a very early riser. Turns out you like to sleep in and snore. ;)

Coffee on the patio when you wake?

Xo, L

I adjust my aching morning hard-on, unable—and not wanting—to wipe the grin off my face. Opening my fridge, I'm happy to find a bottle of prosecco and a jug of orange juice. I reach for two champagne flutes, adding the items to a basket I'm planning to carry on over to Lemon’s. Remembering a package of croissants I bought a few days ago, I add them to the basket.

I want her to know last night was not a one-time thing. I'm not that kind of guy.

I have a feeling she's not that kind of girl.

The connection we felt is nothing short of incredible. Life changing. And god, I can’t wait to see her.

I jog back up the stairs, pulling on a pair of grey sweats and reaching for a hoodie.

I pull open my sliding glass door. When I step outside, the morning air is crisp. The lake before us is pristine, smooth, and the sun is high in the sky, the sky blue above, and I know it's gonna be a good fucking day.

“Hey sleepyhead,” Lemon calls over to me. She is next door, on her back porch.

She has a coffee mug in her hand and she's wearing a bathrobe. Her hair is half dried and there's not a stitch of makeup on her face. She looks gorgeous, bright-eyed and alive. I want to wrap my arms around her like I've never wanted anything.

I tell myself to walk toward her cool, calm, and collected, but by the time I reach her I can't resist planting a kiss on those perfect lips of hers. “Happy birthday, Lemon Rough. I brought the champagne.”

“Ooh, wow. Lucky me. But if I remember correctly, you wished me a happy birthday last night.”

“I want to say it all day. Happy birthday ,” I repeat.

She smiles up at me. “Do you want coffee to go with the champagne?”

“Sounds good,” I tell her.

“What do you take with your morning coffee?'' she asks over her shoulder as I follow her into her family lake house.

I've never stepped foot in here and I'm curious what a lake house for a family her size looks like. Mine is modern and sleek.

The moment I step foot in this place, I feel like I’m home. This lake house is nothing but comfort. Cozy, familiar. Which is saying something considering it's my first time here.

“I don't take anything with my morning coffee. I'm not particular about too much.”

She smiles. “I take my coffee black too. Look at us, we're so easygoing.”

“Is that what everyone would say about you?” I ask.

She laughs, handing me a mug of Joe. “Probably not. Though I'm much less particular than my little sister Fig. She is all drama, all the time.”

“In a bad way?” I ask.

Lemon shakes her head. “No, she is lovely. She’s dramatic but in a way that makes everything heightened. Better. Larger than life. I love her to death. And I can't believe she's graduating this year.” She turns to me. “Which makes me think, you haven't exactly told me anything about you. I mean, your family. You said there isn't any but?—”

I clear my throat, forcing myself to push forward and not retreat like I usually do when things get personal. Lemon makes me want to set my comfort zone aside, permanently. “I lost them when I was young.”

“I'm so sorry,” Lemon says softly, her hand on my arm.

I shrug. “I was raised by my aunt and uncle. They live in Bend, Oregon. They're good people but they weren't close with my parents. They never felt like family. They felt like people who were looking after me. They were older than my mom and dad by quite a bit, and I feel like they were just doing their duty as opposed to raising me as their own. If that makes sense?”

Lemon nods, listening as she unpacks my basket, plating the croissants and pouring the orange juice and champagne in the flutes. “Hey, I should be doing the work,” I tell her. “It's your birthday.”

She smiles. “I don't mind. Besides, you're the one who made that amazing dinner last night.”

“But you helped me clean up when we made midnight pancakes.”

“We cleaned that kitchen pretty well, don't you think?” She laughs, remembering.

“Yes. And can you believe that it's already 11 in the morning now?” I ask.

“Sure, considering how late we stayed up.”

I walk toward her as she hands me a glass of champagne. We clink our flutes.

“I think I get to make a toast,” I tell her, wrapping an arm around her waist, eager to untie her bathrobe.

She nods as I pull her closer, her breath shallowing in anticipation.

“I have a better idea than a toast,” I say, untying the knot on her bathrobe, letting it fall open. Underneath, she's wearing nothing at all.

“Fuck me now,” I groan.

She sets her champagne aside. “Yes, please,” she says, licking her lips.

I moan in pleasure as I pick her up and set her on the kitchen counter, her thighs spreading before me. Her pussy, mine.

“Fuck, you look good.”

“I feel good,” she saysas I lean down, kissing her perfect tits, loving the sight of them in broad daylight.

She wraps her arms around my neck. “I feel…” She shakes her head then lets it fall back.

When she looks up, though, she looks straight past me. “Oh my god,” she shrieks. But not in delight as I was hoping—in genuine shock. Horror, even.

“Oh my god. Oh my god.” She pushes me away—fast, hard—and tugs her robe tight around her.

Jumping off the counter, her feet plant on the floor just as the front door opens. She leaps away from me.

“Anybody home?” someone calls out. “Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday to you. You may act like a sour puss. But Lemon, we love you,” several male voices sing, poorly.

“Oh my god,” she whimpers.

“Who is it?” I ask just as three big-ass guys enter the kitchen. I take them in, realizing just who these guys are. “Your brothers?”

She drops her head in her hands. Her bathrobe is tugged so tight around her that no one would guess she has nothing underneath. She reaches for that champagne and downs her glass in one drink.

But I don't need champagne. I need coffee. Fast.I was not expecting to be meeting her family so soon. And the issues I have with commitment come, rearing their ugly heads. This is getting real, fast.

Still, I want Lemon to have the perfect day, so I push my issues aside and focus on making a good first impression. She told me these brothers of hers tease her mercilessly, but that is because they haven’t met me—a man who wants to protect her, even if I have to learn how to do that along the way.

I pick up my mug and take a sip as the boys take in the scene, giving them a once over and realizing I’m as tall as them, as strong as them, and am not intimidated.

“What the fuck is happening here?” one of them asks, surveying the situation. Lemon leans against the stove; I’m opposite her against the sink.

The guy talking has dark hair and dark eyes and he’s looking us over.

“Who the hell are you?” he asks.

“I'm Anchor, the next-door neighbor.”

“The neighbor?” he asks. “Looks like you're more than the neighbor.”

“Stop,” Lemon says. “Be nice, Graham.”

“You're the police officer?” I ask him.

He nods. “Yeah, I am. And if you're here with my sister, I'm gonna need to do a background check. What's your last name?”

I scoff. “Are you kidding me?”

Another guy steps forward. “Were you here with her fucking around? Because that’s not gonna fly. We don't even know who you are.” The guy is young, way younger than me.

“Let me guess, you’re Mac?”

These are the brothers who have been giving Lemon a hard time about not being married. And here they are, ruining her fucking birthday.

“Yeah, I’m Mac. What do you know about me?”

“I know you need to back the hell up,” I say, eyes narrowing, wanting him to understand I am in control.

Lemon steps between us. “Stop, guys. Stop. Please. This is so cringy. Look, I was just having breakfast with the neighbor. He brought over croissants and champagne.”

The third guy standing there, with a nasty cut over his right eye, snorts. “Looks like you guys were doing more than having breakfast.” His accent is a little bit country.

“Who are you?” I ask.

“Cash Rowdy. I'm her cousin. Not that it's any of your business.”

Lemon shakes her head. “Why are you guys here? This is my vacation. My time away from you . This is so typical.”

Cash’s eyes narrow at me. “Don't I know you from somewhere? I swear to God I do. Have we met before? Are you from Burly? You don't look like you're a Burly boy.”

“No, I'm not from Burly,” I tell him, “and no, we haven't met before.” I run a hand over the back of my neck.

Lemon doesn't know me. And I didn't want her to find out who I really am like this.

Maybe now it's time to drink that champagne. I reached for the flute and take a long drink.

When the truth dawns on Cash, he snaps his fingers. “No, I do know you.You’re Anchor from that TV show.”

“TV show?” Lemon asks with a frown. “Is that what you meant at dinner last night about fame?”

I nod, hating this is coming out like this, but I have nothing to hide.

“That reality TV show,” Cash says. “What was it called? Something like Survive This?”

Mac’s eyes widen. “Shit, you’re that Anchor? Damn. That's funny.”

“What's funny?” Lemon asks. “Why is this funny?”

“No, that's so fucking awesome,” Mac says. “I'll have some champagne and toastto you because I want to know everything . That girl on that season. What's her name? Bianca. She was fucking crazy. I remember watching that with my roommate. And we couldn't believe some of the shit she pulled.”

“I thought for a while there that she was gonna win the money,” Cash says. “And then somehow?—”

“Okay,” I say, “enough. We don't need to get into this.”

“Get into what exactly?” Lemon asks, because she must be thoroughly confused. She has no idea what we're talking about.

Graham pours himself a cup of coffee then opens the refrigerator like he owns the place. Which, considering this is his family’s cabin, I guess he kind of does.

He pulls out a container of milk and adds it to his coffee then walks over to the living room and plops himself down on the sofa.

I run a hand over my chin, realizing this isn't ending anytime soon. These guys are here whether I like it or not.

I reached for Lemon’s hand. And for a moment I'm scared that she's not going to let me take it.

But she does. She's still here with me.

I just have some explaining to do.

“So, what are they talking about, Anchor? Because last night, you didn't mention anything about being a reality television star. So maybe you could fill me in before Graham keeps talking?”

“I only caught a few YouTube clips of the season,” Graham says. “You were the total villain, weren't you?”

“It wasn't like that,” I say, looking at Lemon, not wanting her to get the wrong idea. “I was only on that show because of the survival skills. I'm really good in the elements, and the whole season was set on a boat. I was raised on the water with my entire family. We lived on a boat growing up until they?—”

Lemon’s eyes meet mine.

“Until they died,” I say plainly. “Anyways, I went on the show thinking I could overcome my fear of the water. And I did. Been on boats ever since.”

“So why were you the villain?” Lemon asks.

“I'm a loner and my personality didn't exactly jive with everyone else that season.”

Cash chuckles. “You could say that again. You were a fucking asshole. I remember watching that with my grandpa Woody, and he thought you were the coolest guy ever. And that's saying something.”

“Grandpa Woody thought Anchor was cool?” Lemon balks.

“Loved him,” Cash says.

“Well, that is certainly saying something,” Lemon says, biting her bottom lip.

“What is it saying?” I ask.

“He’s a loner himself,” Macsays. “He lives in a shack up in the Burly Mountains, and let's just say he walks to the beat of his own drum.”

I take another drink of coffee. “Well, sounds like your grandpa Woody and I might get along pretty well.”

“Regardless,” she asks, “did you win the show?”

Cash laughs. “Fuck yeah, he won. He won a million dollars.”

“Really?” Lemon asks, her voice steady, not revealing what she thinks of this.

I shrug. “Yeah. I mean, a bunch of it went to taxes. And the whole thing was a mistake. I pissed off a lot of people because I'm not great with crowds and group settings. You live with these people for like, three months and they film it all.”

“So you were basically out of your element?” Lemon asks, her eyes still on mine, as if trying to make a decision.

“You could say that,” I say.

“So, what are you doing for work now?” Mac asks gruffly. “Besides whatever you were doing with my sister.”