To Claim the Mountain Man

Chapter 5

ISLA MAE

I was being immature. I knew that.

After all, I'd known Heath for the better part of my life. I should've been used to his presence.

And yet, as he moved through the halls of my new home, wooden floorboards creaking beneath his weight and walls echoing his deep timbre, the space felt entirely too small.

My skin prickled every time I felt him draw near, transporting furniture and boxes in and out of the tiny rooms. I'd been holed up in the bedroom for the better part of the afternoon, content to sort through the contents of my boxes while my family and Heath dealt with unpacking the kitchen and living room.

Typically, I loved accomplishing mundane tasks like organizing and unpacking. I especially loved arranging my bookshelves—organizing my collection by color or genre or themes. It calmed me down and helped me think. But today, even displaying my favorite fantasy author's most recent release in its place of honor on the shelf couldn't calm my nerves.

My stomach clenched and roiled in anticipation—or dread-- for dinner this evening. I internally cursed my dad for inviting Heath to join our celebration, then cursed myself for even caring.

Grow up, Isla, I warned myself for the umpteenth time that afternoon.

It'd been seven years since that night. The night Heath crushed my heart like a grape beneath his work boot. Hindsight, I shouldn't have been surprised by his words, but, at fifteen, they were devastating to hear. And now...

Now I just felt embarrassed.

"Isla?"

Heath's voice rumbled from the bedroom doorway, yanking me from the spiral of my self-pity, and I nearly jumped out of my skin. The six-hundred-page Sarah J. Maas book tumbled out of my hand, narrowly avoiding my bare feet as I spun to face him.

"Oops, sorry. Didn't mean to scare you." He stepped into the room, carrying a large box that appeared weightless in his arms.

Crouching to retrieve my book, I quickly swept the cover for any signs of damage before sliding it back onto the shelf. "It's fine. I was just startled, that's all."

Except I doubted my father or Garrett's voice would've garnered a similar reaction.

Heath lifted the box in his arms, and the only indication of the package's true weight was the way the muscles in his forearms flexed and shifted beneath his golden skin. "This box was left in the kitchen. Your mom said to bring it in here."

A smile immediately peeled on my lips. "Oh, that must be my last box of—"

"Books?" Heath finished for me, wielding his own crooked smirk. His gaze swept across my bedroom before landing on me again. "I think you've got more books in here than the Laurel Peak library."

My smile faltered, and I wondered if he was mocking me. A bit dorky, he'd said all those years ago, when I'd loved books just as much.

"I actually had to sell a couple dozen," I admitted sheepishly, fingers fidgeting with the loose strands of denim at the hem of my overalls. "There was no way my whole collection from New York would fit in this place."

He chuckled. "Where would you like 'em?"

"On the bed is fine." I gestured toward my full-sized mattress. I hadn't put my sheets or quilt on top of it yet. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it."

He strode into my room and carefully set the box down, and I was acutely aware of the fact that this was the first time we'd been alone since the night of my brother's party.To my surprise and delight, it wasn't awful. It gave me hope that my new living situation wouldn't be all bad, either.