Max: I'm here. Standing by the hostess station wearing a navy suit and probably looking as nervous as you feel.
I take a deep breath and walk through the doors. The restaurant is dimly lit, intimate tables scattered throughout, exactly the kind of place that encourages meaningful connections.
I scan the hostess station and freeze.
Standing there is the most gorgeous man I've ever seen in person. Tall, probably six two, with dark hair and broad shoulders that fill out his navy suit perfectly. When he looks up from his phone, our eyes meet across the restaurant, and I feel the impact like a physical blow.
His eyes are green, just like I imagined, but seeing them in person is completely different. They're intelligent, intense, and currently focused on me with an expression that makes my knees weak.
This is Max. My mountain man.And he's absolutely devastating.
He starts walking toward me, and I can see recognition hit his face. His expression shifts from nervous anticipation to something warmer, deeper.
"Chantay," he says when he reaches me. Hearing my name in his voice makes my pulse skip.
"Max." I have to tilt my head back to meet his eyes. "You're... taller than I expected."
"You're more beautiful than I imagined. And I had a pretty vivid imagination."
Heat creeps up my neck. "Should we..." I gesture toward the restaurant.
"Right. Yes. Dinner." He places his hand on the small of my back, and the contact sends electricity through my body.
The hostess seats us at a corner table. Max pulls out my chair, a gesture that feels perfectly natural.
"Thank you for agreeing to meet me," he says as he settles across from me.
"Thank you for flying across the country. No one's ever done anything like that for me."
"Their loss."
We order wine and gradually settle into the same easy connection we found through text.
"So," I say, taking a sip of the excellent Pinot Noir, "you clean up very well for a mountain hermit."
He laughs. "I do own clothes that aren't flannel."
"This suit definitely doesn't suggest flannel. You look like you could be on the cover of a magazine."
"What kind of magazine?"
"The kind that features successful, gorgeous men who make women forget their own names."
His smile turns slightly self-conscious. "I think you're giving me too much credit."
"I don't think I'm giving you enough." I lean forward. "Max, you're not what I expected."
"How so?"
"Just different. More sophisticated than I imagined. More... polished."
Something flickers in his expression. "Is that a problem?"
"No, it's just... I was expecting someone more rustic. More obviously mountain man and less obviously successful businessman."
"What makes you think I'm a successful businessman?"
"The way you carry yourself. The way you chose wine without looking at prices. The fact that your suit probably costs more than my monthly rent. Are you sure you're just a wildlife consultant?"
