One Bride for Five Mountain Men

“Chop up some apples, Aurora. I am gonna make you a drink.”

“Aurora? No one calls me Aurora anymore.” At least no one had since Grandma Colleen passed away. It felt nice. Arsen’s presence made Rory realize how accustomed she had gotten to living alone, and yet now that he was here, this beautiful house truly felt like a home.

Back in the

kitchen, Arsen refused to let her see what he was up to. He took out pretty much everything that was there in the liquor cabinet and for a moment she was worried, before she remembered that he had indeed worked as a bartender before.

“Here you go.” He handed her a small wine glass that was deep red in color, with tiny apple pieces floating on top. “When I was in Spain, a barista at this completely out of the way, unfashionable bar that I frequented taught me how to make this. La Sangria, señorita.”

Rory wasn’t sure what else she was worried about as the drink was utterly delicious. They sat in the kitchen, talking quietly, sipping on their drinks. Arsen had finished two glasses in the time it took her to finish one.

“Rory. Why don’t you give me a tour of the house?”

“Sure. Let me fill up my glass first.” She winked.

As she filled her glass, Arsen started walking off on his own and as fate would have it, the first room he entered was the space she used every day as working space to chalk out her designs and make prints for the shirts.

“You’re an artist?” He was visibly surprised.

“Well... I dabble.”

“This is much more than dabbling. Wow, there is even more to you than you let on.” Arsen walked around picking up and scrutinizing different T-shirts.

“These T-shirts are fabulous. Simple, yet… very cool,” Arsen said.

Yeah, that is what everyone says. If they are so stylish then why aren’t I making bank? Rory thought. Annoyed that she had let herself drift off toward gloomy thoughts, she took a big swig of the sangria and shook her head.

“It is as if these T-shirts are making a statement. These’re not just random designs, but it seems to me that the person who created these is trying to say something,” Arsen continued.

Now it was Rory’s turn to be surprised. He had described in a few words what she herself thought about her work, or at least liked to. She could tell that he was not making it up, as he was genuinely going through each and every design of hers.

“These are really incredible. I think I like all of them. Especially this one with the space camper van.”

His genuine appreciation of her work made Rory delirious. Only an artist hungry for adulation knows the worth of every little praise. Her grandmother had encouraged her like this, till her dying day. On days when she was tempted to give it all up for a regular job, her granny had egged her on.

“Which is why I am gifting this T-shirt to you.” She smiled.

“For real? Whoa! That’s so cool.” He was excited. “Y’know, Rory, ever since I was a child, I liked camper vans and I was obsessed with space.” He chuckled. “For a while, I really wanted to be an astronaut. This T-shirt reminds me of my childhood. Thank you for this.”

“My pleasure.” Rory beamed. This was the best compliment for an artist. That others could relate to their work in their own unique way.

Arsen was like a curious child, noticing every little detail of every small thing in the room. Rory found herself reminiscing as she broke through her exterior shell and told Arsen anecdotes and stories about the different objects that populated the room. Memories of her grandmother that she deeply cherished and kept hidden deep inside of her came rushing out and she unabashedly shared them with him. As Rory got lost in her narrative, Arsen listened with patient interest.

“You really miss her, don’t you?” he said after Rory had paused and had become visibly emotional at the thought of her dead grandmother.

“More than anything.” Rory raised her hand to her mouth to stop any sobs from escaping. Damn this sangria.

“You are lucky, Rory, that you were able to spend so much time with her. Not many of us get enough time with the ones we love. And from what you told me today, she did indeed live a great life. It seems to me that in her later years, it was made all the greater because of your presence by her side. In an age where old people die alone and ignored, you’ve been a great gift for her. The greatest she could’ve asked for.”

At his words, Rory was overwhelmed by a rush of emotions, but she did not want Arsen to see her like that. Neither could she stop the single tear that slid out of her eyes and rushed down her cheek. Arsen quickly engulfed her into his arms.

When was the last time that I have been held like this? Rory hugged him tightly in return, burying her face in his broad chest. She wanted to cry, to let all the emotions out, but the way he patted the back of her head, the calmness and the surety with which he held her close, soothed her greatly. Her breathing eased and the tornado of emotions that was rolling through her passed over.

“Thank you,” she said as they parted. For what seemed like forever, they just stared into each other’s eyes. Arsen’s eyes moved gently down to her lips, and back to look into her eyes again. Rory wasn’t sure which one of them took the step forward, but they were closer to each other than before.

Her hands moved and brushed his. As they did, Arsen held them and his fingers gently clasped hers. His other hand glided down her forearm to her fingers, his thumb brushing her palm. His eyes were on her lips and hers were busy taking in the masculine beauty of this man’s face. A wickedly sexy smile curved his lips. His face was lit by the natural light of the room, showcasing the hard set to his jaw, the dark lines of his close beard.

His gaze shifted between her mouth and her eyes. They had picked up right where they left off in that room in the villa. That moment of spark that Rory never thought would appear again was well within their grasp. Rory wanted to move, to step up and kiss this man deep and hard, but she froze still.