My heart skips a beat.
“Wait a damn minute,” he says, spinning toward me. “Was it in a hot tub? Was itoutside? Tell me it was snowing. Tell me you did the fullsteamy cabin fantasy package.”
“I’m not answering that.”
He throws his head back and howls. “I knew it! You dirty bastard! Mr. Broody Woodsman over here gets himself a small-town siren and suddenly he’s writing Hallmark erotica in his diary.”
I glare at him, but it’s useless. Jace feeds on this kind of shit like it’s pre-workout powder.
He leans in, dropping his voice with mock seriousness. “Did she whisper your name real soft while you were?—”
“Tuck,” I snap, cutting him off and pointing to the dog now gleefully chewing on one of Jace’s shoelaces. “Sick him.”
Tuck perks up like he’s been summoned by God himself and launches forward, nearly bowling Jace over again.
“Iknewthis was a revenge dog!” he yells, trying to fend off an onslaught of golden retriever affection. “Betrayed by my own protein twin!”
I should be annoyed.
I should tell him to stop being an ass and get serious.
But the truth is, I need this. The chaos, the teasing, the distraction. Because if I stand still too long, I’ll get lost in my head. Wonder what Josie’s thinking. Why she’s slipping away. Why I can still taste her kiss but can’t seem to reach her anymore.
Jace finally wrangles Tuck enough to stand upright, panting like he ran a mile uphill. He levels me with a surprisingly thoughtful look.
“You really do like her,” he says, no humor this time.
“Yeah,” I say, voice low. “I do.”
He nods. “Then you better find out what’s got her running. Before someone else does.”
I glance back toward the restaurant and see the two women back inside, clearly having gone back in through the back door.
Josie’s laughing at something Gracie said, but her eyes flick toward the window for a second, just long enough to see me standing there.
Just long enough for her smile to falter.
And my chest? It goes tight all over again.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Josie
I wake up nauseous.
Not theI had too much winekind of nauseous. This is deeper, heavier. It curls in my gut and won’t let go. I sit up slowly, pressing a hand to my stomach, willing it to settle.
It doesn’t.
I chalk it up to stress. Too many late nights over the last few weeks, too much overthinking. And Knox. Always Knox. His voice, his touch, the way he looked at me like I was the only thing in the room, and now, the way he watches me like I’m already gone.
Guilt’s a hell of a drug.
I drag myself out of bed and shuffle to the bathroom. Splash cold water on my face. Avoid my reflection. I’ve gotten good at pretending I’m okay, at smiling through the ache in my chest. But this morning, even pretending feels like too much.
After forcing down two saltines and half a ginger tea, I pull on jeans and a hoodie and head downstairs to the Timberline Inn’s breakfast table for a nice quiet morning with my mother and sister.
Well, that’s the plan.
