Nibbling at my thumbnail, I pocket the note, grab my clothes, and step out into the brisk mountain air. A deep breath makes my nostrils stick together, and there’s a twinge of pain in my lungs. For a moment, I regret ever leaving the warmth of his bed. If I stayed there all day, maybe I could work up the courage to invite him to join me by the time he gets home.
Chapter five
Eira
December 21
Clearly this man knows nothing about me if he’s expecting me to make him dinner.
Clearly I know nothing about myself—or I’m in denial—because I’m actually trying like hell to make something that’ll impress him.
It’s not that I’m incapable of cooking, because only a full-on moron would fuck up a basic recipe. But I don’t have a cookbook. Or internet. And I brought food for simple girl dinners—charcuterie, cereal, popcorn, grilled cheese.
But soup? That’s just vegetables in a broth. Easy peasy.
An hour later, things are chopped and floating around in a pot, and I feel like a goddamn domestic goddess. I untie the apron strings slung over the hips my mother insists on referring to as “childbearing” and grab my iPad and Apple Pencil en route to the plush couch. Before long, the only thing on my mind iscobalt-blue alien penis. And trying to figure out exactly what the author meant bybarbed tip.
“Shit. Fuck. Shit.” My hands sting as I let go of the pot handles, fingers crisped like a batch of breakfast sausages. I was deep in the weeds working on my alien commission when a burning smell sent me reeling toward the stove. And I grabbed the pot before thinking about whether the handles could be hot.
Scowling at my pink hands, I make out faint fingerprints. Which means I’m not burnedtooterribly, and I’ll still need to wear gloves when I murder my best friend after this shitshow.
Delicately wrapping a tea towel around the pot lid, I lift it and fill the room with black smoke. Every trace of cottagecore bliss in the air dies alongside the charred carrots and potato sludge.
“Shit.” The lid slams back down, and I whirl around to collect my belongings as I mutter like the haggard old spinster I am. “Go to the cabin, she said. You’ll get to relax, she said. Everything is sofuckingsimple, she said.”
Now I need to go to town to buy a new pot for the cabinandfigure out a plan B for dinner.
I’m still muttering when my feet slide into my soggy Ugg boots. Still carrying on when I wrap myself up in a coat I know won’t suffice in the cold mountain air and the cute silk scarf Lucas laughed under his breath about. Unrelenting even when I slam the cabin door and come face to face with a pretty young girl, staring at me with a sweet smile.
Oh, shit.
That’s why Lucas didn’t follow me to bed last night. He has a girlfriend. One who looks a little young for him, but we all love a fictional age-gap, so who am I to judge in real life? Especiallyconsidering my best dating candidate’s weenie barely fills a standard-issue hotdog bun.
She pulls a hand from the pocket of her thick, canvas jacket and waves. I can’t make out details of her face, and she’s fully bundled up from head to toe, but jealousy rears its ugly head regardless. I just know in my gut she’s gorgeous.
Fighting the urge to flip her off, I return the friendly wave then press my fully extended middle finger against the backside of my car door—aimed right at her—as I slowly drive by.
Chapter six
Lucas
December 21
It took every ounce of self-control to keep myself out of that bed last night. And again this morning, when I dragged my feet while getting ready for work, stealing glances up the stairs at my closed bedroom door. Imagining her inmybed, dark-brown hair splayed overmypillow.She was right there. So close, I swear I could hear her soft snores when I held my breath and trained my ears.
Knowing she was on the ranch seemed to dip the clock hands in molasses; fuckers moved so slow, it was painful. I checked my phone every five minutes, praying for an excuse to duck out early, but the only incoming message was from Cora, asking if any of my horses need vet care while she has him coming out to look at Popcorn’s leg—we both know she’d have a better idea of what my horses need than I do. The only time I’ve spent with them lately is their monthly foot trim.
But shortly before five o’clock, I’m finally tossing my tools in my bag, ready to get the hell out of here. So focused on heading to the truck, I completely ignore the goodbye head bob from the stable manager as I stride past. Not that she’ll be surprised by my churlish behaviour; I’ve become a bit of a recluse since moving to Fox Ridge. I have no problem finding work, as the only farrier in town—and a damn good one—but outside of that, nobody bothers me.
It all started when I moved in and started renovations. The hardware store owner recommended his carpenter son, and I fired that moron on the first day because I wasn’t paying him to do a shittier job than I’m capable of.
Then my realtor set me up on a horrible blind date, only for me to find out later that my date’s father is the local pastor. He wrote a whole sermon about me and everything, which turned the entire congregation against me. Apparently I was the bad guy for leaving early, despite the fact she was essentially wearing a T-shirt that readStill Hung Up On My Ex.
But the town’s final straw seemed to be when I genuinely didn’t notice the 4-H kids hawking tickets for a meat raffle outside the grocery store and I knocked over a six-year-old.
Didn’t help that I did all that with a natural scowl on my face and a gruff tone. Girls can be cute with their “resting bitch face,” but I’m the resident asshole for the same damn thing.
Anyway, after that I might’ve leaned into the reputation, because being the town grump meant no guilt-trips to buy raffle tickets, no invites to cheesy local events, and nobody setting me up on blind dates with every unmarried woman in town. Somewhere over the last few years, the line between my grumpy persona and the real Lucas McKinney blurred.
