Wood.
I laughed at myself and rolled out of bed, adjusting my situation in my underwear. A cold shower would help. Or at least that’s what people always said in movies. I’d never actually tested the theory.
Twenty minutes later—shower taken, morning wood situation handled, dignity somewhat restored—I stood in front of my suitcase trying to decide what to wear to a rural Virginia general store. Everything I’d brought felt wrong. Too LA. Too styled.
Dr. Brock Blaze goes shopping in his off hours.
I settled on jeans—actual jeans, not the designer kind—and a dark blue hoody under a warmer jacket I’d found in the bottomof my suitcase. I looked... like a regular person. It was oddly thrilling.
As I headed downstairs, I thought about Farley again. He’d said he was here for a month. Same as me. And he was clearly going through something—the red eyes, the bourbon breath, the cat he claimed he wasn’t keeping. Someone or something had hurt him.
Which should have made me stay away. Wounded people needed space, not a miserable soap opera actor looking for a distraction.
But what if we both needed a distraction? What if a month-long fling with an expiration date was exactly what we both needed? No strings. No future. And no tabloids. Just two guys in the mountains, keeping each other warm, having fun, and then going back to their separate lives when it was over.
No one would ever know. The paparazzi couldn’t find me here. Sabrina didn’t know where I was. It would be completely private. Completely real.
Well, real-ish.
I grabbed my keys and headed out to the Miata, which looked even more ridiculous in the morning light. The temperature had dropped overnight, and my breath fogged in the air. I should have brought a better jacket. And a better car. And possibly a better life plan.
But that’s what I was here to figure out.
The drive down the mountain was easier this morning, though the Miata still protested every bump and pothole. I passed Farley’s cabin on the way—smoke rising from his chimney, no sign of life outside—and tried not to think about what he was doing. Sleeping? Feeding that cat he definitely wasn’t keeping?
Stop it, Samuel.
Shifflett’s General Store appeared after about twenty minutes of winding mountain roads. It was exactly what I’d imagined: a weathered building with a covered porch, hand-painted signs advertising everything from fishing licenses to fresh eggs, and a parking lot consisting of gravel and optimism.
I pulled in next to a pickup truck that looked older than me and tried to give myself a mental pep talk. You’re just buying supplies. Firewood. Food. Maybe some warmer clothes. You’re not hoping to run into anyone. This is not a strategic shopping trip designed to coincidentally intersect with your hot neighbor’s schedule. Oh, did Farley say he was coming to the store today? I think he did!
The bell above the door jangled as I walked in, and I was immediately hit with the smell of coffee, wood smoke, and something baking. The store was bigger than it looked from outside—aisles of groceries, a wall of hardware supplies, a corner devoted to fishing and hunting gear, and a small deli counter in the back.
An older man behind the register looked up and nodded. “Morning. Holler if you need help finding anything.”
“Thanks.” I grabbed a basket and started wandering, genuinely needing supplies but also... looking. Not obviously. Just casually scanning for dark hair, sharp eyes, and sweatpants that might have holes in them.
I was in the canned goods aisle, debating between different types of soup I didn’t know how to prepare, when I heard the bell jangle again.
My heart did something stupid in my chest.
I turned, trying to look casual, and there he was.
Farley walked in wearing dark jeans that actually fit him properly, a yellow sweater that looked expensive, and a black wool coat that screamed “New York professional who knows what winter means.” His hair was slightly damp, like he’d justshowered, and he’d clearly gotten more sleep than I had because he looked disgustingly put-together.
Our eyes met across the store.
For a second, neither of us moved. Then his lips curved into something that might have been a smile, and I felt my smile answer automatically.
Showtime.
I knew how to be charming. I knew how to make people feel like they were the most interesting person in the room. And right now, I was going to deploy every single weapon in my arsenal.
I walked toward him, letting my smile widen into something warm and genuinely pleased. “Farley. Hey.”
“Samuel.” His voice was slightly rough, like he hadn’t used it much this morning. “You made it through the night without freezing?”
“Barely. Your wood saved my life.” I paused, watching the color rise in his cheeks. “The firewood, I mean. That you gave me. For my fire.”
