“I know.”
“And when he does?” His grip on my hip tightened just slightly. “You’re going to need to tell him to go. Clearly. No room for interpretation.”
“I’ve tried. He doesn’t?—”
“Then I’ll be there when you do it.” His voice left no room for argument. “He needs to see it’s done. Really done.”
I stared at him, confused. “Why would you do that? You don’t even know me.”
Something shifted in his expression. The grumpy, closed-off man I’d watched from behind the bar for weeks seemed to crack open, just a little. Just enough for me to glimpse something underneath.
“Maybe I’d like to get to know you.”
My breath caught. For a long moment, neither of us moved. The roadhouse noise faded around us—the clatter of glasses, the hum of conversation, the country song playing on the jukebox. It was just him and me and the impossible heat of his body beneath mine.
Then someone from the firefighter table let out a loud whoop, breaking the spell.
“I should get back to work.” My voice came out barely above a whisper.
Briggs’s arm loosened around my waist, but he didn’t fully let go. “I’ll be here.”
I slid off his lap on unsteady legs, feeling the loss of his warmth immediately. When I looked back over my shoulder, he was watching me with an intensity that made my skin tingle.
I’d come to Wildwood Valley to find myself. To build a life that was mine instead of one designed by committee.
I never expected to find a man like Briggs.
2
BRIGGS
Three hours and four beers later, I was still sitting at the same damn table.
The roadhouse had mostly emptied out. Knox and Teddie had left an hour ago, wrapped around each other like they couldn’t stand to have an inch of space between them. Mason and Gabby followed not long after. Even Wolfe had called it a night, though not before shooting me a knowing look I pretended not to see.
Now it was just me, a couple of old-timers at the bar nursing whiskeys, and Elsa.
She’d been busy behind the bar all night, occasionally coming out to bring drinks to customers. Every now and then, her eyes would find mine across the room. Quick glances. Uncertain. Like she was checking to make sure I was still there.
I was still there.
I’d told her I would be, and I meant it. But the truth was, I had no idea what I was doing. The preppy ex-boyfriend was gone, the crisis averted. There was no reason for me to stick around except the obvious one—I couldn’t make myself leave.
Not after the way she’d felt in my lap. Not after the word that had come out of my mouth without permission.
Mine.
What the hell had I been thinking? I’d known the woman for all of five minutes, and I’d staked a claim on her like some kind of caveman. She probably thought I was insane. Or worse, just as bad as the guy she was trying to escape.
I took another swig of beer and tried to figure out my next move. I should go talk to her. That was the obvious thing. Walk up to the bar, say something charming, maybe apologize for coming on so strong earlier.
Except I wasn’t charming. I was grumpy and blunt and bad at small talk. The guys gave me shit about it constantly. Briggs—the cynical bastard who’d rather brood in a corner than make conversation.
The old-timers at the bar settled their tab and headed for the door, leaving the place nearly empty. Just me and Elsa, and the country song playing low on the jukebox.
She wiped down the bar, her movements slower now that the rush was over. Then she looked up and caught me watching her.
For a long moment, neither of us moved. The air between us felt charged—heavy with everything that had happened earlier and everything that hadn’t been said. Then she set down her rag, picked up two glasses, and walked toward my table. My heart did something stupid in my chest.
