Page 148 of The Lumberjack and the City Slicker

“Do you think I would do that?” I ask quietly.

His eyes flicker.

“I don’t know what to think,” he admits.

That lands like a slap.

“I told him to fuck off,” I say. “I told him to tell his firm president he cheated on me on our kitchen island. I told him the wedding was off.”

Greyson goes still.

The fight drains from his shoulders just a fraction.

“He grabbed me, I didn’t invite him to,” I continue, voice shaking now. “And then you came flying in like a hurricane.”

A muscle jumps in his cheek.

“I saw red,” he mutters.

“Clearly.”

We stand there, breathing hard, the night pressing in around us.

“You think I’d cheat on you?” I ask again, because I need to hear it.

His eyes meet mine fully this time.

“No,” he says.

“Then why did you look at me like that?”

He hesitates.

“Because I thought I was about to lose you.”

The words crack something open.

I blink.

“Lose me?” I echo.

“He’s Manhattan,” Greyson says roughly. “He’s your world. Suits and dinners and whatever the hell that life is. I see him here and—” He breaks off, frustrated. “I see how easy it would be for you to go back.”

My throat tightens.

“You think that’s easy for me?” I whisper.

The porch light flickers above us.

“I left that night to find an artist whose work spoke to me, and then I came here and I-I like it,” I say.

“But would you walk away from it? Could you leave it all behind?”

“I think I already did walk away from it.”

“For me?” he asks.

“No,” I answer honestly. “For me.”