Page 191 of The Lumberjack and the City Slicker

IS HE THE NEXT ART WORLD PHENOMENON OR A RICH MAN’S HOBBY?

I want to throw up.

My thoughts spiral—what if he hates this?

What if he leaves?

What if he retreats to his cabin and cuts me out?

Greyson takes my phone gently from my hand before I can spiral.

“Don’t,” he says, calm but sharp. “Not yet.”

“Grey—” I start.

He lifts my hand, kisses the ring like it’s a vow.

“They don’t get to have you,” he says. “Not like that.”

I nod, but my chest is tight, because it’s already happening.

By the time we drive back into town, Woodhaven feels different.

Not the place that welcomed me with apple crisp and blunt kindness.

Not the place where people waved from pickup trucks and didn’t care what brand your shoes were.

Now there are unfamiliar cars parked near the Lunchroom.

A couple of strangers lingering by the general store like they’re waiting for a celebrity sighting.

Someone in a puffy jacket holding a camera too expensive for tourist.

And then my phone rings again.

Unknown number.

I let it go to voicemail.

It rings again.

Another unknown number.

Then a text from a number I don’t recognize.

UNKNOWN

Hi Clara! Would love to chat about your engagement & Greyson’s incredible story. We can make you both look amazing. Call me! xo

My skin crawls.

We pull into the driveway of my—my—house and I just sit there for a second, staring at the porch light like it’s the only steady thing left in the universe.

“This was supposed to be ours,” I whisper without meaning to.

Greyson’s hand closes over mine on the center console.

“It still is,” he says.