Page 82 of The Lumberjack and the City Slicker

That’s when it hits me.

Not the water dripping down my beard.

Not the laughter someone tries to choke back.

Not even Willow’s I told you so glare.

The realization lands like a fist to the ribs.

I wasn’t protecting Clara last week.

I was protecting myself.

From wanting.

From hoping.

From the possibility that she could matter—and then leave.

And I might have just screwed up the best thing that’s happened to me in years beyond all fucking repair.

Because I really have turned into a coward.

Chapter 15

Greyson

What am I really? Just a rich boy who ran away to a mountain and built himself a fortress out of wood and solitude and silence, then panicked the second a real woman walked through the gate and made him feel alive again.

I stand there in the middle of the Lunchroom with a fucking audience and my face wet and my pride in pieces, staring at Clara like I’m seeing her for the first time.

Not the city slicker.

Not Trouble.

Just her.

Gorgeous and furious and hurt, her mouth set hard like she’s holding back words that would cut deeper than the water ever could.

And the worst part?

I deserve every ounce of it.

I open my mouth—maybe to apologize, maybe to say her name, maybe to do anything other than stand here like an asshole.

But Thatcher’s voice cuts in from behind me, calm and low.

“Alright,” he says, not loud, but somehow it still carries.

The tone of a man who’s broken up bar fights and knows exactly when one is about to happen.

“That’s enough, Grey.”

I don’t even have to turn to know he’s moved closer. I feel him at my back like a wall.

Clara turns her head and her eyes flick to him, then back to me—sharp, suspicious, ready to bolt.

Thatcher steps into my line of sight, hands in his pockets, jaw set.