Page 96 of The Lumberjack and the City Slicker

The words feel strange in my mouth. Heavy. Necessary.

“I shouldn’t have made you leave like that. I shouldn’t have assumed the worst. That wasn’t about you.”

Her brow furrows. “Then what was it about?”

Because I’m scared.

Because I wanted you.

Because I don’t know how to let someone matter without thinking they’ll leave.

“I panicked,” I admit. “You showed up, and you changed everything. Faster than I was ready for.”

Her lips part slightly, and I force myself to keep going.

“I’ve spent years making sure no one gets close enough to walk away,” I say. “It’s easier that way. Cleaner.”

The wind shifts between us, lifting a strand of her hair across her cheek.

“And instead of being honest about that,” I continue, “I shoved you out before you could decide to leave on your own.”

Her hand is still in mine.

Warm.

Real.

“I’m sorry,” I say again, and this time it’s not just a word—it’s the truth laid bare.

I don’t squeeze her fingers hard. Just enough to let her know I’m here.

“I don’t want you gone,” I tell her quietly. “And I don’t see you as a threat. Or some blogger chasing a headline. I see you, Clara.”

Her eyes shine, and it damn near undoes me.

“And I’m asking,” I finish, swallowing every ounce of pride I’ve got, “for a chance to get to know you. To do this right. Don’t leave yet. Not like this.”

It’s the most exposed I’ve felt in years.

And for once—I don’t look away.

Chapter 18

Clara

My heart is thundering in my chest like a herd of wild horses.

Greyson is standing in front of me in the sawmill lot—tall, steady, flannel and work boots like he was born out of pine and wishes—and he just apologized like it cost him blood.

Now he’s still holding my hand.

Still looking at me like he’s waiting for a verdict.

And I’m pretty sure—pretty sure—Greyson Cole, reclusive mountain man and secret-famous Lumberjack Artist, is asking me out.

But my brain doesn’t trust anything right now.

So I do what I always do when I’m overwhelmed.