“But after I do this for you,you’regonna tell Wyatt that Brady’s ready for the search and rescue team.”
I set my mug down harder than I meant to. “Brady’s not ready. He panics under pressure and hedoesn’tlisten. I’m not putting my name behind him until he proves he can handle himself.”
Marla waved her hand dismissively. “He just needs a chance. You were young once too, you know.”
Pinching my lips, I growled out, “I was never that green.”
“Grumpy old bear.” She was already standing, smoothing down her apron. “It’s time for you to lighten up for once and have some fun. When’s the last time you talked to a pretty girl who wasn’t asking for directions to the trailhead?”
“Marla, I swear to everything holy…”
But she just cackled at me and walked away, straight over to Little Miss Sunshine of the curvy ass clan.
“Marla! Stop right now. No fooling around!” I growled out.
No one in the diner looked up. They were used to Marla and me grousing with each other. Truth be told, I groused with everyone.
But this was over the top.
She ignored me, making a beeline for the woman who was still innocently studying the wall of photos. My picture was up there somewhere, taken years ago after I’d demolished an entire huckleberry pie on a bet.
I watched in horror as Marla approached the pretty stranger, that matchmaking gleam in her eye that had terrorized single men in Iron Peak for three decades.
The woman turned, startled, and I caught a good glimpse of her face for the first time. Clear blue eyes. A gentle smile that was already forming despite her obvious confusion.
I was going to kill Marla.
Right after I figured out why my heart was suddenly pounding like I’d just run up the mountain.
Chapter 2
Amelia
The Ridge Diner looked like something out of a postcard.
It was inside an old log building, so old that the chinking between the logs had started to shrink and chip away over time.
A few pickup trucks sat in the gravel lot out front, their beds dusted with last night’s snow, while a sign flickered over the diner, enticing people in.
I pulled my coat tighter and quickened my pace. The thin fabric was doing absolutely nothing against the mountain air, and I made a mental note to find somewhere to buy a proper jacket before I froze to death.
Florida had not prepared me for this weather.
The bell above the door jingled as I stepped inside. Heat wrapped around me instantly. I stood there for a moment, letting it seep into my bones while I took in the space.
A long counter stretched along one wall, lined with stools that had seen decades of use. Booths hugged the windows, their red vinyl seats cracked and patched with duct tape in places.
The air smelled like bacon and coffee and something sweet, maybe maple syrup, all mingled together in a way that made my stomach growl.
By the cash register there was a stack of mismatched coffee mugs and a faded handwritten sign that said, ‘Your Ma Don’t Work Here. Want Caffeine? Grab a Cup’.
It was nothing like the sleek brunch spots I used to frequent in Jacksonville, with their minimalist decor and avocado toast. This place hadhistory. Every faded photograph on the wall told a story.
I loved the place immediately. In fact, I loved the whole town.
Iron Peak was rustic in a way that should have felt rough, but instead felt honest. The buildings weren’t trying to be anything other than what they were.
These were simple structures that didn’t have time for pretense. They were too busy keeping people warm.
