1
BREWER
The morning is swallowedin gray, dark clouds hanging low overhead as I chop wood outside my cabin. I work fast, slicing cleanly through the logs, trying to pour my frustration into every swing. But it’s impossible to concentrate.
Fuck.
I stop mid-swing and toss my axe to the ground with a grunt of annoyance, wiping the sweat from my brow.
I’m not doing it,I think bitterly.
There’s no damn way I’m going to Creekside Diner.
It’s the same mantra I repeat every morning, but it never works. I always break—my restraint snapping as easily as a splintered log.
With one last look at the unchopped wood still waiting in a pile, I stomp inside my cabin and grab the keys to my truck, jaw clenched tight. Then I head back outside and open the driver’s side door, climbing into my seat. I’m just about to slam the door closed when a voice calls my name from the trees.
“Brewer!”
I look up to see my brother Clay emerging from the fog, axe slung over his back. He stops at my truck, his hand reaching through the open door to slap my shoulder.
“Hey, buddy,” he says.
“Hey.”
Clay looks different these days. Ever since he met his new girlfriend last month, there’s a glow in his eyes that wasn’t there before, and I’m still struggling to get used to it. I never imagined Clay would find someone. He was always allergic to love…until a girl named Savannah hit him with her car and somehow stole his heart in the process.
“Where you headed?” he asks.
I keep my eyes on the dash. “The diner.”
“Again?” He cocks his head, watching me. “Seems like you go there every morning.”
“They do a good breakfast.”
Hell, it’s not a lie. The Creekside Special is the best breakfast in town—bacon, eggs, sausage, hash browns, pancakes, and black coffee. All the extra food is catching up with me, and there’s a stubborn layer of padding over my muscles that definitely wasn’t there before.
“You know,” Clay says after a beat of silence, “if I didn’t know you better, I’d think you had your eye on someone at the diner.”
I keep my expression neutral, but my pulse spikes. “Good thing you know me better, then.”
I’m not surprised by his suspicions. It’s out of character for a grumpy recluse like me to be spending every morning in town, instead of roaming the forest. Usually, I stay away from people—avoiding their double-takes and raised eyebrows. A man my size draws attention for all the wrong reasons, and I can’t go anywhere without feeling like a damn circus attraction.
“So you’re not going to the diner to see anyone?” Clay asks, those bright blue eyes scanning me like he can see exactly what I’m thinking. It’s irritating as hell.
“No,” I snap a little too viciously. “I just like the food.”
“Hm. Whatever you say.”
I scowl at him, resisting the urge to slap that knowing smirk off his face. It doesn’t matter that we’re both in our forties—older brothers can be annoying as hell at any age.
“Anyway,” Clay says, pulling out his phone, “I came over to get your advice on something.” He taps the screen a few times and hands it to me. “What d’you think of these?”
The phone is too bright in the early-morning gloom, and I squint against it, scrolling through an endless stream of engagement rings—sparkly and elegant with eye-watering price tags.
“They’re rings,” I say.
Clay rolls his eyes. “No shit. Which one do you like best?”
