Page 10 of Her Obsessed Lumberjack

She makes a noise of distaste, wrinkling her nose and throwing a chip at me. “Never gonna happen.”

The rest of the evening passes in a happy blur as Margot patiently listens to me gushing about Roman: his voice, his muscles, his beard. By the time I get into bed, I feel like a kid on Christmas Eve, tossing and turning with excitement until I finally fall asleep with a smile on my lips.

The next morning,I wrap up warm and wait for Roman to arrive, my heart fluttering like a caged bird behind my ribs. When a large truck pulls up, I burst out of the apartment, barely able to contain myself. Roman is already getting out of the truck to open the passenger-side door for me, and despite the chilly morning air, my body fills with warmth at the sight of him. He looks more ruggedly handsome than ever.

“Morning,” he says, reaching out with gentle hands to help me up into my seat.

“Hi.” I swallow hard, nerves buzzing in my throat.

Roman gestures to the cupholder beside me. “I got you a hot chocolate.”

“Thank you! My favorite.” I reach down and take a sip of the sweet, creamy drink, glad for something to do with my trembling hands as Roman gets into the driver’s seat. I feel his eyes on me.

“You look beautiful, by the way,” he says. I suck in a breath, accidentally snorting a noseful of hot chocolate. It burns my nostrils, making my eyes water as Roman reaches for a napkin. “Shit, sorry?—”

I laugh. I can’t help it. If there was an award for making a terrible impression, I’d win it every time, but Roman doesn’t seem to mind my clumsiness. He hands me the napkin, his lips tugging upward as I wipe my face. There’s so much warmth in his eyes that I feel myself relax, my nerves ebbing away.

“Thank you,” I say, still chuckling. “For the compliment and for the napkin.”

Roman nods, still smiling slightly as he turns on the engine and begins to drive us toward the pumpkin patch. I’m starting to think that a small smile for Roman is the equivalent of a hundred-watt grin for other people, and it makes me cherish the slight curve of his lips even more.

We arrive at the pumpkin patch a few minutes later. It stretches out before us, dotted with fat orange pumpkins as far as the eye can see, not far from the corn maze where Roman and I first bumped into each other. When I mention this, Roman says, “It’s all owned by the Thorne brothers. They own the cornfield, the pumpkin patch, and the Christmas Tree Farm.”

“Do you know them?”

Roman nods. “I know one of them. Declan Thorne. See him in the forest a lot.”

Once we reach the entrance, we’re greeted by a tall lumberjack with a grumpy expression. He reaches out to shake Roman’s hand, then nods his head at me, introducing himself as Declan.

“No charge,” he insists as soon as Roman reaches for his wallet. “Friends don’t pay. Good thing I haven’t got many, or I’d be out of a job.”

After some wrangling, Roman accepts the gesture with a thank you before we leave Declan behind and enter the pumpkin patch. The sun is climbing higher in the sky, making the pumpkins shine like bright orange jewels.

“It looks so magical!” I say, spinning around to take it all in. “Like something out of a painting.”

“You’ve never been here before?” Roman asks.

“Sure I have, but it’s still exciting to come back! Halloween only comes once a year.”

“Good point.”

I drag Roman from row to row, letting myself get carried away with choosing the perfect pumpkin, explaining all the features that a good jack-o’-lantern needs while he watches on in amusement.

“So,” I say once I’ve built up the courage to ask him something more personal, “you haven’t always lived in Cherry Hollow?”

Roman shakes his head, crouching down to help me cut through a particularly stubborn pumpkin stem. “I was born and raised in Phoenix. Only moved to Cherry Hollow a few months ago.”

“Why did you move?”

“A couple of reasons.” He places the pumpkin in a nearby wheelbarrow and turns to me. “I wanted a quieter life. Wanted to be closer to my daughter.”

I try to hide my surprise. It’s hard to imagine Roman having a child, and my expression must give me away because he adds, “Her name’s Chloe. I adopted her when she was just a kid.”

“Really?” I ask, intrigued. “What made you decide to adopt?”

Roman pauses for a moment. The sun casts shadows on his handsome face, making his eyes dance as he says, “I was a cop at the time. Never planned to have kids, but one day, I responded to a call and found Chloe. Her parents were addicts. She was suffering from serious neglect, malnutrition, you name it. She wouldn’t talk to a single cop except me—she trusted me.” He sucks in a breath, and I can see emotion bubbling beneath the surface. “I couldn’t leave her. So I adopted her. Raised her as my own kid, and now, that’s what she is.”

My heart bursts with affection for him. Roman might have a grumpy exterior, but clearly, he’s a good man and a good father. There’s a lot more to him than I thought, and I ask him more questions about Chloe, listening raptly as he tells me about her growing career as an artist and her relationship with a mannamed Trace, who once served with Roman back in his military days.

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