Page 13 of How to Kiss a Mountain Man

“I’ve dated, but nothing serious.” She takes a sip of water. “Though not for lack of trying on some people’s parts. Like Trey.”

My jaw tightens at his name. “Who’s that?”

“Oh, just this guy I went out with once. He keeps asking me out again, but he’s not...” She meets my eyes. “He’s not what I’m looking for.”

The way she holds my gaze makes my heart thunder. “What are you looking for?”

“Someone real. Someone who sees me, not just what I can do for them.” She traces the rim of her glass. “After my dad died, I had to grow up fast. Take over the shop, be the responsible one. The guys I've dated never seem to understand that. They either want to fix my life or use it to their advantage.”

“I’m sorry about your dad.”

“Thanks. It was sudden—a heart attack. My mom wasn’t in the picture, so...” She shrugs, but I see the pain she’s trying to hide. “The shop became my whole world. Sometimes I wonder if that’s healthy. But I love it. I can’t imagine doing anything else.”

“Why should you? You’re damn good at what you do.”

Her demeanor shifts as she gives me a teasing smile. “You say that now. Wait until you get my bill.”

A laugh rumbles out of me. Then we fall into comfortable silence, and I realize I’ve completely forgotten about the other diners, about the town’s judgment. In this moment, it’s just us.

Jordana's knee presses against mine again, and I don't pull away. That tiny point of contact makes my heart slam against my ribs. Stealing a glance at her, the truth hits me all at once: I'm falling for this woman. Hard.

A waiter comes by to clear our plates, and Jordana fidgets with her water glass. Something shifts in her posture, tension creeping into her shoulders.

“Griffin.” Her voice carries a weight that makes my skin prickle. “I need to ask you something.”

I set down my napkin. “Okay.”

“When I first started working on your truck, I had to go into the glove box for your owner’s manual.” She pauses to clear her throat. “There was an empty prescription bottle with the label scratched off. And some phones.”

Ice floods my veins. The warm intimacy of our evening shatters, replaced by a hollow coldness. Of course she went looking. Of course she found reasons to doubt me.

“The bottle was anxiety medication.” My voice comes out hard, clipped. “I scratched off the label because it’s no one’s business what meds I take.”

She gives a slight nod.

“And the phones are for veterans who can’t afford phone plans.” My jaw clenches. “I keep them for guys who need a lifeline but can't handle bills. Sometimes having a prepaid phone makes the difference in whether they reach out for help.”

Relief softens her features, and that simple expression twists my gut. She needed proof. Just like everyone else in this town, she’d been looking for evidence of who I really am.

The waiter approaches with dessert menus. I wave him off.

“I’ve got the bill.” I pull out my wallet, avoiding her eyes.

“Griffin? What’s wrong?”

“I should get back to the mountain.”

I throw enough cash on the bar and push away from my seat. She follows me outside, her heels clicking rapidly on the sidewalk. “Hey. What just happened? Talk to me.”

I spin to face her, my anger boiling over. “You don’t trust me. This whole time, you’ve been looking for proof that the rumors are true.”

“That’s not?—”

“Then why question me about what you found?” My voice rises. “Why are we even doing this? Trying to win over a town that’s already made up its mind about me?”

“We’re making progress. People are starting to see the real you.”

“They’re not seeing anything, Jordana. And neither are you.” The hurt in her eyes should make me stop, but I can’t. “You’re just like everyone else. Looking for reasons to be afraid of me.”

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