Page 14 of How to Kiss a Mountain Man

“That’s not fair.”

“Isn’t it?” I back away from her. “Thanks for having dinner with me. And for trying to fix my reputation. But I’m done pretending this is going to work.”

I leave her standing there on the sidewalk, every instinct screaming at me to get out of this town where I don't belong. My feet carry me back to the truck, past whispers and stares I can't stomach right now. It feels like what little progress we made is unraveling with every step I take. But fuck it. Our little plan was never going to work anyway.

The drive out of town passes in a haze of regret and anger—at her, at myself, at this whole situation. I trusted her. Let myself believe she saw past the rumors. Thought she actually believed in me.

What a fool I’ve been.

The woods grow denser as I climb the mountain, branches creating a tunnel of darkness that mirrors the hollowness in my chest. When I finally park in front of my cabin, I yank the parking brake up with far more force than necessary.

6

JORDANA

The night air stings my face as I make my way home, each step heavier than the last. Griffin’s pain echoes in my mind—not just his words, but the raw hurt in his eyes when I asked him about the items in his truck. God, I can’t believe how thoughtless I was. My stupid need for answers completely ruined the connection we’ve been building.

My chest aches from the loss, my lungs feeling as if they’re unable to draw in air. When did this happen? When did Griffin become as essential as oxygen?

“Jordana! Wait up!”

I barely suppress a groan at the sound of Trey’s voice. When I turn, he’s jogging toward me, his expensive casual wear perfectly coordinated as always.

“I saw what happened.” He doesn’t even try to conceal his giddiness. “That guy showed his true colors, huh? Let me walk you home.”

“I’m fine, Trey.”

He falls into step beside me anyway. “You deserve better than some unstable mountain man. You should be with someone who understands your worth.”

I stop walking and huff out a humorless laugh. “Someone like you?”

“Well, yeah.” He touches my arm. “I’d never storm off and leave you standing alone on the street. Though maybe next time you’ll listen when people warn you about?—”

“Don’t.” I jerk away from his touch. “You don’t know anything about Griffin. And for the record? He’s twice the man you are.”

“Come on, honey. Don’t be like that.”

“I’m not your honey.” My voice is ice cold. “And this conversation is over.”

I leave him standing there, my anger at his presumption mixing with guilt over Griffin until I can barely breathe. By the time I reach my apartment, tears blur my vision. I grab my phone and dial Griffin’s number, but it goes to voicemail.

“Griffin, I’m so sorry. I never meant to make you feel like I didn’t trust you. Please call me back.”

Days pass. I leave more messages for Griffin, each one met with silence. I throw myself into finishing his engine rebuild, hoping it will take my mind off the awful mess I’ve made. But every bolt I tighten and every component I check reminds me of what I just lost.

When the rebuild is complete, I make one final call. “Hi, Griffin. Your truck is ready. Please come pick it up whenever you can.”

The next morning, heavy footsteps on the garage floor make my pulse jump. Griffin stands in the doorway, wearing a black t-shirt that stretches across his broad shoulders. The sight of him makes my heart hurt.

“Hi.” My voice comes out too small.

“Hello.” His tone is perfectly polite but completely empty. “I’m here for my truck.”

I walk him through the repairs, pointing out everything I replaced or upgraded. He nods at appropriate moments but doesn’t really look at me. When I hand him the invoice, his fingers carefully avoid touching mine.

“Thanks for the work.” He pulls Betty’s keys from his pocket. “I should mention—your suncatcher's chain snapped the first day I borrowed Betty. I got it fixed at the jeweler’s.” Before I can respond, he adds, “Have a good day.”

And then he’s gone. The rumble of his truck’s engine fades into the distance, taking with it any hope that we can salvage what we had.

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