Page 19 of Me and Mr. Just Right

Haydn hesitated. He knew from dealing with Rosie that it was always a bad idea to comment on a woman’s clothing choices, but he still asked, “Do you want to change into pants?”

She looked down at her shorts. “What’s wrong with these?”

“Nothing.” He swallowed. Hard. “It’s just there are some pretty gnarly branches out there, and I don’t want you to get caught on anything.”

“I only brought leggings and shorts—and I have a feeling my leggings won’t offer much more protection than these. But thanks for watching out for me.” She shot a nervous glance at his camera, and he wondered if she was one of those girls who hated having their picture taken.

“Stay behind me, and I’ll clear a path for you if things get too rough.”

She smiled, and her face glowed even more. “Thank you, Haydn.”

His chest puffed out like he was a character in one of those old cartoons. What was wrong with him? He was like a fly drawn to her Venus-y trap. A moth to her flame. A deer in her headlight. A human caught in her alien spaceship beam.

Whoa, that was some violent imagery he’d conjured up.

But he’d learned love only led to hurt. He’d seen how devastated his mom had been after his dad had left. He’d never want to feel that—or worse, make someone feel that way. And as long as this itch to keep moving crawled under his skin, as long as he couldn’t be absolutely sure he’d wrestled it into submission, he’d never let himself fall for someone.

Even if her soft touch on his arm as she balanced herself to slide on her shoes made him feel as out of breath as climbing the West Rib on Denali. And as exhilarated.

He pushed the feeling aside, though his shoulders straightened with an undefinable sense of purpose as he led them into the forest, extremely aware of Lia right behind him.

Chapter 9

ThelasttimeLiahad gone on a hike was immortalized forever inCountry Lives Magazine, after winning her first Grammy, because her childhood best friend had sold a picture of her to them. In it, Lia was a red-faced and sweaty teenager. She’d rolled her sleeves up, so they were like two bulky caterpillars near her neck, and she’d worn her favorite pair of leggings—black with neon-colored geometric shapes. Her best friend had braided her hair into a thick, frizzy French braid, and her braces-filled smile made Lia ache at the innocence of it all.

The worst part hadn’t been everyone poking fun at the awkward stage of this younger, teenage Lia—though that had stung. It hadn’t even been the betrayal of her old friend, and how used she’d felt. No, the worst part was realizing how badly she’d wanted that time in her life to remain untouchable, apart from the fame bubble her life had become.

Butnothingwas untouchable.

“Ope, be careful there,” Bennett said, snagging her elbow as her shoes slipped over a moss-covered rock. “This stuff gets real slippery when wet.”

Haydn paused and waited for them to catch up. He’d remained true to his word to hold back the thick, leafy branches when they cut into the dirt path, and so far, she’d managed not to get any scrapes. She’d also managed to take in Haydn’s strong legs and back for the last thirty minutes.

Hiking in the misty rain wasn’t so bad. She was definitely cold—her windbreaker was more for looks than for utility—but she wasn’t going to complain. She’d only planned on hiding out from the world, eating, and singing sad songs. It sounded pathetic, especially now that she was out exploring her own private island with three handsome, outdoorsy men.

Though one man in particular kept catching her interest and holding it as tight as she’d held on to those plane armrests. She wasn’t in the headspace for any sort of relationship, and maybe she’d never be, but she could appreciate a fine-looking and kind man in the same way she appreciated a stunning song or a breathtaking sunrise. And if songs or sunrises never made her feel like soda bubbles were fizzing through her veins the same way looking at Haydn did, well … it wasn’t like this was permanent. The rain would pass, they would leave—or she would, depending on if Jules got his way or not—and they’d all move on with their lives.

Haydn was clearly at home out here in the forest, walking a path that she couldn’t pick out in the moss and plant overgrowth, but he confidently strode forward. His shoulders filled out his jacket nicely. Almost as nicely as his backside filled out his pants.

Bennett gave her a knowing smirk and nudged his elbow into her side teasingly.

“Sorry,” she mouthed.

“Why are you sorry?” he said in a low voice as he shimmied his shoulders. “He’s single, and you’re his type.”

“His type?” Why did she care? She was a lot of men’s type—blonde, leggy, and gorgeous. She knew it wasn’t misplaced confidence to say that. In her world, you had to be good-looking to make it.

“Spunky and spirited,” he said, surprising her. It was hard to see herself as those things anymore, and not just a person who ran away when things got hard. “What’s your type?”

“I’m not looking,” she said as lightly as she could. “Just came off of a bad breakup.”

“Me too.” Bennett stuffed his hands in his pockets. “I proposed, and she broke up with me.”

“Ouch.” Lia gave in to the impulse to take his arm and give it a gentle hug. Something about Bennett—about all the Forrester brothers—made her feel safe. Like she could give them a piece of her without them trying to take everything. “I know we just met, but you’ve been wonderful. This feels like her loss.”

He sighed and used his free hand to pat her arm. “Yeah. I guess. What about you? I can’t imagine anyone breaking up with you.”

“Well, you don’t know me well enough yet, then.” Her eyes stung, recalling how Bo had accused her of always placing him second behind her music. She pulled away from Bennett, needing to put some distance between them and his comfort. Bennett reminded her of a teddy bear, and it would be too easy to let down her guard with him. With all of them.

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