Page 1 of Burly and Honorable

CHAPTER 1

HANNA

Hanna. I thought I heard you coming up the hill.”

Jordan shields his eyes as I pull in and park my car at the side of the clearing in front of his cabin. I twist my necklace around my fingers and press the rings over my heart as I take a deep breath. The sight of him after all this time, even though it’s only been a year, stirs up feelings of comfort and sadness.I shouldn’t have waited this long to visit.

I step out slowly, my legs stiff from the drive.

“Hey, Jordan,” I say, walking across the uneven ground to him. “It’s been too long.”

Jordan stands tall and strong—broad shoulders back, muscles rippling his arms and legs, brown eyes fixed on me with an intensity that nearly makes me forget why I’m here.

“Indeed it has,” Jordan says, closing the distance between us and pulling me into a bear hug that squeezes the air from my lungs. My emotions knot and catch in my throat, and all the feelings I battled on the drive here threaten to unleash messy tears.

We pull apart from the hug and are silent for a long moment. There is so much to say, but no one place to start.

“I’m sorry I didn’t come out sooner.”

Jordan shakes his head. “Don’t talk like that. You did what you needed to do. I’m glad you’re here now. How have you been?”

I take a deep breath as he leads me to a couple of chairs on the porch facing the clearing and the skyline. “Hard. Some days are a little better, but they’re rare.”

Jordan rubs his hands on his jeans and nods, looking at the ground beneath our feet. “It’s the same for me. What about work?”

“It’s nothing special.” I took a job as an admin assistant for a small company when Keenan died. I worked part-time before that, but with Keenan gone, I took the first job I could. Keeping the lights on and food on the table was more important than finding something truly interesting.

“I see,” Jordan says, his brown eyes intent as he looks at me. “What’s next for you?”

“Honestly? I have no idea. Home doesn’t feel like home. My job doesn’t excite me. I feel ready for a change, though I don’t know yet what that is.”

Jordan’s gaze intensifies, and his jaw flexes as he looks at me. I don’t know how to read him. I want to know what he’s thinking, but I’m suddenly shy with a man I’ve known for years. A confusing desire pricks at me as I look at him. Wanting to be held by Jordan has to be a grief reaction, right? He’s always been Keenan’s best friend—not someone I ever thought about romantically.

Am I reacting to Jordan because it’s been a while or because there’s a real attraction there?

“How was the drive?” he asks, moving the conversation to safer territory.

“Not bad. Pretty quiet.” I shift my weight, unsure of what to say next. “I’d almost forgotten how gorgeous it is up here.”

Jordan nods, watching me closely. It’s a year since I saw him at Keenan’s funeral—but somehow, it feels like no time has passed and a lifetime has gone by all at once.

I sit next to Jordan, not knowing what to do. Reaching into my bag, I pull out the letter. “Keenan wrote this,” I say, my voice faltering as I hold it out to him.

Jordan takes the letter, staring at it. He doesn’t open it right away. Instead, he studies it for a long moment, his thumb brushing the crease as if uncertain about its contents.

“You’ve been holding onto this for a while,” he says softly.

I nod, swallowing hard. “I didn’t know how to bring it to you. He left me a letter, too.”

Jordan unfolds the letter carefully, smoothing the creases with his large, strong hands. His jaw tightens as his eyes move across the words. I watch him, my breath catching at the subtle shifts in his expression—confusion, wariness, grief.

His shoulders stiffen slightly, and for a fleeting moment, pain flickers across his face. It’s there and gone so quickly that I’m almost convinced I imagined it. Almost.

He looks up at me, his expression neutral, the mask firmly back in place. “Are you sure this is what you want to do?”

The question hits me harder than it should. I’ve had this conversation with myself so many times. I cross my arms, trying to find the words, but all I can manage is, “I… I think so.”

Jordan’s dark eyes don’t waver. “Think so, or know so?” he questions, but his forehead is creased with tension.

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