Page 3 of My Lumberjack Valentine

“There’s no point trying to dig your way out of this one,” Grandpa says, watching me. “It’s simple. No girlfriend, no inheritance.”

“Who says I don’t have a girlfriend?”

The words slip out before I’ve fully processed them, and Grandpa scoffs. “I know damn well you don’t have a girlfriend,boy. You spend all your time alone in the woods chopping down trees.”

“Doesn’t mean I don’t have a girlfriend.” I cross my arms stubbornly, meeting his gaze. “Maybe you don’t know everything about me, Pops.”

It’s a weak bluff, but an idea is forming in my head, gathering speed like an avalanche. I don’t need a girlfriend to get the inheritance—I just need Grandpa to believe I have one. The old man is sharp as hell, and fooling him won’t be easy. But if I find a woman who’s willing to pretend she’s my girlfriend, I can have my cake and eat it too.

“Alright,” Grandpa says, calling my bluff, his blue eyes narrowed in disbelief. “If you’re seeing somebody, I want to meet her. You only get your inheritance if you’reprovento be in a committed relationship, remember?”

“Fine.” I shrug, trying to look nonchalant. “No problem. You can come to my cabin and meet her.”

“Tomorrow.”

I grit my teeth, trying to hide my reluctance.

How the hell am I meant to find a fake girlfriend by tomorrow?

“That’s pretty short notice, Pops. She’s probably busy?—”

“Tell her there’s twenty million dollars at stake, boy. She’ll find the time.”

We stare each other down, and I know there’s no getting out of this one. Grandpa can smell bullshit from a mile away. But I’m too proud to back down. It’s one of the many traits we both share.

“Fine,” I say. “Tomorrow.”

Grandpa nods, his bright blue eyes twinkling at me. “Looking forward to it.”

He knows I’m lying. Hell, anybody who knows me could tell you I’m the last person who’d ever be in a relationship. But Ikeep my face neutral as we say our goodbyes. Grandpa hugs me tight—he isn’t as tough as he looks—and I head out of the mansion toward my truck, wondering what the hell I’m going to do now.

I decide to drive into Hope Peak and grab a coffee from Perfect Brews. It’s pretty late in the day for caffeine, but it helps me think, and right now I need a damn good idea to get me out of this. I park my truck and head for the coffee shop, rolling my eyes as I pass store after store crammed full of pink balloons and love hearts. Valentine’s Day seems to roll around faster every year. This town is obsessed with the holiday and it drives me nuts. It’s all a scam. Flowers and teddy bears and happily ever afters—why do people still buy into this shit?

With a scowl, I push onward. I’m almost at Perfect Brews when suddenly, a woman appears right in front of me, emerging from a doorway to my right. I don’t have time to react. We collide, and she stumbles against me.

“Sorry,” I mutter, drawing back with a frown. The woman looks up at me, and as the streetlight illuminates her face, I feel my heart leap into my throat.

Holy shit.

She’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. My pulse thrums as I take in her thick curves, her plump lips parting slightly as she looks back at me. Her hair is cotton-candy pink and falls to her shoulders in waves, and my eyes roam her pretty face, unable to tear my gaze away.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “My fault.”

Her voice is thick with emotion, her big brown eyes bloodshot from crying, and I feel a pang in my chest. It’s none of my damn business why she’s upset. She’s a stranger, and I should keep walking and get my coffee, just like I planned. I’m not a warm, cuddly kind of guy, and I’m definitely not the person people go to for comfort. But dammit, I can’t help myself.

“Are you okay?” I ask, suppressing the urge to reach out and touch her face.

She swallows hard, and my throat tightens when I see the sadness swimming in her eyes. “I…yeah, I’m fine.” Her tears are falling thick and fast, and she turns her face away, trying to hide them.

“You don’t look fine.”

She sniffles. “Just got some bad news, that’s all.”

“Shit. I’m sorry.”

I don’t know what else to say. I’m not good at talking to strangers, and I can tell she’s about to turn and walk away, but I can’t leave this pretty little angel crying by herself. Something about her sweet face fills me with a protective urge I can’t explain—something deep and primal. I don’t want to let her go.

“I was about to grab a coffee,” I say, nodding toward Perfect Brews. “Would you, uh…like to come?”

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