Page 36 of Twins for the Mountain Daddies

The thought of her not coming back knots my stomach. Ridiculous. People pass through all the time—tourists, drifters, seasonal workers. I’ve never given a damn before. But Ivy?

I don’t know. It’s different with her.She’sdifferent. And that scares the hell out of me.

"Feels weird, doesn't it?" I mutter, more to myself than to Hank.

"Feels like shit," he answers, and I can't help but agree.

The sound of gravel crunching under tires yanks our attention to the road. Dry snow billows behind Wyatt's truck asit makes its way up the winding path, engine growling like a beast returning to its lair.

I see Hank's posture change before I even hear the truck's approach. His shoulders drop, losing that tense line they've held all morning. He leans back slightly, arms crossing over his chest, but there's a softness in his stance now.

"Guess she decided we're not so bad after all," I say, but my words are more for me than for him. The relief is a tangible thing, spreading through the clearing, through the trees, through the very air we breathe.

Hank doesn't reply, but a half-smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, and that's enough. More than enough.

The truck pulls up, the engine cutting off with a final rumble. Before the silence settles, I'm moving, my feet pounding against the porch steps. I cross the distance between us and the newly-arrived vehicle in a few eager strides. My heart hammers a rhythm that matches my steps—fast, urgent, a little wild.

I yank open the door, a grin ready and waiting to spread across my face. "Welcome back."

I pull Ivy into my arms, and the scent of sex hangs heavy on her skin. It's a punch to the gut, a mix of musk and something sweet that ain't just her perfume. My jaw tightens, and I can't help but flick my gaze over to Wyatt.

He sits slouched against the driver's seat with that trademark grin plastered across his face like he's won some unspoken prize. A shrug lifts his broad shoulders as if he's saying what can't be voiced out loud in this charged moment.

"Bastard," slips from between my clenched teeth, the word barely more than a whisper meant for him alone to hear.

Chapter 16

Ivy

Itap my phone screen, refreshing the rental listings once more. Nothing new pops up—just the same old digital "no vacancy" signs staring back at me. The reality sinks in. I'm stranded in this mountain town with no place of my own.

I’m in a mood. I know they know it, but they don’t pry. I glance around the cozy interior of the guys’ cabin—dim lighting, a fire crackling in the wood-burning stove, the scent of pine and smoke clinging to the air.

It’s cozy. It’s lived in. It’s nothing like the sleek, modern spaces I’m used to, where every angle is curated for the perfect Instagram shot, where warmth is artificial and everything has a price.

"No luck, darlin’?" Holt’s voice is laced with a playful edge as he leans against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest. He’s watching me, that knowing smirk tracing his lips.

"Nope," I respond, trying to keep my tone light.

Wyatt chimes in from the couch, where he's sprawled with a magazine in hand. "No sweat, Ivy. I already told you that you can bunk here for now."

Hank grumbles from the kitchen, something about "a damn circus" under his breath—a bear-like sound that could beannoyance or simply resignation. Which means I’m staying, whether I planned to or not.

And, the truth is, I don’t mind. I like it here.

No cameras waiting to catch me at my worst. No whispers behind manicured hands, dissecting my every move. I once tripped on a curb in L.A., and within hours, #IvyDown was trending. My face—mid-fall, arms flailing like a cartoon character—was slapped on everything from T-shirts to coffee mugs. Another time, I spilled an entire smoothie down my front, and for weeks, people sent me blender sponsorships like I was some kind of walking PR disaster.

Here? If I trip, if I drop something, if I make a fool of myself—no one cares. It’s not viral content. It’s just life.

I feel at peace for the first time in…maybe ever. And I’m not feeling ready to leave it just yet. It’s why I came out here in the first place. Sure, I’d expected to spend a few weeks alone trying to move on from what Caleb did and figure out my next move, but this is honestly better.

It can’t last, though. It’s only temporary. I can’t keep relying on their hospitality. I need my own space. No strings, no owing anyone anything.

I pull up a real estate website since the spotty internet is actually working some today. It cuts out every five minutes, and each page takes an eternity to load, but it’s better than nothing. I scroll through listings of cabins for sale. Each click is a hope, each dismissal a growing frustration. Too much work. Too far. Under contract. The list of not-quite-rights grows longer, and my optimism thins.

"Anything catch your eye?" Wyatt asks, peeking over my shoulder at the screen.

"Nothing yet." My voice is flat, disappointment seeping into it despite my attempts to stay upbeat. A sigh escapes me, betraying my internal struggle.

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