Page 127 of Stuck with my Mountain Daddies

My cheeks were dusted with a glow that looked like healthy self-esteem. The sweater clung in the right places, and the boots reallydidmake my legs look like sin. But more than that, I looked happy.

Or at least like I could be.

I let out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding. “Okay. Wow.”

“Hot, right?” Lucy said proudly. “You’re welcome.”

“So, tonight is going to be interesting.”

She smirked. “It sure is.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Asher

Crowds aren’t reallymy thing.

I can fake it when I have to, flash a grin, toss out a few jokes, keep things light. I’m good at that. Always have been.

But being in the middle of a crowd where people actuallywantsomething from you, more than charm, more than a smile, that’s a whole different game.

And one I’d usually peace out of before the second round of cocoa.

But tonight felt different.

Somehow, I ended up standing at the edge of Medford’s town square, freezing my ass off, paper cup of cocoa in one hand, Lucy laughing behind me, and I didn’t feel the usual crawl under my skin.

Because I was watchingher.

Riley was standing by the cider stand, cheeks pink from the cold, laughing at something Lila said.

That soft cream sweater she had on made her look like some kind of holiday movie extra—too good to be real, but somehow still right there. Hair loose, curling around her face like it knew how lucky it was to be close to her.

She looked settled. Lighter than before. Maybe the weight she’d been carrying had finally shifted. Not gone, but not crushing her anymore, either.

And I couldn’t stop looking.

Not in the usual way I look at women, appreciative, amused, curious if they’ll let me in for the night and forget me by morning.

This was different.

This was the kind of looking that hits somewhere deeper. Like hearing a song that ruins you in the best way.

She hadn’t seen me yet, which meant I had a few more seconds to soak her in without having to play it cool.

Beckett was probably somewhere near the stage, judging the angle of the garland. Garrett was, no joke, helping some old lady vendor carry her kettle corn bags like he was auditioning for a Hallmark special.

And I was standing there like an idiot, heart doing that thing it’s not supposed to do anymore.

Then Lucy slid up beside me like a damn mind reader and shoved a powdered donut into my hand.

“Don’t look now,” she said, all smug, “but your face is doing that soft thing again.”

I snorted. “What soft thing?”

She arched a brow. “The one where you forget you’re pretending not to stare at Riley like a Disney prince with a tragic backstory.”

“Not staring,” I muttered, totally staring.

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