Page 27 of Stuck with my Mountain Daddies

“That explains the testosterone fog in the air.”

Garrett’s brow ticked. “You could’ve said good morning.”

“I could’ve. But I haven’t had coffee, my head is splitting, and my phone has zero service, which means the world probably thinks I joined a cult.”

Asher snorted. “More like escaped one.”

Riley turned back to Garrett. “Do you own oat milk? Or is this cabin anti-latte?”

Garrett blinked. “You want what now?”

She sighed and rubbed her temple. “Right. I forgot I’m in a man cave with three flannel-clad lumberjacks.”

“Technically, Beck’s wearing thermals today,” Asher offered.

“Your brother judged me last night,” Riley muttered.

Garrett looked at me, hard. “What’d you say?”

“Not enough,” I said flatly.

Riley raised a brow. “Not what it felt like.”

Garrett stepped in then, that tone of his dropping to steady authority. “Riley, we’re all stuck here. No one’s coming or going until the storm eases up. I suggest we all try not to kill each other.”

“And maybe avoid unsolicited life advice,” she added pointedly.

Garrett didn’t flinch. “Then don’t act like the world owes you answers just because it stopped clapping.”

Asher winced. Riley froze, those hazel eyes sharpening.

“You don’t know me,” she said, voice suddenly quiet. “So don’t pretend you do.”

“I know your type,” Garrett replied, calm but unwavering. “Used to controlling the story. The second it cracks, you fall apart and expect someone else to pick up the pieces.”

She let out a cold laugh. “Thanks for the psychoanalysis, Dr. Wolfe.”

“Just call it like I see it.”

“That’s funny,” she said. “You all talk a big game about being real, but the second someone’s messy or loud or hurting, you want her quiet. Palatable.”

The room went still. Even Asher shut up.

I stepped forward before it could get worse. “We’ve got coffee,” I said, quieter now. “I’ll make a fresh pot.”

She didn’t look at me. Just kept her arms wrapped around herself like a shield.

“Do you have oat milk?” she asked again, sarcasm barely covering the fatigue.

“No,” I said, crossing to the fridge. “But we’ve got vanilla creamer.”

I set it down in front of her without another word.

She stared at it, then finally,finally, looked at me.

“Okay,” she said. “You can stay.”

A breath caught in my chest.

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