Page 29 of Stuck with my Mountain Daddies

“Ride what out?” I asked, lifting my head. “Like, the storm? Or the awkward tension in here?”

His eyes met mine. Brown. Intense. Flickering with emotion. “Both.”

I blinked.

Beckett snorted from the corner. Asher nearly choked on a laugh.

“Garrett’s idea of a joke,” Asher stage-whispered. “Don’t encourage him. It only makes it worse.”

I sighed and stood up again, too restless to stay still. “I need something. A walk. A distraction. A cell tower. Anything.”

“You go out there, you’ll be knee-deep in snow within ten feet,” Garrett said, not unkindly. “Not safe.”

“I’m not breakable,” I snapped, harsher than I meant to.

“I didn’t say you were,” he replied, voice level. “I said it’s not safe.”

I stared at him. He didn’t flinch.

He was so calm. So grounded. Like nothing could shake him.

And dang, I hated how much I envied that. How different we were.

Garrett Wolfe had probably never had a panic attack over an unflattering photo. Never had to crawl out of a scandal or cancel a brand deal or watch half a million people decide overnight that he was the villain of a story they didn’t understand.

“You’re not used to slowing down,” he said, more observation than judgment.

I crossed my arms. “I’m not used tothis.”

“No distractions,” he said. “No noise.”

“No control,” I muttered.

His expression shifted. Just a flicker.

“You don’t have to control everything,” he said. “Sometimes you just have to sit with it.”

I scoffed. “That sounds like something people say when theydohave control.”

He didn’t argue. Just watched me, quiet and steady.

And that made it worse somehow, the way he didn’t push, didn’t try to fix it, didn’t offer me a shiny solution to slap on like a filter.

The silence stretched.

I didn’t know what to do with that.

So I turned and walked away, retreating to the kitchen where at least the coffeemaker obeyed me. I poured myself another cup and stared out the window at the whiteout beyond.

Still no Wi-Fi. Still no answers. Only snow and sky and three men I didn’t know how to be around.

I missed my old life. Even if it wasn’t real.

Even if I wasn’t sure it had ever actually made me happy.

Maybe especially because of that.

Eventually, Beckett headed out to the garage with a muttered excuse and a mysterious toolbox. Asher disappeared upstairswith a dramatic sigh and a bag of chips, probably to brood or curate a new playlist calledRainy Days and Existential Dread.

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