Page 8 of Stuck with my Mountain Daddies

I opened my mouth. Closed it. “LA. And let’s just say I needed to disappear for a while.”

He didn’t push. He clinked his glass against mine. “To disappearing.”

I clinked back. “And to not ruining your shirt a second time.”

He grinned. “Guess you’ll have to stick around long enough to make it up to me.”

I didn’t know what surprised me more—that he said it, or that I wanted to.

He raised an eyebrow, that slow, lazy kind of smile playing at the edge of his mouth. “So, are you the kind of girl who disappears into the night after ruining a stranger’s shirt, or do you usually stick around and make awkward small talk?”

I swirled my glass, still trying not to look at the way his shirt clung to his chest. “Depends on the night. And the stranger.”

Asher chuckled, taking a sip of his beer. “Good answer. So what’s tonight?”

I met his gaze with a flicker of challenge. “Small talk. For now.”

“Alright then,” he said, settling more comfortably against the bar as if he had all the time in the world. “Let’s see. What’s the most LA thing about you?”

I pretended to think. “I once did hot yoga with a former Bachelorette and cried after. Not because of the yoga, because she told me my aura was closed.”

He actually laughed at that. “Youraura. That’s brutal.”

“What about you?” I tilted my head. “What’s the most Medford thing about you?”

He smirked. “I once chased a raccoon out of someone’s truck bed with a snow shovel while holding a beer in the other hand.”

I choked on my drink. “That’s honestly iconic.”

“I try.” His smile faded enough for a beat of sincerity to slip in. “You don’t strike me as someone who usually hides out in small towns.”

“Yeah, well. Desperate times.”

His gaze softened, curious but not prying. “You runningfromsomething or runningtosomething?”

I hesitated. “Does it matter?”

“Only if you want it to.”

We let that sit for a moment, the clink of glasses and low hum of country music filling the space between us.

There was an intensity about him, solid, unfazed, magnetic without effort. Like he didn’t care about pretense, or press, or the algorithms that dictated worth. He justwas.

I shook my head, smiling despite myself. “You’re very unsettling.”

“I get that a lot.”

“Bet you don’t.”

He leaned a little closer, eyes narrowing as if he could see the side of me I hadn’t meant to reveal. “You look like someone who’s forgotten how to breathe. Like the kind of girl who’s alwayson.”

I blinked. “That’s weirdly accurate.”

“Figured." He tipped back his glass. “Well, you’re in the right place, then. Medford’s like a long exhale.”

“Except for the part where I spill drinks on locals.”

“That’s our version of a handshake.”

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